Sex buddy in Deep gap North Carolina

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You looked like Doogie Howser and you were the reason I stopped begging Mama to let me stay home from church. Mama needed me there as proof that she was a godly woman now. I wanted to go because you were there. You were there because your daddy was a deacon. Always wary of Mama, he remembered what she claimed those teachers did to her back when they were school children together—held her down in the math room after school and took their turns with her.

She crawled home with bruises and bloody underwear. One lying, year-old daughter of a millworker is easier to rebuke than three affluent rapists, so that's how justice was decided. Mama was sent away to a girls' school. By the time she moved back home 30 years later, she had lost custody of two children, married three times, and had me. Your daddy never left home. He married a local girl who remembered my mama, too. They owned a pawn shop, so you always had the coolest toys: video games, stereos, the acid-washed jean jacket, and eventually, a Shelby GT.

I wondered if you had a computer, too and imagined you using it to write a journal. Your toys gave you stories; stories about nights out with your boys and nights in with your girls. I could stare at you for days and listen to you tell them.

I did stare at you, and you saw me. Later, you'd use it as your defense.

Sex buddy in Deep gap North Carolina

You said you didn't even like me, because I stared. You said that was weird. But before then, you'd use my stares as your invitation. You told me to meet you in the church basement. Hidden away in an abandoned Sunday school room, you stationed me at the door and told me to watch for people. But there were no other people, except for that one time that Paul—slight and effeminate Paul—came downstairs. He quickly left when he saw me peeking at him from around a door frame.

You whispered right into my ear, so close that the wind of your breath gave me goosebumps. Paul is a fag. Your fingers were already sliding around inside my white cotton panties, and my knees could not be trusted. If your arms weren't holding me up, I would have been on the ground. For months, we met in the forgotten, dark rooms under the church and though it was always the same, I never grew bored. It happened once on the church bus, too. That was the only time you asked me to touch yours in return. I did, as best I could, through your zippered jeans.

Later that night you told me you didn't know why you bothered; I was no good. But you changed your mind.

Sex buddy in Deep gap North Carolina

Spring came, and the youth group went camping at Kerr Scott Dam. I sat beside you in the dark while you fished, and you decided to give me another chance. You reached into the plastic cup of fat, juicy nightcrawlers and baited your hook. You cast with both hands, then invited me to sit between your legs. I held your fishing pole while your dirty fingers penetrated me right out there on the grassy bank, night time our only cover.

You nipped on my ear and blew in my hair and I came. I came so hard I thought I peed on your hand and that you would be disgusted with me. Maybe you never noticed, because once everybody else was asleep, you came to get me from my tent and took me for a walk in the woods. I don't know how far or which direction we were from camp, but you found a clearing and you laid down that acid-washed jean jacket on the ground.

Did you tell me what to do? Did I just know? I could not spread my legs very far because my pajama pants were still bunched around my ankles. And I don't even know if you ever made it inside of me. You lay on top, but there was no tingling, hot madness between my legs like there had been.

Sex buddy in Deep gap North Carolina

Eventually you got up, zipped your pants, and told me to get off your jacket. You didn't speak to me again. When I realized that you never would, I wrote about us in my journal. I didn't have a computer, just a notebook with a useless lock. I did not mention your dirty fingers or all the times you stuck them inside of me. I wrote nothing of your fishing pole or your jacket or the thrill I didn't feel.

Jeff and I went all the way. You would not talk to me and I needed tangible proof of us. Seeing it in black and white did that for me. But writing it down did other things, too. There is power in the written word, and power in the wrong hands is devastating. I didn't know why Mama spent all day cleaning the house, but when she was finished, she told me to get dressed up.

Wear church clothes. When I came out of my room, the preacher and your mama and daddy were standing in my living room, looking serious. I was sent to the basement, where I tried to eavesdrop from a heating vent. The bass of the preacher's voice carried, but I couldn't understand the words. I went to the upright piano and played over and over the only song I knew by heart. In my low, untrained alto, I sang along. It's me, it's me, oh Lord, standing in the need of prayer.

Not my brother or my sister, but it's me oh Lord, standing in the need of prayer.

Sex buddy in Deep gap North Carolina

When our company left and I was allowed back into my own living room, my mother told me how badly I embarrassed her. Your mama had laughed at my mama's face. Like mother, like daughter. Their year-old son could not have done that thing to me, her year-old daughter. You were revolted by me because I stared at you. My mama started those rumors about you, but Goddammit, they were about me, too. We had sex, but I wasn't your victim. I was Mama's, and now I think maybe you were, too.

I don't know why my mama stayed a member of that hellfire and damnation Baptist church after she told my secret, but she never dragged me back, and I didn't ask to go. You were wrong about Paul, though. He is not a fag. I saw him again when he showed up at my mama's funeral. He volunteered when we needed another pallbearer. Did you know that preacher buried my mama and daddy right up there in that same church cemetery where he buried your daddy, overlooking the Deep Gap of our childhood?

A couple of years after I gave you my virginity—and that's what happened, you didn't take it—my mama told me that your daddy had been arrested. I didn't know what fencing was, but it delighted me that your flesh-and-blood didn't get away with something. And a few years after that, she showed me the newspaper article about you and your three buddies going to the Gulf to fight in Bush's war.

I told her that I hoped you died there. She then told me what we both knew to be true—I am not a good Christian. That was almost 30 years ago, and you've been on my mind. Long after your face and your name were gone, I still looked for you in every boy I ever dated, hoping not to find you.

And I became you every single time I fucked without love.

Sex buddy in Deep gap North Carolina

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