“But Brian used to force you.”
I hate that he knows this much about me without me having to tell him. I know it’s good that he’s aware of my past. I like that about him, but I hate that I haven’t been the one to tell him. He’s known all of this since before we ever met.
“Yes,” I nod, agreeing with him. “Brian did force me. You’re not. I’ve only ever had his penis on my mouth, Gage. I don’t want that memory. You’ve taken so much of his hurtful memories from me and replaced them with happy ones of you.”
“Of us?”
“Yes, of us. Why is it hard to fathom that a woman that you’ve basically been in love with for how many years?”
“Six.”
“Six years. A woman you’ve been in love with for six years wants to show you how much you mean to her, including sexually. I love what we do, what we just did, but this is something we need. I need to suck on him. I want to taste him. I want to taste you.”
“Why, why would you want that?”
Something is going on. Something he’s not telling me. The terrified look on his face says it all.
“Gage. Has anyone ever done that?”
He looks away.
“Gage, honey, look at me.”
Still looking away, he shakes his head and I reach out, touching his thigh, resting my hand there. If he wants me to remove it, he will have to do it himself.
“Has anyone ever touched you there?” I ask, in a gentler tone.
“Once.”
“And what happened?”
“It hurt, a lot.”
“I have a question.” I am keeping my tone low, sweet, loving; I want to warm him up to this idea. I want to take his pain away like he’s taken mine.
“Huh?”
“Do you think when Brian raped me and forced me to suck his dick, do you think that didn’t hurt me? Do you think I haven’t lived with scars? Physical and emotional? We both have them Gage. I used to bleed when Brian raped me. My ass would bleed. I’ve never felt more pain that when someone is ripping your insides out, not even the knife scars. Look at me, look at this.” With my other hand I follow the path of a long scar that runs from under one of my breasts, curves up like the peak of a wave between my breasts and curves back down below the other one.
“This scar, he ran over five times. Each week for five weeks, he’d reopen it. It hurt a lot. But there is nothing more painful than being sexually abused. Not even this scar.” I rub it again, and he reaches out this time and follows the path using his own finger.
“I’m sorry.” He mutters, with a pained face.
“Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.” I reassure him.
“I should have met you before him. Then this would have never happened.” His hand moves across other scars and tears start to well in my eyes.
“I shouldn’t be selfish. You’re right Lex. You’ve experienced more pain then I could imagine. If I had known you before, I would have saved you from all of this. Tell me more. I want to know more, from your own mouth.”
“If I do. Will you let go and take that painful experience away from you?”
He nods. “It’s stupid really. I shouldn’t feel that way, not about you touching him. I want that. I do. It’s hard. I’ve spent over ten years never letting anyone touch him. Now I feel like a complete fool for even considering not allowing it. How stupid is that? The woman I love has been abused and hurt and she lets me in, lets me touch her and I can’t give you this little thing. I sound like a selfish asshole. I am a selfish asshole. I’m really sorry.”
“Just because my past is littered with so much pain, doesn’t mean that the experience with your penis getting hurt isn’t valid. It doesn’t make it less important. We all have our crosses to bear, some more than others. Now come here and let me show you.”
I realize I’ve been through a lot in my life. And for the first time I am experiencing real pleasure and real love. It is hard for me to accept and fathom. It’s hard to get past what I’ve been through. But what kind of life would I live if I let my past control my future? Let it determine how far I can or can’t go in life, all because of a dark cloud looming over my head. I didn’t use to think or feel this way. Gage has helped me get past a huge part of my own insecurities. He accepts me, he loves me, and I don’t doubt that for a second. If this is the one and only time, I can fix a painful memory from him, to wipe the slate clean. I will, not only for myself, but also for him to get a fresh start.
Grabbing his hand, I trace a chunk of flesh that was removed on my stomach. It sits about five inches above my belly button to the right. It’s not the biggest chuck I’ve had carved from my body by Brian but it’s a memorable one.