It was the first time you were about to take off your clothes in front of someone.
You were nervous, unsure and naive.
You were only seventeen.
He needed assurance that you really love him.
Surely there are a lot of ways, but he was desperate.
You two were sitting in his bed where his family members downstairs had no idea, you were sitting with your crumbling knees and tattered decisions.
You said no once.
You said no twice.
He said he loves you and will never leave you.
You wondered how he fitted the words you longed to hear in a single sentence.
You fell, you let him take off you shirt and un-clip your brassiere. You let him inside you.
You were so afraid, so in pain. It was your first time.
He was thrusting so fast until friction made him explode.
He collapsed on the other side of the bed, satisfied.
You're still shaking. Still in pain. You knew everything was no longer the same.
You said your condolences to your innocence.
You went home, letting what happened sink.
But you enjoyed the pleasure.
You started to seek for that feeling.
He taught you everything but he never told you again that he loved you.
Never.
His bed became your home.
Twice or thrice a week you let him climb into your body until he grew tired of you.
He was no longer excited.
He was no longer into you.
Your body became an instrument that was ruined by his pressures.
He began searching for someone new.
Someone who could arouse his needs like how you did before.
Now, all you have is yourself, laying wide awake in the cracked silence.
Missing his touch and kisses.
Missing his entireness.
You cried so hard until your chest broke.
You knew since day one, since the day he asked you to take off your clothes for the first time,
He wanted to have sex with you.
Just sex.
While all you ever wanted....
was to make love.
