We played tonsil hockey for a minute or two. He broke off and whispered, ‘Ready for the cherry popper?’ I nodded, very bravely I thought. My head ...wam, it was him, Anthony. My perfect Anthony. My baby-sky-blue eyes, my tan dark skin, my muscle pumped Anthony was going to enter my virgin body and take what can’t be brought back. He plunged in and I didn’t feel anything. I was drunk still, I guess. He pumped slowly in and out, slowly because as he cursed beautifully how tight I was, he became. She’d come home each night so exhausted that she almost always dropped straight to sleep upon crawling into bed. In that entire time, she could only remember masturbating twice. Upon thinking about that, she realized that both of those times, nothing had gone haywire the following day.This can’t be real, she thought. The words rang hollow in her head, though. The book was describing everything she’d experienced recently in eerie detail, and compelled her to read on.What followed was a ritual. More

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