67 - x365 Ian G

Tonight in my ceramics class filled with 30-somethings who use the class as a night to bitch about their husbands, the topic changed to the story of the "Popping of the Cherry".  I kept quiet, sitting on the sidelines, quietly painting my projects.  finally, it couldn't be avoided any longer.  Amber asked me: "Okay, Laura... What about you?? Let's hear it".  My face flooded, i could feel it heating up.  "oh," i said, "my Cherry Popping story isn't very interesting".   They moved on.  What could i do?  My eyes stung, my throat began to close.  I couldn't tell them my cherry popping story.  What would i say?  that you, my boyfriend, got me high the day before my 14th birthday... and while i was passed out on your bed, pulled my clothes off, climbed on top of me and pinned me to the bed?  I couldn't tell them how i cried.  how it hurt, how i bled.  How you told me i wanted it, and that you said; "i love you, baby, it's okay cuz i love you" when i said "no". 

FUCK YOU.

For years i have tried to gloss over that incident in my life, saying that you were only 15 and you shouldn't be blamed your whole life for something you did when you were 15.  Fuck you.  FUCK YOU.  There aren't enough ways for me to tell you how much i hate what you did to me.  And just when i think that i'm okay, something happens like today that brings it all back and you and your stupid face are in my mind.  The last thing i want is you anywhere in my memories.  You fucking prick.  You were fifteen.  You knew it was wrong.  And i hate that every day of my life i have to carry that scar with me.  That my 'cherry popping' story isn't cute, or funny, or embarrassing - a story good for a laugh.  That someday i may have to tell my children that you stole my virginity and made me feel like it was MY goddamned fault for years, if only to save them from having it happen to them, or inflicting that on some one else.   

i fucking hate you.