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Fucked Up College Kids File 329
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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Losing It
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Nervous fingers clumsy undid the first few buttons on my jeans, exposing
untouched skin. Slowly I laid down on the large cold metal chair, in the
corner of the room and shut my eyes....mentally preparing myself for what
was about to happen. I felt him, inching closer, my body now tense with a
mixture of fear and anticipation. His breath against my navel, icy like a
cold winters night, sent shivers racing down my spine. Desperately I fought
to silence the voices screaming in my mind ...YES!..NO!...STOP!...GO!
I heard his voice, "Relax this will only hurt for a minute, and its
smooth sailing from there". I tried to concentrate on the low buzzing
sound that seemed to be amplified by the four white walls. I stuck in what
became my self-induced prison. A surge of pain rushed through me with the
fierceness of a lighting bolt. To late for second thoughts......
FUCK...FUCK...FUCK
He was in and continued to jab his instrument into my skin. Breaking the
thin barrier that separated us, realizing a drop of blood that slowly
trickled down my inner thigh. He insisted on rambling trying to make
light of the situation. I refused to smile, or even budge, the fear of
moving and distorting what was happening kept me firmly in place. I
became his canvas, submissive to the sting of his touch.
After listening to the tick-tok of my wrist watch for what seemed to be
an eternity (in reality it was only forty minutes), it was over. A thick
creamy white gel covered my wound of tainted purity.
I stood up and buckled my jeans with a new found confidence. Walking
out of that room a new-found freedom spread through me faster then
the plague, I felt as if I could fly, the only thing that kept me grounded
was the pain I still carried, a badge of experience. Walking through
the streets of the east village, I wondered how many others shared my secret.
Stained innocence a small price to pay for the orgasmic mixture of pleasure and
pain I felt at that moment.
Although defiance is a drug more addicting then heroin; I prayed my
mother wouldn't find out. I could hear her saying, "Nice girls don't do
things like that." Standing in my room with the full moon my only
companion, I got undressed and removed the bloody napkin from my hip.
Slowly unveiling the blue rose that had become a permanent part of me.
-bluerose
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