On Valentine's Day, D.T. asked me to go to dinner with him. I was 16. He was nearly 30. He took me to a bar, not a restaurant. We drank rum until I was well beyond in control of myself.
I was 16.
We went back to his house and he injected speed which I'd never seen before and he offered to inject me. I refused but did Inhale some. He started kissing me, then he was biting me and scratching me and I could tell he was going to leave marks on me.
I was 16.
I tried to make him stop. Finally I started crying when his hands were under my blouse and inside my bra. That finally made him stop. I was 16. I was literally wet all over my face and throat from his slobbery kissing and sucking. I sat on the porch of his house and tried to sober up and arrange myself in a way that I could go home.
16.
I went to a fast food restaurant and washed myself off as well as I could. At home I dodged my mother and took a long hot shower trying to wash him off of me. Sixteen. I looked like if been in a car wreck, I was so bruised and covered with hickeys. It took over a week to heal up. I hid from my mother and my nanny. In turtlenecks and sweaters. He called for a long time. I wouldn't talk to him.
He sent gifts. Creepy gifts. Flowers. Silver trinkets. A fucking sweater. A perfectly creepy gift for a 16 year old girl. I heard he died of liver cancer as a by-product of hepatitis. I suppose I should be grateful he didn't rape me. I've hated him a long time.
I was that 16 year old girl that accidentally tempted a grown ass man to act like a fucking pedophile. I hope he suffered wildly.
He deserved to.