Читать книгу Coming of Age - Episode 1 - Ida J - Страница 2

I once made a man give me a black eye.

It was the first time, in a long time, I’d really gone into the depths of masochism. Its resurgence unnerved me, grabbing me by the throat and awakening the pervert I am at heart.

We’d been on a few dates, this man and I, let’s call him Karl. He got under my skin like few people ever have. We had such an intense sexual connection. In many ways, he reminded me of my first love, Jason - tall, roguish, flamboyant. But it’ll be a minute before we get to Jason.

Karl and I were out at some bar, getting wine drunk and bantering. We headed back to the apartment where he was staying (between houses, house sitting for friends). In a small bedroom, we pounced on each other, and I knew it was going to get rough; it was that kind of night.

He slapped my face, an act I allow only under very specific circumstances. If the wrong person ever tried it, I’d likely retaliate. I liked it when he slapped me, his muscular torso leaning over my body and that look on his face that belies his dominance. I reeled and said, “do it again,” egging him on to hit me harder, while Britpop plays in the background. The whole affair was some surreal comedy.

My legs were thrown back in the air near my shoulders. My feet bounced off the headboard. He fucked my arse. We were using olive oil, having run out of lube.

He slapped the back of my thighs, then held my throat and whacked my face again. I was breathing hard, mouth open, sweating profusely due to my extreme exertion and the summer heat. My arsehole burned as he delivered an almighty thrust. “Harder!” I told him. He smacked my face again. Involuntarily, I retreated from the impact. He was pleased with himself, and I looked him in the eye, defiant, goading him to go further.

“Give me a black eye,” I demanded. “Really?” He was slightly shocked and I feared I may’ve ruined the moment. “Come on, I know you have it in you, I know you want to…” He stared at me, his jaw set slightly to one side.

Then he did it. He gave my temple a mighty thwack. Girls who want boys who like boys to be girls… Damon Albarn jeered in the background. My ears rang and my head pounded and he kept on fucking me relentlessly. I was there with him right then and nowhere else. I didn’t care about anything except us and that moment. He smacked my cunt and mashed his hand to it. I came on him with his cock in my arse, roaring with all this adrenaline and this hot man doing me that violence I always crave.

The next morning, my face was swollen, I got a shock when I looked in the mirror. He was concerned, shifty and ashamed. “Do I have something to apologise for?” I thought he just wanted me out of the house, doesn’t want to look at what he’d done.

“No,” I said. “I made you do it.” “Still,” he said. I put my sunglasses on and leave.

Later, at home, nursing my hangover, I examined my face in the mirror, suddenly worried the swelling will never go down. As I poked at the berry-stain bruise under my eye, I was scared of myself. Scared of what I might do, of where this self-destructive streak might take me. I texted him, “I scare myself sometimes.” Weird fucking text to send.