GODDAMN VIRGIN ANGEL BABY: SURVIVING MY STEPDAD & SELF-DESTRUCTION

THE FIRST BANG

I'm staying over at my T.A.’s place, more formally known as Teacher's Assistant. We’re banging. Well, sort of. Are we going by the Catholic definition? Because if so, we definitely are. If not, we aren’t. There are rules and regulations, after all.

If we were in a relationship, we’d round all the bases, slide into home plate, and Jonah would take my V-card. But we're not in a relationship because he can’t commit because he’d lose his cushy New York University job. So, we’re a secret. We meet in the shadows and whisper semi-sweet nothings into each other’s ear bones.

He has a fat complex. He was heavier once, like two hundred pounds over what he is now. He talks about it often, especially when we’re naked, because of all his stretch marks. Little squiggly indent lines run up and down his arms, his legs, his torso. I like to run my fingers over them, but he’s not into it. I don’t know why he hates them, because I think they’re lovely. I don’t believe in tattoos; I believe in scars. 

That, and his dad is gay, homeless, and an addict. He told me that people don’t realize that homeless people are homeless because no one, literally no one, will take them in anymore. Like, if I fell on hard times, I could stay with him or another friend. But when he took in his dad a few times, every time he stole his money, or would use late into the night and wake him up, or be sexing some guy on his couch, or break his stuff and eat all his food, and then randomly buy thirty peanut butter jars and put them in the fridge. 

So he had to kick his dad out, thereby putting him back on the street. Even though he didn’t want to, he didn’t really have a choice. And him being so candid about his homeless, addict father made him ask about my family, my parents. How I want to kick them out, metaphorically speaking.

He makes me feel like I can talk about my family, my past, like he wants to know how and why I came to be. While Jonah has outward physical stretch marks, I have inward emotional ones, and he likes running his fingers up and down mine just as much. He thinks the world of my emotional fat since removed, which is refreshing considering the lengths I go to hide it. Rub Mederma on it. Make it gone. 

I often daydream about what it’d be like to lose my virginity to him. I’ve held out this long, twenty years and counting, so it might be nice to be with someone I actually like. Someone who listens to me. Who values and understands me. Someone who makes me feel like a better version of myself.

Or not. It might be nice to just fuck someone and get it over with.