Clean… (prompt)

 

At first sight, he was bigger than me. He was taller and much wider. But a 16 year old boy has that effect on you when you’re 7 years old.

He was my first love. He was my first everything. I was obsessed without knowing what it meant to be obsessed. And it started the night he interrupted my sleep during a sleep over.

He fought my onesie off and he fucked me. I never knew that love was so painful. He fucked me until he felt better. I took on his hurt. I took on his pain. He was just another black man who was afraid of being who he was. He passed that seed on to me and soon I will carry it until I was able to pass it to another black man.

I washed him off of me. 17 years later and I can still smell him on my body. His moans grew louder in my ear. His thrusts still deep in my hips. His heart was still beating with mine. His eyes were still lost in my memory. He became a sea of others who soon would thrust my hips. As much as I washed him off of me and tried to replace his thrusts with others, I would never shake him.

“Keith.” Her voice was distant.

“Keith…” Closer now. She seemed so far away at once. I didn’t understand her words.

“Where were you just now?” Dr.G asked. I was gone for a minute. I remembered that night. I must have tried to wash the blood from my anus all night. I cried silently hoping that my mother and father wouldn’t see or notice.

Days later, he’d break my heart after fucking me again, then punching me in the face and calling me a faggot.

“I’M NOT GAY.” He was my first complicated relationship for a  7 year old. He fucked me and punched me around and yet I wanted him to love me.

“You faggot.” He laughed after punching me. We sat in his living room. His folks outside, drinking with my folks. He stood over me and slapped me. I cried. He took his dick out and shoved into my mouth. He slapped me when he felt my teeth. He choked me when I cried too loud.

“If you don’t do it right, you will really get it.” He said. I tried to stop crying, wiping my tears clean from my face and I took him into my mouth. Then another slap across my face. I cried.. He pinned me down inching my pants down. He spat in my ass and force himself in me. I cried from the pain. He laughed and groaned. I yelled. He hit me to keep me from crying.He shoved my face into the sofa pillows. I felt my spirit leave my body. He took me. I screamed until I felt it was pointless. His thrusts grew violent and fast until he finished in me. Then a foul smell as he pulled out… He cussed… He punched me in the head.

I sat shaken. sad. hurt and in so much pain.

I must wash him away…

Years later, others would use my body as a punching bag and a human fleshlight. I’d tried so many nights to wash them away.

I was never clean enough…

I will never be clean.img_7933

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2 Comments Add yours

  1. youngplum says:

    And this, my friend, is the power of writing.

    Communicating our experiences in the deepest and most authentic way possible, uncovering ourselves so honestly, that when revealed, others see themselves.

    beautiful job. It isn’t easy to tap into those places and create writing like that.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank You for this…… It means a lot coming from someone whose work I enjoy and admire..

      I felt a lot better after writing this piece because it was so liberating.

      Like

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