First Draft | “I can’t do it.”

“I just can’t do this anymore.”

“What do you mean?” He muttered, taking a hit from his freshly lit joint.

“This. All of this. What are we doing with our lives? We just sit here. You smoke and I watch shitty movies. This is our fucking life. We don’t have any fucking lives. We are uncultured, illitirate fucks. We’re fucking 24 with a high school education. We grew up wanting to be successful but look at us. On a fucking couch in the middle of fucking harlem. We live on welfare, paycheck by paycheck. We had the world in our hands once but we threw it away for some fucking pot”

The living room filled with the sound of Pulp Fiction on the television but silence lingered between the two.

“I can’t do this, I’m leaving.”

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Draft | First Time 

**DISCLAIMER** THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. THIS DOES NOT REFLECT A EXPERIENCE I’VE HAD WITH SEX NOR OF ANY OF MY FRIENDS.

He lay on top of me, kissing my neck and caressing my breasts over my shirt. His fingers begin creeping down to the band of my skirt.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“C’mon, babe. Don’t you want to have a little fun?” He whispered. His warm breath lingering over my ear. Without a response, he continues to pull down my skirt, with my panties, and positions himself over me. He pulls down his pants enough to get out his penis. 

“Suck it.”

“I-I don’t know how.” I mumbled nervously.

“Just fucking suck it.”

I lean over and begin my attempt at a blow job. He takes my head in his hands and pushes himself deeper into my mouth, causing me to gag and retreat back to a sitting position. “I don’t want to do that, Ricky.” 

“Alright, turn around and put your butt up.”

I do as I am told and tears start to form in my eyes. I know Ricky loves me and this is the best way I can show him I love him too.

He pushes his penis deep inside of me, causing me to cry out.

“Ricky, stop it hurts!”

He ignores my plea and begins thrusting into me.

“Ricky, Stop! Please, Ricky! I don’t want to do this anymore!” I beg between gasps of air.

“Shut up, bitch.” 

With those words, I explode in tears of regret. He continues, ignoring me. 

After a couple more minutes of thrusting, Ricky pushes in deep one final time, exits me, and falls onto his side on the bed. “Thanks, babe,” he says, kissing me on the forehead.

I ignore him and go to the bathroom to clean up my mascara stained face.

Draft | Release.

That feeling where you need a distraction. You can’t handle life’s difficulties and you’re desperate to feel something other than disappointment. You seek it from drugs, alcohol, and sex. You’re relieved momentarily but the feeling comes back with a crash. Suddenly you’re addicted to those short couple of hours that your adreneline speeds through your blood. You try to reach that high point again. And again. And again. The adreneline fades away and the excitement disappears from you. Your left laying alone. You’ve lost all of your friends. You got no future now. People tell you: you need to stop. You need to come back to reality. You can’t. You’re living in a world you’ve created, filled with hatred and evil, but that’s easily filtered out when you’ve gotten your fix of marijuana, vodka, and penetration because when you do those things, you inexplicably forget about your unemployment. You forget about your sick mother or your debt. You’ve reached that high in life, where you just. don’t. care. Then you lose your access. Your out of money, you’ve gotten a DUI, your significant other has left you. You can’t reach that high again because you’re the lowest you’ve ever been. You sit in your room. All your abandoned paraphenelia thrown about. You look at your nightstand and on top of it sits the bottles of cold medicine you’ve just bought. You take it down, 1 pill at a time, 5 pills at a time, 10 pills at a time, handfuls at a time. Your throat sore from swallowing. You lay on your bed, ready for where these little drugs take you. Ready for the release from life you’ve been searching for all this time. You’re gone.

Confessions of a Teenage Girl

1. I’m scared that if I break up with my boyfriend I won’t have any friends because they’ll all choose him over me.

2. Although I got accepted to my dream college, I’m having doubts because I’m scared of cashing out $45,000/year to get an education in God knows what.

3. I haven’t told my mom I love her since I was 11 or 12.

4. I think I’m actually bipolar but I haven’t seeked any help because I’m afraid people will think I’m exaggerating or  crazy.

5. I might be a lymphomaniac. All I think about is sex and the only time I feel confident is when I’m having it.

6. I have an obsession for a very specific person.

7. I want to dance at parties but I don’t want anybody to comment on how I’m finally dancing.

8. Honestly, I just want to get married and have kids so I can guide them through life so they don’t make the same mistakes I have. 

9. I’m impulse driven, even though I don’t seem like it. Sudden impulses make me do things like steal, cheat, alter my apperance, or act out.

10. I love male attention.

First Draft | You Stupid Bitch

“You stupid bitch!” yells Ethan, grabbing ahold of his petite wife’s frail arm. Her other arm drops the house phone and continues to resist, pushing, slapping, punching. Tears rolling down her reddening face while she gasps in between her words.

“Let go of me, Ethan!”

“Who were you calling?” 

“My mother!” Gasp. “I was calling my mother!”

Ethan pushes Elizabeth down to the floor. He grabs his coat from the chair it was hanging out and storms out of the house. Once Elizabeth can see his car leave the driveway she stands up and steadies herself. She turns towards the kitchen and sees young Abigail peeking from the doorway.

Thanks for reading! I’m enjoying writing these extremely short drafts. It’s a great way to just express my ideas. Let me know what you think by liking and commenting! Oh, and don’t forget to follow 🙂

Twitter: @rigorousreads

First Draft | I’ve Been Thinking

I lift her small, almost weightless, body on to my desk while still keeping my lips on hers. She pulls me in to kiss her hard with her hands around my neck. One of her hands then lower, down my chest, down my shirt, to the rim of my pants. She pulls her lips away from mine and looks at me. Her hands begin to slowly unstrap my belt. She hops off the desk, pushes me into my chair, and gets on her knees. She continues to take out my growing penis and leans closer to it. As her tongue begins to massage my shaft, her eyes are looking up at me saying “I’ve been thinking about this for a while.”

Thanks for Reading. This is just a random piece of writing I’ve been in the mood to write. I know it’s kind of odd, suggestive, and inappropriate considering my age (17) but I like to experiment with different themes.

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Twitter: @rigorousreads

First Draft | Romantic Murder 

Blood scarcely apperared on the surface of her skin from the incision. The knife barely grazed her for the cut was meant for my pleasure rather than her pain. If it were for the pain, I wouldn’t have used the drugs. The pain will come later, after I’ve had my dose of romanticized adreneline from the actuality of touching her skin, the skin I’ve longed to touch, caress, kiss, cut. The blood ceased to continue and the clotting process has begun.

 I adjusted my body so I sat between her spreaded legs while she lay sleeping and tied to the bed post. Her black laced panties and matching bra suggested I continue. 

I teased her thighs with the knife, sliding the edges softly enough to avoid cutting, I leaned forwards and kissed her left thigh, halfway between the knee and hip. Her famous lavender scent no longer lingered on her body. The knife began to run itself up and down her thigh until it finally made a shallow, verticle cut on the exact spot I kissed. Again, I lean over and place my lips upon her, licking the bloog that slowly gorged out of the opened skin.

The taste satisfied my innate craving for women. The recognizable iron taste provoking me to taste more of her. The saltiness from the surrounding skin caused by the hours of dancing prior to our coincidental meet up. The blood continued to color the line, begging me to taste again. I slowly relicked the gash, leaving a moist trail of saliva over the cut. I began to suck on it, pulling the blood to my tongue. Once my mouth released, her cut began to gape, stretching wider and longer, revealing the pinkness of the skin layers, the surrounding skin bruised by my thirsty mouth. 

I shifted my attention to the first cut. Paper-cut like. The scab has hardened, pleading me to peel it off. Without hesitation, I reached over and slowly detached the dried blood from her skin to reveal the shallow, almost invisible cut. She reacted by adjusting her head, unaware of her situation, still unconscious with her mouth agape. Shit. Her sleeping medication was wearing off.

Thanks for reading! This short piece was barely edited. If you liked it and would like a Part II please let me know with likes and comments! I’m also open to constructive criticism but don’t be rude! Keep in mind I am not a professional writer, just a young girl writing from the comfort of her bed! This is nothing serious, just was in the mood of posting an original piece. I plan to post a lot more throughout my blog so follow and keep a look out for it! 

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Love, 

Me