The Worst Place
I should've stayed home
Most of the people I know lost their virginity in fairly unromantic places under equally unromantic circumstances.
I am no exception.
It was in the backseat of my boyfriend's brother's shitty Pinto. Mitch Malenfant, my boyfriend at the time, tasted like raspberry vodka and smelled like crayons and cigarettes. His brother Micheal leaned against the hood, pretending not to care about authority by smoking a very small amount of pot and drinking a very large bottle of Bud Lite. The seats had cigarette holes burned deep into the pleather, revealing the yellow, spongy cushioning underneath. The end of Micheal's joint glowed orange, the only warm color visible to me in that night of blue, gray, and black shadows. The ceiling covering sagged from the weight of the bags of weed hidden inside, but the exact shape of the indention was blurred as I faded in and out of reality with every thrust.
When the final pain subsided and Mitchell lay on top, I closed my eyes and tried to forget where I was. I was suddenly so tired, so ready to go home and take a shower.
"I love you," Mitch whispered after a while. I almost laughed.
He sat up, zipped up his pants, and got out of the car. He walked around its front to join his brother, completely forgetting that he had literally left me with my pants down. It's not that I thought Micheal would look or stare, but I felt exposed and dirty. Adjusting my shirt so the buttons would line up, I heard the Malenfant brothers' laughter through the metal door. I wondered if they were laughing at me.
My inner thighs felt caked in mud, but I didn't need the coppery smell to tell me what it was. Wiping the small amount of blood away with a towel I found on the floor, I suddenly felt angry. Angry at Mitch, angry at Micheal, angry at God, but I was mostly angry with myself. How could I have let two months of making out under the school bleachers become sex in a piece of shit Pinto?
I pushed the emotion to the back of my mind. I would deal with it in the morning, along with a good hangover. After pulling my pants up, I climbed up into the passenger seat and retrieved a beer from the cooler. It was wet, like the bottle had broken out in a cold sweat. Mitch opened the driver's door.
"Don't. You have to go home tonight, remember?"
"Take me to Crystal's instead," I offered. "That's where I'm supposed to be anyway. I'll just lie and say I want to spend the night there."
He smiled. "Now you're thinking like a criminal!" It was the smile that first attracted me to him at Samantha Casey's birthday party.
We both chuckled a little before he shut the door and continued to smoke with Micheal.
I hope you choke on that joint. The old rage lit up like a fire in my gut again, begging to be quenched by the cool sharpness of diluted alcohol.
I am no exception.
It was in the backseat of my boyfriend's brother's shitty Pinto. Mitch Malenfant, my boyfriend at the time, tasted like raspberry vodka and smelled like crayons and cigarettes. His brother Micheal leaned against the hood, pretending not to care about authority by smoking a very small amount of pot and drinking a very large bottle of Bud Lite. The seats had cigarette holes burned deep into the pleather, revealing the yellow, spongy cushioning underneath. The end of Micheal's joint glowed orange, the only warm color visible to me in that night of blue, gray, and black shadows. The ceiling covering sagged from the weight of the bags of weed hidden inside, but the exact shape of the indention was blurred as I faded in and out of reality with every thrust.
When the final pain subsided and Mitchell lay on top, I closed my eyes and tried to forget where I was. I was suddenly so tired, so ready to go home and take a shower.
"I love you," Mitch whispered after a while. I almost laughed.
He sat up, zipped up his pants, and got out of the car. He walked around its front to join his brother, completely forgetting that he had literally left me with my pants down. It's not that I thought Micheal would look or stare, but I felt exposed and dirty. Adjusting my shirt so the buttons would line up, I heard the Malenfant brothers' laughter through the metal door. I wondered if they were laughing at me.
My inner thighs felt caked in mud, but I didn't need the coppery smell to tell me what it was. Wiping the small amount of blood away with a towel I found on the floor, I suddenly felt angry. Angry at Mitch, angry at Micheal, angry at God, but I was mostly angry with myself. How could I have let two months of making out under the school bleachers become sex in a piece of shit Pinto?
I pushed the emotion to the back of my mind. I would deal with it in the morning, along with a good hangover. After pulling my pants up, I climbed up into the passenger seat and retrieved a beer from the cooler. It was wet, like the bottle had broken out in a cold sweat. Mitch opened the driver's door.
"Don't. You have to go home tonight, remember?"
"Take me to Crystal's instead," I offered. "That's where I'm supposed to be anyway. I'll just lie and say I want to spend the night there."
He smiled. "Now you're thinking like a criminal!" It was the smile that first attracted me to him at Samantha Casey's birthday party.
We both chuckled a little before he shut the door and continued to smoke with Micheal.
I hope you choke on that joint. The old rage lit up like a fire in my gut again, begging to be quenched by the cool sharpness of diluted alcohol.
♠ ♠ ♠
Hope you guys enjoyed this : )