Sapphire

The following piece was presented at Jersey City Writers’ literary event – 800 Dirty Words. Please enjoy.

 

The first time I did it I was fourteen.

I met her outside a quickie mart on a hot August day. She said her name was Sapphire, that she was 18, and that she’d just gotten out of some home but I’m pretty sure she was lying about one of those things, if not all three.

Her hair was dyed pink at the ends, and a diamond – no doubt fake – was glued to one of her teeth. She wore cutoff jeans and a pink bikini top that barely fit her tits, and I couldn’t help but stare at that line of white skin that poked through the fabric whenever she leaned forward.

She asked me if I had a cigarette.

I never smoked but I always carried. Cigarettes are great bait. There wasn’t anything I wanted from her. Still, I gave her one anyway. She frowned because it wasn’t menthol. That’s when I knew she was one giant lie, but I played along anyway.

Sapphire took me to the edge of a park with missing swings and graffiti all along the slide, and gave me sips of the world’s nastiest whiskey.

Then she pushed me onto the ground. Before I could say anything she shoved her hand down my pants. Her fingers were hot and they grabbed me right there, like she knew just where to grab without even looking.

She covered my mouth with her other hand and then she yanked off my shorts. So there I was, half naked and my bare ass felt weird against the dirt.

She lay on top of me and took my hand and pushed it against her left tit. And then she grabbed me and shoved me inside her. She made this grinding motion on top of me and I got shaky all over like I was gonna pass out but she didn’t stop. She grunted right in my face and her breath was a gross mix of cigarettes and whiskey. I tried not to look at her face to face even though she looked okay enough away from the light. My ass began to hurt something fierce from the rocks in the dirt but the rest of me felt so Jesus Christ unbelievably good that I didn’t care about the pain or her disgusting breath or her grunting like that in my face.

Then it was over.

She didn’t say a damn thing to me. She just took the whiskey bottle and the rest of my cigarettes and she left.

I never saw her again.

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