This story is fictional, and bears no intentional resemblance to any person or story, real or fictional, who has existed.


I’ve desperately needed to tell this story for a long time. I’m not sure I believe it myself, so for years I thought no one else would. Honestly, I still don’t think anyone will believe me. I just don’t care anymore. I’m not as unique as I thought, so people need to know. This could eventually lead to my incarceration, so please understand the sacrifice I’m making by divulging this part of my personal story. I’m not bragging, and I’m not proud. I find it humiliating, but I did it to myself… And a few others, of course.
It started in high school, in my senior year. I had turned eighteen on July 19th. I was well dressed, slender and popular, and my hair had just been straightened. I was looking better than I ever had. I should have been feeling good enough to match, but I wasn’t. My self esteem was very low. Boys smiled at me just like with other girls, but then they moved on.
Most girls that age fantasized about the captain of the football team, or the funny guy, or the super cool guy who always knew what to say. I fantasized about intellectuals. My math teacher was the hottest man on the planet!
Within the first two weeks of school, a chess club was started. I found myself hanging out there, despite both my lack of knowledge and my lack of interest in the game. I just wanted to meet the boys who were playing. That’s how I met Mike Brown. I feigned interest just so he would spend time teaching me to play when he wasn’t playing someone else.
We didn’t have any money, so going out on dates just wasn’t possible. Fortunately, my mother gave me all the freedom in the world. I was an only child, an overachiever, and my mother had me on the pill. As long as I treated my mother with respect, I could do all sorts of things most parents wouldn’t let their children do. Since we couldn’t go out, I just invited Mike to my place. My mother would let us sit in the room and talk for hours uninterrupted.
I was desperate to have sex. I hated being a virgin. The first time I brought up the subject of sex, Mike seemed almost to jump out of his seat. I said, “Mike, you know, we talk to each other about everything. Can I be really honest with you for a minute?”
“Of course,” he responded in a very nonchalant way.
“I am so FUCKING sick and so FUCKING tired of being a virgin. I know you’re a virgin, Mike. Aren’t you tired of it?” That’s when he nearly jumped out of his seat.
The conversation to that point had been monotonously banal. From kids in school, to schoolwork, to teachers, then back to the kids. He usually found a way to keep it interesting, but that day I just couldn’t get sex off my mind.
“How can you be tired of being a virgin when you don’t know what sex feels like?” he said. Mike was sitting on my bed, and I got up from a small sofa that I used to keep in the corner, walked over and sat in his lap.
“You told me that you sometimes get tired of being so tall. I’m sure you have no idea what it’s like being short.”
It was the first time I ever sat in his lap, and I liked it. I reached in to kiss him, then I hesitated when I could feel him trembling. This boy was six foot one, and well over two hundred pounds. I was (and still am) four foot eleven. Back then I probably weighted about 90 pounds. I wasn’t the least bit nervous, so the feeling of him trembling had an unusual effect. When I looked into his eyes and saw the trepidation, the labored breathing of a young man who wasn’t sure what would happen next, I got turned on. Feeling his nervousness and seeing a drop of sweat roll down the side of his forehead made me tingle. I didn’t realize it, but I was getting out of control with desire. I don’t remember when I started to kiss his neck. I just remember that he was moaning and rubbing my back while I did it.
At some point I managed to stop and catch my breath. I whispered into his ear, “I want you to have my virginity.” He nearly jumped out of his seat again. The look of fear in his eyes was getting me a bit worried that he might be getting a little too scared.
“I… I can’t,” he responded. “You could get pregnant. Someone could catch us. There’s just too many things that could go wrong. I think we should stop.” He started trying to move me from his lap.
“No,” I whispered in his ear. “Don’t get up. Please don’t.”
“I’m sorry, but I have to,” he said. He pushed me away from his neck, then gently pushed me onto the bed next to him. “I really have to go,” he said, getting up and walking toward the door.
In order to keep him there, I knew I had to do something drastic. “If you try to leave, I’ll scream.”
“Why would you do that?” he asked, almost inquisitively.
“Sit back down. Try to leave, and I’ll scream ‘rape.'” That was when I saw an even greater fear on his face. I liked how it felt to make this very large young man do as I told him. I know that’s disgusting, but it’s honest. I felt like I had power over him, and I decided to use it.
I told Mike anything I had to to keep him from trying to leave. My father lived in California at the time, but I told Mike he was in the next room over with a shotgun. I said my mother would stab him if she heard ‘rape,’ and then they’d call the police. He was so frightened, he would’ve robbed a bank if I’d told him to. So I sat him down, grabbed his shirt and began to pull it up over his head. He said, “No!” and pulled it back down. “I don’t want to take my clothes off! What are you doing, Rhonda? Are you trying to get pregnant?”
“I tried being nice, Mike. I will scream my lungs out, then say you were trying to rape me. Who do you think my parents will believe? Who do you think the police will believe? Just relax Mike. There’s really nothing you can do about this.” He began to cry.
I was (admittedly) trying to trick him into having sex with me. I ended up discovering something about myself that would change my life forever: I found great enjoyment in having power over someone much bigger and stronger than myself. From that moment forward, I refused to take ‘no’ for an answer. I used Mike’s body to experience everything I’d ever wondered about being with a boy, except coitus. Knowing my hymen was in place, I saved that for last. It was a good thing I did, too. I got on top of Mike and tried to use his manhood to break my own hymen. I had no idea how painful this would be. Seconds later I was doubled over on my bed, clutching my groin with tears in my eyes.
Mike could’ve done anything to me. He could’ve left me writhing in pain, which I would’ve deserved. He could have raped me while I was hurting too badly to stop him. Instead, he kissed my forehead and said, “I’m sorry you’re hurting. I never meant for this to happen.” He put his clothes back on but, being the sweet, kind boy that he was, he held me in his arms and rocked back and forth while I cried on his shoulder like a little baby.