Your cock is beautiful – 29

“Look, I gave you a hickey.” she said, smiling.

I looked down at my chest, near my collar bone, and found that she had.

“Oh yeah,” I said, rubbing my finger along the mark, “You bit me there when you came.”

“Sorry.” she said, but her wide grin made me doubt that she meant it.

I smiled at her, and for a small moment everything was good.

But then her expression shifted, and she looked away again.

“What is it?” I asked automatically, immediately uncertain if I even wanted to know.

“Nothing.” she said, forcing a smile.

I sighed. I didn’t even know what I wanted any more. Did I want her to share herself with me, or just to shut up and deal with it on her own? I frowned, wishing yet again that we didn’t have the history that we had, wishing that things were simpler.

But now that I’d seen that expression, I couldn’t just ignore it.

“Was that a lie?” I asked.

She looked shocked and opened her mouth to protest, but after a few seconds closed it and looked down sadly.

“Yeah.” she said.

She rested her cheek against my chest, not looking at me. I gave her a few seconds of silence. We both knew that it was coming, whatever it was.

“Say it.” I ordered it eventually.

“Do you still hate me?” she asked quickly.

She didn’t sound angry when she asked this. She didn’t sound accusing either, or offended.

She sounded tired.

And I immediately knew the answer. Despite everything we’d been through in the past few months… despite everything… I still couldn’t let go of all that had happened before. I found my mind wandering to a few key incidents, things I’d tried hard to forget.

Things she’d done that had gone beyond mockery and taunting..

And the one time even she knew that she’d crossed the line, when her senseless cruelty reached its peak.

How can you just let things like that go? Even if it meant losing what we had now, whatever that was, how could I just forget?

So, did I still hate her? Honestly?

“Yeah.” I said.

She didn’t react at first. I think she knew it was coming.

“Ok.” she said in a small, broken voice. “I can live with that, I think. I don’t need you to care about me.”

I had no response to this. I wasn’t expecting it.

“I always tell you that I love you… ” she said, “And I only keep saying it because I keep finding new reasons for it to be true… but you’ve never said it back. It used to bother me, but when I was away I realized that I don’t need you to say it back. I don’t need you to love me. As long as I’m… as long as I’m yours.”

She slid her arms down my sides and lifted herself up. She leaned closer to me, and lowered her voice even more.

“And I don’t care what other girls you sleep with… or if you want to date Becky, or anyone else. I don’t care if you want to get a real girlfriend and go on actual dates.” she said, her voice getting heavy with emotion. “Because you don’t belong to me… I belong to you. And as long as that’s still true, then everything else is just… inconsequential.”

She bit her lip, then leaned forward to kiss me, but when she got close I gripped her jaw and held her in place.

“Do you really mean that?” I asked.

She tried to nod, but couldn’t move her head.

“Yes.” she said. “Yes Sir.”

I frowned. I didn’t even know what to think about this. This should have made me happy, but it sounded like she was giving up. Giving up on the idea that I would ever make her my girlfriend, that I’d ever treat her as an equal. She was submitting to me once again, but it sounded like it was breaking her heart.

She pulled away, and lay down against me again.

“I know it’s…ugh, it’s pathetic, but it’s how I feel.” she said, equal parts sadness and self-loathing. “This doesn’t have to be anything more than… whatever it is. I don’t blame you for feeling like that. We’ve never talked about it, but we both know I more than deserve it. I can’t expect you to forgive me.”

This should have been music to my ears, but I couldn’t handle any more of this, of her shame and self-hatred. I had no power to change how I felt about her, but I still wanted to help. For some stupid, nonsensical reason, I didn’t want the woman I hated to hate herself too.

“It’s not pathetic.” I said.

She laughed disdainfully.

“No, it kinda is. I’m just telling a guy that I don’t care if he loves me or not, and that I just want to keep having sex with him.” she said, as if explaining it to a child, “I’m a slut.”

The derision in her voice when she said the word “slut” surprised me.

“That’s not real though. You only think that because of… you know, cultural stuff.” I said.

“What?” she asked.

I frowned at my choice of words, and tried to marital my weary thoughts into something more coherent.

“Look… we live in a culture that tells women that love is the most important thing in the world. The idea is that men put up with romance in exchange for sex, and that women do the opposite.” I said, “You, as a woman, are taught that actually wanting sex is wrong, and shameful, yet it’s perfectly fine for me to want it because I’m a man.”

“Well, yeah.” she said dismissively, “That’s the double standard.”

I sighed and sat up, trying to delay my need for sleep. She moved with me until she was sitting across my lap. I pulled the blanket around us and settled in.

“Exactly.” I said, “It’s a double standard. The problem is that for some reason you still believe it.”

She cocked her head at me, seeming genuinely curious.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t have to let other people tell you what to feel.” I said, “If you recognise that the shame you’re feeling is nothing more than the result of an illogical, bullshit rule, then you should be able to understand that the shame itself is illogical… and bullshit.”

“It’s not really that simple…” she said, frowning.

“But it is.” I said, “We’re all taught that what our society says is right or wrong is so Goddamn important, but the thing is that our society is almost always wrong about things like this.”

“You’re saying the basic morality of our society is just wrong?” She challenged me.

“When it comes to women and sex, yes.” I said. “Women used to be considered basically the property of their husbands. You couldn’t even vote until like a hundred years ago for fuck’s sake. Western culture doesn’t know shit about what is or isn’t good behavior when it comes to women. It’s all just patch-work bullshit made up of outdated moralities and sloppy adjustments to rapid cultural changes.”

I shook my head, realizing I was getting off topic.

“The point is, when it comes to sex, you and I basically grew up in two completely different countries.” I said, “As a man, our culture taught me that sex is something I should look forward to, and have lots of when I’m an adult, whereas you where taught that it’s something to be feared, something you have to avoid as much as you can or else be seen as a slut.”

“But I am a slut.” she said, angrily. “I come over here whenever I can knowing that you’re going to fuck me. I’m a horny, disgusting slut.”

Her words surprised me, and confused me. My views on sex, just like with most things I knew at that point, were based on what I’d read on the internet. The people I’d talked to, and the things I’d read there had really influenced my personal morality.

To me, the idea that sex between two consenting adults could be considered shameful in any way was as archaic as the idea that we should be waiting until marriage, or that a woman’s place was at home with the kids while the man has to work. Just old, obviously outdated notions.

I’d never felt a single trace of guilt towards my activities Mia. I mean, guilt about whether or not I was dominating her properly, or hurting her too much, yes. Guilt about keeping it from my sister, yes. Guilt about having to ignore Mia’s love for me because I didn’t feel the same way… yeah.

But never about the actual sex.