Foreskin's Lament A Memoir Mga Nobela at Kwento

Within minutes, Evan’s body began to spasm from the orgasmic euphoria and with one last stroke from Daniel he shot his load all over his abs, and with one final thrust Daniel pulled himself out and shot his load over Evan's body. Daniel collapsed on top of Evan and their semen mixed together with their bodily fluids. “You do know that was just a warm up, right?” He whispered to Evan, rolling off him and onto the bed. Evan immediately got up with the embarrassment of him sleeping with his Ex's dad. He tried to hurry into the bathroom but his eyes caught a sight; at the entrance of the room stood the last person Evan wanted to see. His ex— Liam’s shocked expression. As if snapping out of a daz

I whispered painfully as I looked down my lap. Why is it so hard to look at him directly in his eyes? “I'm sorry–” “No.” I firmly hissed as my eyes welled up in tears while glaring at him. “You did not only lie to me, but you also betrayed me and threw me into the den like a prey.” I stood up while holding my arm where the wound was near. “What are you talking about?” “You do-don't know how I su-suffered after you le-left me...”

I stood in the shadow of the pantry for a long time. My face was wet, and I didn't remember when the tears had started. My legs were shaking, and I didn't know how long I had been standing with my weight against the doorframe. My knuckle had a mark on it where I had bitten down. He never touched me like that. The thought moved through me slowly. Not as anger, not yet. Just as fact, plain and unadorned, the way facts feel when they have been true for a long time and you have finally run out of reasons not to see them.

I could feel his eyes burning into my back the entire way up. Once in my room, I closed the door and leaned against it, my heart still racing. My reflection in the mirror showed a flushed, tear-streaked face and wild eyes. I turned, pulling my shorts down just enough to see the bright red handprints marking my ass. The sight made me whimper softly. I wanted to touch myself so badly — my clit was swollen and aching, begging for release after the humiliating, intoxicating punishment. But Marcus’s warning echoed in my mind.

Their leader dangled a keychain in front of me—the one with Esme's favorite Winny Bear charm, and the other men clutched batons and baseball bats. My legs trembled as I begged them to let me go. But they ignored me. They beat me over and over until I was barely conscious. After that, they tore my clothes apart and snapped photos of me naked. Once they were done, they jingled the keys in their hands and walked away. I lunged forward out of desperation and managed only to tear off the Winny Bear charm. Darkness closed in after that. With what little strength I had, I tried calling my parents and then Edwin, but none of them answered.

This was autobiography. There was one sketch in particular I kept coming back to. A gown the color of moss, its spine exposed, each seam stitched with gold thread. It didn’t apologize. It didn’t flatter. It revealed. I took off my coat and stood in front of the mirror. No makeup. No heels. Just me. Skin. Bone. Mouth. Scar. I saw the girl they tried to erase. The woman they couldn’t quite control. And the fire they underestimated. “I’m not afraid,” I whispered.

Flinging the covers to one side, I foraged for something I could use as a white flag of surrender and came up trumps with a pair of Calvin Klein boxer briefs. They had never been worn. There was no way to maintain such a white crotch in a pair of men’s undercrackers. I peered over the edge of the windowsill, all bleary-eyed and sniffling. Four very contrite-looking wolves turned their heads up at once. “You can come up, but I’m too traumatized to do anything other than cuddle,” I informed them. “Blame The Notebook.”

My legs are numb from the waist down, pins and needles crawling up my thighs whenever I try to shift. My hole—Jesus Christ, my hole—throbs with every heartbeat, swollen and raw and gaping open like it's forgotten how to close. I risk a glance down at myself. Mistake. Dried blood crusts the inside of my thighs. More of it smeared across my ass crack, dark and flaking. My hole is visible even in the dim light filtering through the curtains; red, puffy, obscene. He wrecked me. And I fucking loved it.

" I floated nearby, watching her complain about me. I didn't feel anything. For some reason, after becoming a spirit, all those complicated emotions had left me. … Under the harsh white lights of the autopsy room, Mom stood clad in a white uniform, latex gloves snug on her hands. Her brow was furrowed as she stared at my corpse on the autopsy table. A look of deep pity and heartache filled her eyes. As far as I could remember, I had never seen her look at me that way. Her gaze traveled slowly across my body before finally landing on my waist, where a ghastly scar marred the skin. I got it during a conflict with Winona not long after I returned to the family. That day, Mom finished cooking an

“Jensen… sorry…” Her eyes were red as she raised her hand and slapped herself. “I am sorry… I regretted it for the past three years… please forgive me. Please look at me one more time…” I rolled down the window halfway and looked at her with a cold expression. “Chelsea, do you think it is appropriate to say this in front of my wife? Do not come near me and disgust me again. I do not want to see you. Do not insult the word regret. You do not deserve it.”