Little Cat. Tamara Faith Berger
wanna fuck you,’ the guy said. ‘Come back up.’
I saw the guy’s stretched-out neck. I wanted him to fuck me too. I pressed my breasts into his legs. The sky looked so large and so black that I felt like I could fly underneath it.
The man raised my dress as I climbed him. My naked ass was exposed and I felt it clench in his hands. Then he slipped his palm through my thighs and put two of his fingers inside me. I was so wet down there, dripping. I tried to squeeze his fingers up me but I didn’t have time. He was poking my cunt like a madman.
‘Let me do it, just like this, let me feel you, lemme fuck you, just for a second, just for a second.’
My thighs were splitting and I started to shiver. I was rocking back and forth, my whole pelvis in his hand. My pussy was sticking to his fingers like a leech. I wanted to fuck, to feel his cock just like this, his skin on my skin. I wanted to plug up my hole, feel his whole naked part up my whole naked centre. I wanted to jolt myself, fuck myself, make myself cum. My hands went to the guy’s chest. I wanted my fists to pound until I hurt him.
It was like I was stuck. I knew where I was and I knew what I was going to do.
‘Get a condom. Come on!’
The man reached down. I couldn’t look at what he was doing. My face was turned up toward the sky. We were pressing back into the fence. I was swallowing hard. I couldn’t stop now. I felt the man’s bone pressing up in my thighs, he was bending his knees. I was trying to stop myself from moaning too loud. My lower body felt like it was going to flare open. Then he pushed up so hard that it shocked me. My legs went all locked. My mouth filled up with air. He was lifting me up, right from the ground. It was like my cunt lips were sliding out of my body, growing, and I thought I heard men laughing again. I squeezed my legs, clipped so tight, we were fucking and rocking back into the fence. I tried to shift myself more and more in his hands, move with his thrusting – god, he was in me …
It was all going too fast, I couldn’t keep up. The man was gripping my hips, his head to the sky. Still stabbing, he opened, lips unfurled, eyes jacked wide, his temples were beating all over his face. I held his shoulders, our lips almost came together, and I clamped my hands on his head: you’re beautiful you’re beautiful you’re beautiful. Then he made this noise like a tied-up dog. Still pounding and thumping, his knuckles dug into the sides of my ass. I knew it was over. My breathing sounded almost like crying.
I started to stretch my legs toward the ground and his cock slipped out of me. His shoulders came down. The guy was prying me off his body too fast and I fell in front of the fence. I wasn’t steady. My arms reached back to find something to hold on to. I just wanted to lie down – it was over, all over, I wanted to go home.
I saw the condom crumpled up on the gravel beside me, there was cream shimmering on the top. My skirt was still hitched at my hips. I was just sitting there, panting. I wanted to go home. I heard the man zipping up his pants. People were coming out of the bar and starting their cars. I straightened my skirt and got up. The man looked around. I knew that he was ready to go. I could barely move my legs to walk. All I could think was over and over: Am I safe? Am I safe? Am I safe?
I bet you think I’d have deserved it if I got a disease that night. You’d say I was just being a dumb slut walking around all tarted up and having sex with a stranger in a parking lot. You’d say that, or you’d think it at least. But you don’t really know why I do it. I’m not hooked on danger or anything like that. And of course I don’t want to get a disease. It’s just that there are times where I don’t see what’s safe before losing my footing. It’s that feeling of falling, I mean, falling into someone’s strangeness – there is no way around it for me. It’s like I walk into someone in sex and I know: I am losing parts of my body in this, my body dissolving, my body for his … Following, falling, fucking like that, until every split second of being open wraps around me. My flesh looms so close and so large in this light. When I can have sex with a stranger my body is filled to its ends with these kinds of murmurs:
I need your cock to touch my cunt.
I need us naked for only one second.
I need us forever to be here forever.
I have always had to feel myself like I’ve never felt myself before. The very first time it ever happened, I was young, maybe seven years old. It was late at night when I was put into bed with a boy. It was just the two of us, under the covers, completely awake. We stared for so long at each other, until his eyes felt like my eyes in buzzing grey light, until our breathing turned fast. The places between our legs became opening and shining.
I remember how we went toward each other, really slow, like we were moving through water. We got so close to each other’s faces. Then we moved at the same time down each other, until his face was at my thighs and my face was at his. He lifted my nightgown, I pulled down his underwear. We stared at each other down there. His mouth pressed the line that was beating between my legs. My lips touched so light on his animal skin. His penis looked like a bloom I’d never seen open. I thought I was staring at the softest, warmest thing in the world. He was putting his lips on my vagina. We stayed together like that all night.
When I remembered much later what I’d done with that boy, it felt like the worst kind of secret. I had this cold wind racing from my head to my stomach every time I saw in my head how I’d touched and kissed him, over and over, and how I’d been touched and kissed down there over and over … I didn’t want that boy to remember what we’d done. I wanted to think that it never even happened. See, I didn’t understand how I could’ve already been touched down there. I had never even touched myself down there. I couldn’t stop feeling my face stuck in that black and warm place between his thighs. The whole thing between us kept playing in my head in slow motion. I couldn’t get it out. What happened between me and the boy was tying me up so tightly that I couldn’t fall asleep without thinking about it.
When I was around twelve, there was a guy who started liking me. He was a few years older than me and he invited me over to his house. He took me down to his basement. We sat on the couch and we were just watching a movie when he started touching my breasts. He turned my whole body away from the TV. I didn’t know why he was doing that. It felt like his hands were pawing these lumps that were attached to my front. Then the guy moved his hands up to my face and cupped my cheeks. It made my lips part open the way he pulled a little. I watched his face coming in toward mine. His eyes were closed and he pressed his lips down onto mine and all of a sudden from that cupping on my cheeks, he opened my mouth and his tongue pushed inside. He started licking around. It felt like his tongue was made of something plastic. I watched him like that, inside my face, and I knew that my tongue was licking his too. The guy’s face was swelling, his eyes were flat shut. It looked like he was having a really good dream. I slit my eyes and shifted them away. I didn’t want to see how he was liking this and I was not.
When I was finally alone back in my own bed that night, I kept thinking about the way that his face looked so close to mine, his hands on my tits, his tongue moving inside me. I knew that I never wanted that to happen again! I felt like a monster. I never wanted something like that to happen again. Because I thought: There is nothing on my body to touch.
I mean, who was I to let that guy touch me? I never said a thing when his hands squeezed my breasts. I didn’t say a word when his tongue left my throat. It felt like words gurgled up to my lips but those words disappeared when I swallowed. What would I have said? Would I have said please? Would I have said stop? Would I have said lick, suck, cat, dog or dream?
I remember how, afterward, I couldn’t even tell my friends that I’d kissed or made out, that a guy had touched my breasts. It was just me with myself, every night in my bed, saying you will never let that happen again. After a while, I guess, I felt fine keeping it inside me. But maybe when you never say a thing, your thoughts spread like mould.
See, I kept feeling ugly. And I let it happen again even though I said it never would.
I heard someone say that once a girl opens her legs she can never close them again. In my case that’s true.
I was dancing at a party in someone’s