About 4:00am on Saturday September 16, 2017
“You’ve got a hit to finish,” he laughs as I hold the pipe out to him. It was in the amber of that moment that I knew I was going to become one of those sad numbers. I smile and nod, bringing the pipe back to my mouth, exhaling all the air from my lungs, and wrap my lips around the mouthpiece, slowly taking in a deep breath. Once I saw the smoke fade from the end of the pipe, I pull my mouth back, holding my breath, laughing a little as he watches me. “Damn,” he says, “what an expert.” My mouth opens, but no smoke comes out as I hand the pipe back to him.
I stand with my arms folded over my chest, shifting my weight from foot to foot as I feel all the energy in my body flowing through me like a river, my body seeming to vibrate at a new frequency. The current moving through me feels almost overpowering and standing seems difficult. “I need to sit,” I said suddenly, glancing over at him on the sink.
He stands up quickly, “You can sit here.” I feel my head moving, but I couldn’t tell you for sure if my head was actually moving or not, nothing felt real, like I was a speck of stardust floating through space, which isn’t an entirely crazy thing to think considering that’s kinda what we are.
My eyes move around the beige bathroom, looking for a place to sit. For a moment I consider sitting on the floor only to remember how dirty bathroom floors are and I voice that thought to him. “Do you wanna go for a walk?” he asks, walking to the door and opening it. “We could go to my car.”
When you’re really stoned, you get paranoid, I’m not an exception to this. He just wants to get me away from people. I can’t fight him, he’s a solid 300 pounds at least and he’s 6’4, I don’t have a chance in hell against him. Stay in the bathroom.
Under the sink I see a white bucket, and for some reason I can’t explain, I walk over, bend down and pick it up. “Ew, put that down,” he says, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind as he takes a step back.
“Nature’s Touch,” I read off the bucket, “that’s kinda weird. Like what does nature’s touch even feel like?” For a few moments I stare at the bucket in my hand, squinting at it like I was the cop in some shitty tv show and this bucket is trying to convince me it didn’t kill it’s wife. “Why am I holding this?” A soft laugh escaped me as I set the bucket back down under the sink. “I need to wash my hands now.” He laughs.
As I pull my wet hands from the sink, I turn to him standing in the doorway, waiting for me to finish so we could leave, and I start telling him about a TED Talk I watched on how to dry your hands. Just to spare the five minute conversation I had, explaining a three minute long video, you wash your hands, shake them twelve times, (because there’s twelve of everything,) fold your napkin in half and then dry your hands.
After sharing this import piece of insight, I walk away from the door, “I need to sit,” I say again, slowly leaning against the sink. My body is erupting in a sea of tingling and my mouth is so dry. My body feels heavy, like I’m forcibly being held to earth. I bring my hand to my chin as I think, but I couldn’t tell you what exactly I was thinking about, I was being thrown through a sea of thoughts, the universe was flowing through my mind with a force that could take down a country. “Why is my hand up here?” I laugh, “I’m not an old dude in a painting.”
“Nah, it’s cute,” he says, smiling as he takes a step closer to me.
“Things would be so much different if we went back in time and were the dudes that “knew things.”” I say, putting air quotes around, “knew things.”
He stops walking and nods, looking into the corner of the bathroom, “Yeah.”
We sit quietly for a few moments, thinking our own versions of how things could be different. My idea included Jim Carrey as one of the first presidents.
A few more minutes go by and I bring my fingers to my lips, poking them gently, somewhat confused by the new sensation. “My lips are tingly,” I say, more so to myself than anything and once the words leave my mouth, I know I fucked up.
“Want me to help with that?” he asks, walking towards me. I open my mouth to say something, but the words don’t come out, just a weird little sound, the start of something I didn’t know how to finish. Before I knew it, his lips were on mine and I was slowly pulling my head back, but he kept getting closer. My head presses against the mirror behind me as he kisses me, hungrily kissing down my neck, his coarse hair scraping against my cheek as his lips move down my chest. He pulls back for a moment, pulling my yellow plaid over shirt off me and leaving it on the sink before returning his lips to my neck and chest.
As he touches my body, I just sit there, my arms still raised from touching my lips a few moments ago; they lightly press against him as he moves closer to me. I close my eyes, not wanting to look at him because it would make it all feel real again. His hands move to the bottom of my tank top, pulling it off over my head and dropping it on the floor next to him before starting to take off my bra. It takes him a minute to get it off, “Way to kill the moment,” he laughs to himself, fumbling with the hooks a second longer before he pulls my bra off and drops it on top of my shirt.
You know what’s happening, right? He’s going to have sex with you and you’re not doing anything to stop it. Why aren’t you doing anything? You wanted this, right? You knew when you agreed to smoke with a practical stranger that you’d be putting yourself in a vulnerable position and you knew that guys take advantage of that sometimes; so why did you come down here? It’s your fault. No one is going to have sympathy for a girl who practically gave herself away. You aren’t pushing him away, you’re not telling him to stop, you’re just letting this happen. It’s your fault.
My thoughts are interrupted when I feel him pull away from me. For a second, I open my eyes and watch as he takes off his shirt, dropping it on the floor before starting to undo my shorts, pulling them down with my peach colored panties. He pulls me to my feet and pulls down my shorts and panties, I lightly lean against him to keep from falling, letting the fabric rest around my ankles as he lifts me back onto the sink. Slowly my eyes close again and his lips move down my chest, sucking on my left nipple as he pushes a couple fingers into my vagina.
Tampon. There’s a tampon in there and his fingers. That’s not safe, right? He’s not taking it out, why? It needs to come out, but I can’t do anything. You need to do something. You need help. Gus and Sam, what would they think? I need them. I need someone to help me. I don’t know what to do.
He takes a small step back as he pulls down his pants and takes off his shoes before pulling the clothes off from around my ankles, my flip flops falling off with them. It’s about to happen. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? I look at him for a moment before looking over at the door. It’s not even closed all the way. Someone could walk in on this. Do you think they’d stop it if they saw what was happening or would they just walk away?
His cock pushes into my vagina as my body scoots back, my ass resting in the sink as he starts to thrust into me. My back presses into the faucet of the sink, the water turning on for a moment before he shifts my body slightly so it turns back off. I hold my eyes closed, feeling my mind slowly starting to fade into nothing, disconnecting from the moment as much as possible. It’s like there’s a thin layer between us, like I can feel his hands grabbing my ass and breasts, his lips and hair pressed against me, but it doesn’t feel real.
After a couple minutes, he lifts me off the sink and turns me away from him, lightly pushing my back down, so I stand in front of him with my hands flat on the floor by my feet. He smacks my ass before pushing his cock back inside me and starts to thrust. My legs feel weak as I try to keep from falling, my whole body shaking as his hips move.
I slowly get on my hands and knees, afraid of falling if I don’t. “You wanna go down?” he says, getting on his knees behind me, my legs pressed together between his as his cock presses against my ass for a moment as he tries to shove it into my vagina again. Once he’s in, he thrusts like a metronome at a moderate, steady pace, breathing heavily as he holds onto my hips.
The tampon is still in there, right? You’re gonna have to get that out. What if it gets wedged inside and you can’t get it out? Do you know if he put a condom on or not? I don’t think he did. Is he going to cum inside me? What if I get pregnant? What if I get an STD or something? It’s your fault, you asked for this so you shouldn’t be complaining. I’m so stupid.
He pulls out of me and I get down on my elbows, resting my head on my arms as I focus on my breathing. A moment goes by before I feel something wet on my ass. It comes in a few big squirts, dripping down my body as he cums on me. My eyes open and my body shakes lightly, or at least I think it did, it could have just been the pot, and the gravity of the situation hits me. Is what just happened wrong? It feels wrong, but it’s my fault, I brought it on myself. Would it be okay if this happened to someone else? No, it wouldn’t be okay, none of that would be okay. This feels different though, this is my fault so I shouldn’t be upset, but I can’t help it, he’s staring at me, I can feel it.
“Are you okay?” he asks. Am I? After what just happened, how am I meant to feel? It doesn’t matter, just stand up and get dressed.
“Y-yeah,” I say, sitting up for a minute before slowly pulling myself to my feet. He offers me his hand, but I ignore it as I stand and walk to the paper towels. I grab a few and wipe as much of the cum off of me as I can, trying not to look at him as I watch from the corner of my eye as he stares at me.
After tossing the napkins in the trash, I pick up my shorts and panties, pulling them on before picking my phone up from the sink and putting it in my back pocket. The least you can do is make sure he doesn’t steal your phone too; mom would be pissed and you’d have a real hard time explaining how you lost your phone without telling her about this.
I pick up my bra and put it on, ignoring him as he looks at me. “What’s that?” he says, walking towards me, lightly touching the cuts on my waist from last week. “You’re not…”
“No, it’s nothing.” I say, pulling on my tank top.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” I say as I pick up my plaid overshirt from the sink, trying to find the arm holes.
“Sorry I got your shirt wet,” he says, laughing a little as he watches me.
I shake my head as I put it on and glance up at him, “It’s fine,” I say softly, picking up my keys and putting my flip flops back on. He’s already dressed again by the time I finish, with his pack of cigarettes in his hand, the rest of his stuff in his pockets.
We walk out of the bathroom to the door and he looks at me, smiling, sweat rolling down his forehead, “It was nice meeting you,” he says, taking a step forward and kissing me before starting to walk away, “Bye.”
I stand there, listening as he walks out the door, and I wait until I hear the door close before peaking my head out from around the corner to check if he was gone, which he was. After a moment, I start to walk back up stairs, knowing I have to be quiet, afraid of waking anyone up. Nobody can know about this. It’ll be fine, take a shower and try to forget about it.