Page 14 of Beneath the Scars
Michael
Irepetitively click my pen, rereading my most recent journal entry. I’m still just as dramatic as I was when I was a teen, but I suppose that’s the point.
At the urging of my childhood therapist, I started writing in a notebook to help me work through my emotions. I spent the first part of my life shutting them down because it wasn’t safe for me to show any outward emotion—happy, sad, or anything else. My biological mother and stepfather were evil incarnate. They used any reason to hurt me physically and mentally. Most of the time, they didn’t even bother to come up with one.
It was only because of a relentless teacher that I made it out alive. She reported my parents to child services over and over until they finally deemed it worthy to remove me from the house. It took almost two fucking years before they did though.
My adoptive parents took me in as an emergency placement, and Mom has told me many times that the second she met me, she knew I was supposed to be their son. I’d neverexperienced being wanted until I met my parents, Megan and Todd.
I started seeing a counselor soon after moving in with Mom and Dad, and she helped me learn to cope with the drastic differences between my life before and after being adopted.
Journaling became a lifeline for me. Anytime I’m struggling to piece together my thoughts and emotions, I start writing. The number of entries I’ve written about Addie, trying to purge my longing for her, is far too many to count.
I grab my phone, knowing it’s finally time to do something about my interest. After the embarrassing way I threw myself at her while she was spending time with another guy, I can’t hold back anymore.
I’ve harbored these feelings long enough.
Me
I have homework for you.
She doesn’t immediately respond, so I take a quick shower and then get ready for bed. By the time I’m lying down, I’ve got a response.
Adalaide
Homework?
Yep. If we’re going to do this, I need to know what experience you have in regard to sex.
Well, that’s easy. None. I’ve kissed and done a bit of heavy petting in college, but that’s it.
Well, fuck me running. I rub my hand over the top of my head. I can’t decide if knowing that information makes me want to put a stop to this or invite her over this very minute.
Fine. Then I need you to write out a list of your limits.
Limits? Like what?
I can’t believe I’m having a conversation about fucking hard and soft limits with my best friend’s little sister.
We can discuss the finer details in person, but in the meantime, I want you to think about what you do and don’t want to do during sex. Do you mind having your hands tied? Spanking? Anal? Make a list of things you’re comfortable with versus things that scare you. Is there anything that would immediately make you want to stop?
*gif of woman fanning her face*
Where do I even start with making a list like that?
I’ll send you some links so you can research the basics. Then we’ll go over everything. But, Adalaide, this is very important…if at any point you don’t want to do this anymore, that’s perfectly fine. It won’t affect our relationship going forward. Okay?
I understand.
Why do you need all of this? Can’t we just have sex and see what happens?
We’ll talk about it more when we’re together, but doing this protects both of us. As tedious and unsexy as it may seem, it’s imperative to be honest and upfront about your desires.
Okay. When can you meet?
I’m off next Friday night, and Ryan is going to Greensboro for the summer flower market. Does that work?
Yep. I’ll see you Friday.
