Nothing Sacred

The stale smell of sweat and Fire ‘n Ice cologne, for men, invaded my space bubble.
I used to love that fragrance.
His delicate face glowed with serenity as he looked down at me.
He was upside-down. Or rather, I was lying on my back with my head turned up, staring at
him. He had a beautiful face and his hair a shiny golden-brown, hung loose onto his
shoulders. He wore a white top, under a thick, red robe. The Sacred Heart of Jesus. The kind
of framed picture I’d seen many times. One you could find in a typical Catholic household in
the ‘80’s.
My eyes were fixed. There was nowhere else for me to look. Nowhere else I wanted to
look. The Jesus frame, the grey wall it was mounted to, or the sun shining through the
smallest bit of window I could see from that angle.
I tossed back the can of deodorant that he grabbed out of the cupboard for us to use. We
were working up quite the sweat. It was almost mid-Autumn and still quite hot for the end
of March.
He lay down next to me again. It was a 3-quarter bed, so not much space for 2 people.
“I’ve had such a good time with you these last few days”
“Me too. It’s been… fun.” I smiled.
He was such a great kisser. He liked it slow to start, coy and teasing and then passionate and
intense. Then slow and teasing again. I liked it that way too. He controlled the pace.
I was a bit of a late bloomer when it came to boys. I was never really that interested in
getting physical with them. In high school the boys called me ‘The Ice Princess’. I’m a 2nd
year student at varsity now and just celebrated my 20th birthday a few days ago.
His index finger traced the curve of my cleavage.
“I want to make love to you” he smiled at me.
I laughed. “It’s only called making love when 2 people love each other.” I said matter of
factly “You can’t love me; we only just met a few weeks ago. I don’t even know you well
“We’ve talked a lot. I feel I know you”
“That’s something special I want to do with the man I love and marry someday. I don’t know
if that’s you yet. I’m not comfortable doing all that stuff, ok?!”

“Are you a virgin?!?!”
I was embarrassed.
I didn’t want to respond.
I didn’t know how to respond.
“Yes…Er… No… um.. I.. ah – I don’t know!?!”
I couldn’t make eye contact.
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
I took a moment; and a deep breath. I don’t really speak about this. All I want is to forget.
“I… I was molested as a child. I was about 4 or 5 years old when it started. By 2 different
men. At different times.”
He said nothing.
“What I still remember is more than enough for me. I don’t know if I am a virgin or not. I, I
don’t want to remember more than I already do.”
I exhaled.
I’m shaking.
Still no eye contact.
“Who did this to you?”
“I really don’t like talking about this stuff.” I fidgeted with a tear running down my face. He
wiped it away. “Even my first real kiss with a boy was forced on me. I was 15. It was a while
after before I wanted to do that with anyone again.”
He kissed my cheek.
We lay there in silence for a short while.
“I feel so much closer to you now that you’ve shared this secret with me. It must’ve been
hard for you.”
I don’t respond.
“Now we should make love.” He said and kissed my neck.
Exasperated “What don’t you understand?!? I’m not ready for that! I just… I just need time
OK” He leaned back fast. “OK, ok!” “Sharing this secret doesn’t change anything! I don’t
know you well enough.”
We shared a long moment of silence.
Eventually “We can still make out, right?” he said almost laughing. I laughed a little too.

I was still feeling quite emotional.
“Yes. We can.” I rolled my eyes and smiled a little.
He leaned over me again and we kissed.
Slow. Teasing. Passionate. Intense. Teasing.
The way we both liked it.
His hand moved down my body. We’ve only done on-top-of-clothes stuff before. When I felt
his fingers I moved his hand away while still kissing him, I sensed his smile. He tried again
and as I tried to grab his hand “Just see if you like it. We don’t have to do anything else.”
I let him be.
“Does it feel good?”
It didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel like anything actually. I reached for his hand again. “Wait
wait. I want to try something else.” I rolled my eyes, but I let him. He moved his fingers
someplace else. It didn’t feel like anything either. I was uncomfortable. I shook my head
and reached for his hand. He was already on top of me.
“Just wait!” he said impatiently. “You’re not a virgin!!!” he said with great excitement. I
didn’t know what that meant. Or if that was even a true test.
“It doesn’t matter!! It doesn’t change anything!!”
This wasn’t pleasure. I didn’t want to do this anymore. Something felt different. Weird. I
reached for his hand again and that hand of his, grabbed mine. Then I realised what was
“No” I pleaded “Nooo!!” I squirmed as he pinned me down. I tried to wriggle away from
him. He moved with me. I moved towards the top of the bed until the top of my head
reached the wall. I looked up and saw the picture frame. I couldn’t move. “PLEASE. STOP!” I
begged “I don’t want to do this”
“I can’t stop now…” he grunted as he pounded into me. “…it’s too late!” I squeezed my eyes
shut. There was no point screaming for help there wasn’t a sole around when we came

I didn’t want this.
Why didn’t he understand…
I thought he liked me.
Why didn’t he stop.

I said ‘No’… twice.

I said ‘please’…

Is this my fault?
Did I do this… Did I lead him on?

Why didn’t I knee him in the balls!
I was still wearing my underwear. He just moved it aside like it was nothing. I couldn’t
control the trickle of tears running down my face. I didn’t want to cry and I didn’t want to
see anything. I didn’t need more memories to try to forget.
I opened my eyes and Jesus was watching.