Little Cat

I started to stretch my legs toward the ground and his cock slipped out of me. His shoulders came down. The guy was prying me off his body too fast and I fell in front of the fence. I wasn’t steady. My arms reached back to find something to hold on to. I just wanted to lie down – it was over, all over, I wanted to go home.

I saw the condom crumpled up on the gravel beside me, there was cream shimmering on the top. My skirt was still hitched at my hips. I was just sitting there, panting. I wanted to go home. I heard the man zipping up his pants. People were coming out of the bar and starting their cars. I straightened my skirt and got up. The man looked around. I knew that he was ready to go. I could barely move my legs to walk. All I could think was over and over: Am I safe? Am I safe? Am I safe?

I bet you think I’d have deserved it if I got a disease that night. You’d say I was just being a dumb slut walking around all tarted up and having sex with a stranger in a parking lot. You’d say that, or you’d think it at least. But you don’t really know why I do it. I’m not hooked on danger or anything like that. And of course I don’t want to get a disease. It’s just that there are times where I don’t see what’s safe before losing my footing. It’s that feeling of falling, I mean, falling into someone’s strangeness – there is no way around it for me. It’s like I walk into someone in sex and I know: I am losing parts of my body in this, my body dissolving, my body for his … Following, falling, fucking like that, until every split second of being open wraps around me. My flesh looms so close and so large in this light. When I can have sex with a stranger my body is filled to its ends with these kinds of murmurs:

I need your cock to touch my cunt.

I need us naked for only one second.

I need us forever to be here forever.

I have always had to feel myself like I’ve never felt myself before. The very first time it ever happened, I was young, maybe seven years old. It was late at night when I was put into bed with a boy. It was just the two of us, under the covers, completely awake. We stared for so long at each other, until his eyes felt like my eyes in buzzing grey light, until our breathing turned fast. The places between our legs became opening and shining.

I remember how we went toward each other, really slow, like we were moving through water. We got so close to each other’s faces. Then we moved at the same time down each other, until his face was at my thighs and my face was at his. He lifted my nightgown, I pulled down his underwear. We stared at each other down there. His mouth pressed the line that was beating between my legs. My lips touched so light on his animal skin. His penis looked like a bloom I’d never seen open. I thought I was staring at the softest, warmest thing in the world. He was putting his lips on my vagina. We stayed together like that all night.

When I remembered much later what I’d done with that boy, it felt like the worst kind of secret. I had this cold wind racing from my head to my stomach every time I saw in my head how I’d touched and kissed him, over and over, and how I’d been touched and kissed down there over and over … I didn’t want that boy to remember what we’d done. I wanted to think that it never even happened. See, I didn’t understand how I could’ve already been touched down there. I had never even touched myself down there. I couldn’t stop feeling my face stuck in that black and warm place between his thighs. The whole thing between us kept playing in my head in slow motion. I couldn’t get it out. What happened between me and the boy was tying me up so tightly that I couldn’t fall asleep without thinking about it.

When I was around twelve, there was a guy who started liking me. He was a few years older than me and he invited me over to his house. He took me down to his basement. We sat on the couch and we were just watching a movie when he started touching my breasts. He turned my whole body away from the TV. I didn’t know why he was doing that. It felt like his hands were pawing these lumps that were attached to my front. Then the guy moved his hands up to my face and cupped my cheeks. It made my lips part open the way he pulled a little. I watched his face coming in toward mine. His eyes were closed and he pressed his lips down onto mine and all of a sudden from that cupping on my cheeks, he opened my mouth and his tongue pushed inside. He started licking around. It felt like his tongue was made of something plastic. I watched him like that, inside my face, and I knew that my tongue was licking his too. The guy’s face was swelling, his eyes were flat shut. It looked like he was having a really good dream. I slit my eyes and shifted them away. I didn’t want to see how he was liking this and I was not.

When I was finally alone back in my own bed that night, I kept thinking about the way that his face looked so close to mine, his hands on my tits, his tongue moving inside me. I knew that I never wanted that to happen again! I felt like a monster. I never wanted something like that to happen again. Because I thought: There is nothing on my body to touch.

I mean, who was I to let that guy touch me? I never said a thing when his hands squeezed my breasts. I didn’t say a word when his tongue left my throat. It felt like words gurgled up to my lips but those words disappeared when I swallowed. What would I have said? Would I have said please? Would I have said stop? Would I have said lick, suck, cat, dog or dream?

I remember how, afterward, I couldn’t even tell my friends that I’d kissed or made out, that a guy had touched my breasts. It was just me with myself, every night in my bed, saying you will never let that happen again. After a while, I guess, I felt fine keeping it inside me. But maybe when you never say a thing, your thoughts spread like mould.

See, I kept feeling ugly. And I let it happen again even though I said it never would.

I heard someone say that once a girl opens her legs she can never close them again. In my case that’s true.

I was dancing at a party in someone’s basement when I was in high school. We were all drinking whe

n it happened. I remember how my body felt thickened with juice. Only my breasts felt alive then, thrust out from my chest. They felt so good that I was jumping! I was gulping drink after drink, and all I wanted to do was move like that, feel my flesh shaking loose on my bones, my arms in the air. I started to push my tits into all those dancing people. I laugh at myself when I think of that night. See, I ended up going to the bathroom with this guy. I don’t exactly remember how we got there but I think he pulled me out of the crowd. I remember he said: I was watching you dance.

It was dark in the bathroom and it smelled like a wet plant. The door was locked. I really had to go pee but this guy was pressing me down by the shoulders until I was on my knees. The bones in my back pressed against the slick side of the toilet. That guy was pulling down his pants and he was holding my head with one hand so I wouldn’t move. He was calling my name but he was so far above me. I felt all this hair at my mouth. I didn’t think that was what it would feel like. He held himself and his body got bigger in my face. His hips started rocking. His thing that had no hair pushed into my lips. It was there on my tongue like a water balloon. My mouth had to really open. I wanted him to stop moving, just let me feel it for a second, just let me feel what it was like. But he slid it in my mouth until it felt too deep. I had to open my jaw and it hurt. I was ready for it to stop. But he was too tight with his hand on the back of my head. He kept horsing the thing and his hips in my face.

‘Please, please, please,’ he moaned. He sounded like a girl.

I started moaning too. I heard myself gag.

Then this strange sour cream flew into my throat, the guy’s grip went slack on the back of my head. I quickly yanked away and looked up. There was this flash where I saw his head reeling. But I knew he was happy, he kept saying my name, saying yes saying yes …

I sprang off my knees and I ran out of the bathroom. I ran up the stairs and ran out of the house. I was running and wiping that cream off my face. Racing home so fast that what I’d just done made itself known everywhere in my body. My heart felt like a twisted muscle.

I think I kept running after that night, I mean running to and from men. I only wanted to do things with them once. See, this is what I was trying to say to you right at the beginning, I mean why you’d probably call me a slut: because I started having sex all the time, just one time. I wanted to know what would happen with another guy and another guy when I was down on my knees, with a pulsing water balloon in my mouth. I started getting good at what I was doing too. I mean, hearing guys above me groaning, just like they were dying. I sucked everything coming through them; I sucked them to feel sex right in my mouth. Sucking their cocks for this feeling, too, but all the stuff that they were doing to me didn’t ever really feel like it was happening in my body. It’s what I was saying before – something was getting stuck inside me. Like the pleasure I was feeling was sticking up my throat, buzzing through my ribs. And when I swallowed, it was like there was this big pile of people at the bottom of me, all their limbs shooting out. I think I kept sucking dicks like crazy because I wanted so badly to plow through.

Something did burst for me eventually. I mean, I’d been fucking so much, always trying to feel myself more, and I think I fell in love. It’s hard for me to say that. Are you surprised to hear me say it too? You probably think that sluts don’t love. It’s true in a way, you know, sluts don’t love. But they can love flesh, so I guess they fall in love from having sex. Well, some girls can, I guess. I think I got more fucked up falling so hard for some guy through sex because I didn’t know how to suck a cock that I thought I was in love with. Trying to love this one felt like I had to jump in the centre of that twisted mound of people.

If I back up for a second, I’ll tell you more, because I want you to understand. See, through all my sucking and fucking, I thought that men’s hearts were in their cocks. I mean, that their cocks were the way that they loved. And so I was feeling their hearts by sucking them. This is the real beginning of what I wanted to tell you about.

When I met that one guy who I fell in love with, I sucked his cock better than I’d ever sucked anyone’s before. I lay my head on his stomach and I put him into me endlessly. It was simple at first, because I finally felt like what I was doing with my body was right: I had all this longing for sucking the life out of men, and now here was a life that I finally wanted.

But you know what happened? This guy didn’t notice. I mean, I was sucking his heart the best that I could and he didn’t even care! It wasn’t like I expected him to fall in love with me because of my sucking. I know you probably think that I think that and so you think right away I’m a fool – but all I’m really asking right now is: how do you have sex with someone you’re in love with?

I couldn’t look this man in the eyes. When we fucked I looked down at his cock coming in. I looked there so hard my sight blurred. His cock poked and pressed into the place where I wanted to feel myself most, but all I felt like doing was crying after sex because somehow I knew I was letting slip what I couldn’t even see. I mean that the feeling I wanted was slipping away without my even feeling it. I was fucking and fucking him and nothing was staying. I always came back to this guy’s body for more, to grab what I felt that I already missed.

I bet if you could’ve cut me in half right then, you would’ve been able to see what was making me cry. Do you believe me? Has this ever happened to you? The feeling that you’re sprouting something so disgusting and it only comes out around the person you are in love with? I wish I could explain this even more to you but I’d have to squeeze you up and throw you back into my body when I was feeling this way. I swear you’d never have come out of me alive! It was like there were these tight, pimpled lumps in my stomach. I had flushed cheeks on the outside, but I was rotting on the inside. I was trying to love this person who didn’t love me back. That man had some kind of lust for me, sure, but I knew it wasn’t serious. I was just a puppet sucking his dick – one who would’ve split open her tongue to serve him better!

Maybe you can already see it so perfectly, how everything I thought was so wrong – how this was not love, how I was perverting the word by even calling what I was doing that. But I just had no experience with this kind of thing. Go ahead if you want, be disgusted with me. I know it must look bad. Having sex with this guy turned into a nightmare, it became the very worst that it had ever been for me. I couldn’t stop sucking, I couldn’t relax. My body was rigid. My lips didn’t kiss. Sex with this guy was like digging a hole. I was watching us do it, watching us dig. And I wanted more of it and more of it until I thought I could see our dark holes matching up. It was leg striking leg, it was cock into cunt. I was so deep in the mud with this guy that I knew: we are the same. But I thought the man didn’t see that! He didn’t understand. And so I couldn’t do a thing. I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t fuck and I couldn’t run away.