Illustration and writing by Faith Bugenhagen | @babyyybug
Photo by Sam Wachs | @schoomer
I laid in sheets unfamiliar to me and waited to stop thinking. I counted the moments until his fingers would be outside of me, until he would stop, not because anything was wrong, but because I wanted to go back home. I wanted to put on my clothes, to slide my key into the door, and to unfold my comforter to lay in my own bed.
I knew I couldn’t do this, I knew I was trapped by myself. I fell asleep in sheets unfamiliar to me and it was my own fault. But in reality it wasn’t and I hate telling this with my whole heart, because I cared for him.
My maturity was equivalent to what I did, if I had left I knew he would be upset, if I had stayed I knew I would be upset, but it was either or, and he was worth the sacrifice. I remember the car ride back home, the light that shone through his car, how cold it was, and how I held my crumpled up shirt in my hand.
This is an apology,
I am sorry I ever let you think that you have to do things for the satisfaction of anyone else other than yourself. I am sorry that I let you diminish yourself so much that you go looking for validity where it’s only temporary.
He asked me to masturbate once, or twice, I stopped him.
I didn’t want to do something so personal in front of him, I couldn’t, I put my foot down.
So maybe I am stepping towards the right direction.