I was but a lass at the age of fourteen,
When my head was first turned silly.
By a dashing young lad,
whose name was Chad…
But us girls all called him Little Willy.
I heard it from my best friends sister,
She'd heard it from her best friend.
“Little Willy's little nub,
Looks like a toe stubbed!
That's why he can't keep a girlfriend!"
I gasped in shock, in outraged horror.
"It's not important," is what I reply.
"I'm not going to pick
a boy for his dick!"
Even if his parents call him "Small Fry!"
One week later, late summer night,
Desert sky, in the bed of his truck…
Kissing under the moon,
My young body in bloom,
Always charming, Willy says "Wanna fuck?"
He's cute, he drives, I think he likes me,
At fourteen, my reasons were dumb.
"Willy, you'll be the first…
My cherry you'll burst!"
Fourteen, already seeking the numb.
He fumbled me out of my bikini top.
My daisy dukes, thrown on the ground.
First we got faded,
Then we got naked.
Then Little Willy took a trip downtown.
He kissed me where no one had before.
He used his tongue and teeth and lips.
Oh my, he's licking!
Oh my, clit flicking!
Oh my, I like his hands on my hips!
Then he slides my legs far apart,
He positions himself in between,
I've heard how it hurts…
When a penis inserts…
I close my eyes, I'll take this penis unseen
Then I feel my body open beneath him.
I'm pretty sure Little Willy slides inside,
I find it perplexing,
and so I start flexing.
Could it be that the older girls lied?
He's jerking and smirking above me.
He looks like he just hit a grand slam.
It feels like a finger,
It's for sure not a zinger!
Little Willy, what'd you put in my clam?
He finishes with a triumphant holler.
I smile and try to stifle my yawn.
Then onto my belly,
He squirts hot, white jelly!
And my eyes, to his willie are drawn.
I'm blinking as I stare at his boner.
Uncanny resemblance to a big toe.
Three inches long,
It's a ding, not a dong.
Quickly I dress, say "Hey, I gotta go!"
Little Willy is looking crestfallen;
But also like he's heard this before.
He blows me a kiss,
Says "Come on back for all this!”
And that's when I bolted for the door.
Not much to do in Nowhere, USA.
Nothing changes, but people sure talk.
Little Willy was cute,
And had money to boot…
But was cursed with the tiniest cock!
Coitus Ergo Sum
I did not lose my virginity; I tortured it slowly and dispassionately until it broke.
From first kiss to final gasp, it took seven years to wear it down, but in the end, my fall-back boyfriend ground the last shred of mystery from my pussy in England as I lay underwhelmed and supine on my dorm room bunk bed, thinking about another boy.
At 21, I knew intuitively that I had waited a long time by earthly standards to smash the mythic champagne bottle against the hull, so, I’ll admit, I expected a memorable, if not unprecedented, initiation into no holds barred carnality.
I pushed my vagina face first into fornication, broke all the rules of engagement a Seventh-day Adventist girl is supposed to abide by until her wedding day, and wound up annoyed because I had to get myself off in a chair stolen from a dumpster in London.
There was no blood, no nervousness, not even the promised, “It’ll hurt real bad the first time.” To my deep disappointment, there was only a mild sense of accomplishment similar to having remembered to pack your toothbrush.
After that I abandoned the artistry of a long and painful interrogation. The payoff did not match the investment.
Ex abundantia enim cordis os loquitur.
He seduces me on Latin tongue and Turnarounds
Or whatever the kids are calling those pills now-a-days.
He calls them Aimies, just for tonight.
Lines from the nightstand Bible-
Little broken Aimies,
Tiny crippled Blackbirds.
He says he wants to make me come.
I'm thinking of going until his mouth traces,
A pedibus usque ad caput,
And I'm overrun with Amens.
He expends every drop
And back again
Like he's doing whippets for the queen.
Hail Mary, shield your face...
There's blood on the sheets-
Little blood drops on the sheets.
One thousand fingers, veiled and humble
Search for warm places-
"God, you're beautiful."
"Jesus, you're amazing."
And every word he says,
I think I should write down
For the nights when I'm less divine,
For the nights when I'm revolting.
Tomorrow is The Day of the Blessed Virgin.
Tomorrow, we won't lay communion in our mouths.
Tomorrow, we'll toast with Tabasco and tomato at the dawn of a Holy Day.
But tonight we'll fuck.
And like good Catholic boys
And sweet Catholic girls,
We'll make promises that will
Die in the sun.
You Still Find Fragments of Me
I remember the night
After we told my parents
That we were together
We stayed the night
In your little bed
Because your parents were out of town
It was the closest I'd ever been
To another boy
And you held me in your arms
That entire night
Because you knew I was seven thoughts away from falling apart
I cried because my parents didn't want me
But you smiled and wiped my tears
Held me closer and said
That I was the only one that needed myself
And although my world was falling apart with every shooting star
You did your best to keep my pieces together
Even if you were fighting your own black holes
You were my secret garden
That I climbed down the trellis of
Away from every accusatory glare and disapproving stare
And my fountain of youth
Months went by
And I was supposed to learn how to fly on my own
But the only thing I learned was how to lean on you harder
Soon came a night
Where I couldn't take it any longer
I was going to end
Every shooting star
Every aurora borealis
Every solar flare and asteroid belt of my solar system
I relished the feeling of having the fate of the world in my hands
But I couldn't implode
Without telling you goodbye
I called you up
And we snuck out to the field behind the church
Where we had bled our sins so many times
And had dared god to defy the stains
I pulled out the condoms I had bought in the gas station bathroom
For a buck fifty
And you clenched your fist around mine
Knowing the final pieces of me were slipping through your grip
And getting sucked into the vortex known as life
And there, under the open sky
Where I knew both god and lucifer could see us
You sodomized me
In full view of the cross and the lamb
You still find fragments
Of me between pages of
Your favorite book
And still hear the lyrics
Of my favorite song
In the wind
This is a memory
I don't like to visit often
I was only 14
When I lost my innocence
But the story doesn't start there
It doesn't start that day
Or even with that boy
It starts when I was real little
Not knowing much about the world
Not yet knowing it's cruelty
Or it's people
The perves and creepes
The disgusting hands
That liked to touch me
I didn't know it was wrong
I didn't know to say "Stop"
I didn't like it
But I thought it was normal
Doesn't that thought make you sick?
All those boys who touched me
Telling me it was okay
I can't believe I couldn't see
All I could do was pray
I was abused
Physically, sexually, mentally, emotionally
No wonder I'm so used to getting used
Then I met this boy
He was nothing special
He just wanted what they all do
And he knew I was vulnerable
So one night
At 3 a.m
We did it
I was scared I might be pregnant
And when he heard this
He left me
My parents were pissed
But I was alone
Cuz I got myself into this
The tests all came back
Which is good
Because I couldn't live
With his kid
Two months later
I met a boy
We fell in love
I was just a used toy
But he didn't care
Until he left me
Now I'm alone
But who needs a heart or home
When you have a pen
I Lost My Virginity, and My Converse High Tops
I never thought I’d lose my virginity to a flute player in band class, but here I was, in Savannah Clapacky’s living room with my dick out. An hour ago, we were in class, glancing at each other during the middle of "Pomp and Circumstance"—B flat major. But now it was 3pm. After school. Monday. My black skinny jeans were on the rug and my high tops by the front door. I was naked despite my cut-off, denim Dead Kennedy’s vest, which was covered in nails and spikes that impaled the leather couch. On top of me, Savannah closed her eyes and held her hand over her mouth as I slid in. If the synthetic marijuana I had inhaled an hour ago didn’t make me feel like King of the Jungle, this certainly did.
The key entered the lock, but I’m not talking about penetration—penetration deserves a better metaphor.
It was a key entering the front door of Savannah’s house.
“My dad and brother” she screeched.
I had a pretty good reason to shove the nearby fire poker through my neck. I could fade from existence on her floor. But no way was I going to let this euphoric burst of sin and exploration stop without an erotic ending. This dude would have to kill me. The careful, wooing words I had to type via Facebook Chat to get Savannah to like me would not go unrewarded. Plus, I didn’t care about her dad seeing. She told me her dad hated muslims. And I didn’t like that—my muslim friend from science class was pretty cool.
But Savannah pushed herself off of me, putting her ankles into the leg sockets of her yoga pants.
"Through the Kitchen," she said grabbing my wrist. I looked at the gushing stain on the patch of couch between my legs. Rad. I whipped my black skinny jeans over my shoulder and scurried.
But there was a problem: my high tops were by the front door, staring back at me, wondering why I was abandoning them.
"What about my shoes?” I whispered.
“Get new ones,” she said, pushing me towards the glass slider door that lead to the back porch.
Get new ones? New ones? The audacity Savannah had to belittle my anarchy-symbol high tops! They had been my foot’s best friend for three years—I couldn’t just get new ones.
But then Mr. Clapacky and Savannah’s mountain-man brother opened the front door.
Savannah rushed into the living room to distract her dad. Which was a good idea until I realized the slider door was locked, and that I was too high to figure out how to open it.
“Dad, you’re home early.”
My fingers scrambled, twisting and pulling random parts of the door handle. I was baffled by elementary problem solving, tethered to the limitations of a drugged-up consciousness.
“Why are the lights off?” he replied.
Savannah kept talking, but I couldn’t hear her. I could only hear blurry voices swarming around the room. I couldn’t tell if my alarming heart beat was from the rush of teenage lust, or the fact that Savannah’s family was about to see my penis. I panicked. I needed out. How had Houdini escaped chains, and Frank Lee Morris escape Alcatraz, but I could not flick a lock to a goddamn glass door?
Wait. Flick. Yes.
I flicked a small white switch, feeling catharsis from it’s soft snap. If anything was going to make me cum that day, it was that flick. But I had no time to celebrate.
I pulled the slider door open. The sensor lights turn on, shining on my bare ass as I dashed across the splinter-infested porch. There were no stairs. She didn’t mention that there were no stairs. I would need to jump. I hesitate. But it was a matter of escaping or getting my balls put in the kitchen blender. I jump, saying a prayer as I fall through the air, that there will not be an angry German Shepard waiting below, ready to bark and reveal my presence. My presence, which is already likely to be detected after leaving the breadcrumbs of shoes and gush stains.
Mercifully, there was no dog…but there was a wheel barrow.
My ankles crunched. I fell out of the wheel barrow and onto the grass, feeling the New England dew wet my hairy legs.
But then I saw the glorious woods beyond the backyard.
Faster than Usain Bolt, I sprinted. I salivated over the pearly gates of heaven ahead, where centaurs were dancing and God was waiting to welcome me into His arms. My ankle bones felt broken, but I was too high to tell, and I had no time to check. Mr. Clapacky probably had his rifle loaded, aiming to shoot me right in the ass.
I dived into the darkness, tumbling over sharp sticks and dirty leaves. A jagged rock scraped across my ass, but I ignored the blood and put my jeans on. I had no compass, but my heart told me to run east. I knew if I ran far enough, I would soon reach the emergency helipad where my Toyota Corolla waited. I may have been dumb enough to have sex in a Savannah’s living room, but I was not dumb enough to park my car in front of her house.
I didn’t know if it had been minutes, hours, or six months before I navigated through those woods to my precious vehicle—losing my virginity on drugs really fucked with my head.
In my car I shoved the aux cable from my stereo into the glory hole that is my iPod socket. Blaring “Holiday in Cambodia,” I peel out onto the street, shooting nitrous out of my imaginary chrome pipes.
Savannah’s dad will never forget the day he almost caught Jack Sparrow.
I laughed. I shouted the F word out the window. I lit a cigarette and drove faster than I had in my entire life. But the thrill stopped when I noticed my bare feet on the gas pedal. The texture felt unfamiliar. I didn’t just lose my virginity, I lost my favorite shoes.
And to think I didn’t even cum.
People are texture,
Artificial blue raspberry.
Earthy and smooth
Boring and brassy
This dude is
the deep sienna of
light passing through
I'm a frosty glass,
sensitive to heat.
Filled with faceted ice.
I am inhibitive,
with the opacity
of earthworm flesh.
Six legged and unsettling.
The shiny gulls
in the driveway
are as big as chickens.
Some feathers match
the shimmery spots
of oil in the gravel.
They open their beaks
cawing in warning.
Try to peck me
I only see the
Pollock of white splatters
that drop from their
I don't believe I belong
in the bellies of birds,
so I suck blood.
feeding the flailing child
He burns on the way
makes my ice glitter,
as it melts.
My frost becomes drops.
It leaves a pool.
It is August and hot.
Our skin squeaks,
on the exposed plastic
of an air mattress.
He panics and stops.
I am empty,
I go dry.
Alive as bird feed.
My head will hurt
He says I was
his first drink, too.
Accuses me of corruption.
"You are a whore.
Why did you let me do that?
You let me defy God!"
He starts to cry.
I learn that men
Need a vessel
for their tears.
Still need to sleep
in the gulls' nest.
Women deal with
so their men don't drip
off the edge of the table.
Or the edge of
What starts as some
booze in a cup
ends up large
and full of fish.
Full of floating garbage.
I become the floor,
A whore for
holding him together.
it’s a repost. but I couldn’t do better than this.
Innocence gone. Washed away by bloody sheets. Time. Deep breaths and a tinge of pain. No ecstacy as promised. Just bloody sheets. Bloody hands. And your skin against mine.
Guilt shame. Bible verses and you and your browns eyes washing it all away.
Timid. I reach out to you. Bury my face against your chest. This... this is teenage forever. Beautiful. unbroken, unbridled lust.
You kiss my forehead. And Stroke my hair as I cry. Because we both know...
two doors down your sister is crying. Brown eyes tortured by jealousy and guilt. Unnerved, drunk and holding a blade to her arm.
Innocence gone. Bloody sheets. Bloody hands. As she tears the flesh on her wrist. She doesn't want death. Just relief.
You stroke my face as she cries. Ill always love you you say. Small tears gathering against the darkness of your eyes. But she'll always have your heart
Between Me, God and a Hawaiian Wrestler
I used to tell myself that I would wait until marriage, and even then, a part of me chuckled. I was horny as all hell before I even knew what horny meant. All I knew was that it felt good down there when I pressed against my pillows, and if I did it for long enough, it felt even better. It was a few years before having to use a tampon for the first time and discovering that I did, in fact, have a vagina (it wasn't exactly a profound moment of femininity but more like a huh, who knew? moment, like finding a hidden pocket in a jacket you've owned for years), but I didn't need the details to know that sex must have been awesome.
Thanks to hours of unsupervised television-watching and hours of heavily supervised church-going, I eventually learned two things about sex: it was a shameful sin and it made babies. Since I was too young to differentiate between sex with a man and sex with a pillow, I felt pretty guilty humping my bedding after that. Yes, I thought masturbating would knock me up and send me to hell, and yes, I still did it. Once I came to terms with basic biology, I promised to hold off on sex until I got married. After all, my body belonged to God, and it was my job to keep it pure for my future husband. My virginity was absolutely a tangible thing that mattered. Losing it would lessen my value and betray a person I had not met yet. At the least, my pledge to purity would cancel out all of that sinful pillow time.
I lasted until my 18th birthday, which I think is pretty damn good. How was I supposed to resist a Hawaiian varsity wrestler if I couldn't even resist my own hand? We teased each other for weeks, fooling around in the bushes behind the firehouse, in the boat parked in his garage and whatever dark corners we could find. His hands were bolder than mine, groping everything they could before someone inevitably tracked us down. When it came to being stuck between abstinence and hell, there were strong cases for both, but the longer we were alone together, the cozier eternal flames seemed.
One day, the house was empty, and I took that as a thumbs up from God. I laid on my back with my ass hanging off the edge of my twin mattress and my legs spread, a position I now know as The Pap Smear. He stood over the bed and slowly pushed into me, one centimeter at a time. I remember wondering how far he could go before it counted. How deep was the sinful part of my vagina? After a few inches, I decided I had to have lost my virginity by now and that I wasn't about to be damned for getting prodded like my temperature was being taken. I lured him onto the bed and hopped on. I rocked my hips back and forth until it felt good enough to burn in hell for. It was exactly like humping my pillow, if I ignored the penis lodged inside of me,
There was no blood, no popping, no stinging. I didn't see the face of God, nor the gates of hell, so I considered that a win. Hours later, I could still feel him in there, not in a romantic way or a painful way but kind of like a phantom limb.
"It was a pretty tight squeeze, but it didn't hurt too bad."
"That's good, next time I'll try going in all the way."
The next morning, I was disappointed to find that I looked, felt and smelled exactly as I did as a virgin. I wasn't expecting much, but a little acknowledgement would have been nice. There was no updated information on my license, no stamp on my wrist, not even an "I fucked" sticker. Hell, give me a scarlet letter, just don't tell me that after all the hype, all I got was a sore pussy and a temporary limp. I tried my best to feel like a sinner, but I couldn't get what Jesus was so upset about. This was what he wanted me to wait for until my wedding night? This was what I was going to hell for? Murder, I get, but this?
I didn't know it at the time, but carnal floodgates had been opened. There was no time to be timid, I had used all my patience waiting. From making love by the ocean under a meteor shower to banging some dude in the parking lot of a gay bar in Vegas, sex became whatever I decided to make of it. As for my virginity, my purity, my innocence, I didn't lose shit. I may or may not have had any of those things to begin with, and if I did, you'd have to dig a lot deeper than my vagina to take it away from me. So between me, God and that Hawaiian wrestler, the first time I had sex was the moment I realized that my body was mine to enjoy without apologies.