Joelene

Blood on the sheets.

Goosebumps on my flesh.

Eric lay asleep beside me.

I was burning up.

Like someone poured hot water there.

I was spent.

I could hardly move.

I'd ridden all day.

Not just horses you see.

And all I kept seeing

as I lay on the crumpled sheets

was Eric's open mouth,

rough hands on my waist,

hot breath on my face.

As he panted and panted.

But I couldn't shake off

the uneasiness of what I'd done.

Eric rolled on his side

and pulled me into his arms.

He lay his head on my chest;

it was heavy.

And I asked:

"Eric? Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes." He said

in a sleepy voice.

Then I asked next:

"Would you do it again?"

Silence.

Then...

"Ah, maybe..."

Youth was a weapon.

Youth was a weapon.

"Okay. There are plenty

of boys out there anyway..."

I murmured, half-sourly.

Because I knew it'd work.

He propped his head up.

"What? What was that?"

And I started to giggle.

"No, repeat that!"

He laughed, tickling my sides.

"Repeat it, repeat it!"

I squirmed

and kicked

and chuckled like a hyena.

And he was laughing too.

Sweat on his nose,

his eyes friskily wide.

And in that moment.

Let me tell you,

he was worth the sin.

Then I said:

"you heard it!"

And he said:

"no, I didn't, repeat."

His voice was chopped

'cause he was romping.

And when he didn't get an answer

that didn't involve teeth and mischief,

he put himself between my legs,

kiss my lips.

Hard then slow,

then hard again.

And in no time,

I couldn't feel the guilt anymore.

It left.

Along with the hot water.