He did me so fast, right there on my bench in the middle of a Sunday morning.
I met him in the pub the night before and it was a rare meeting for I was only there because my girlfriend’s birthday. I don’t socialize well. I’m an awkward girl and always have been since I was little. He noticed me sitting off to the side and being uncomfortable, unsure about when I could leave and not be rude.
He came and chatted me up and as we talked and he leaned close I sensed the danger in him and also the tenderness. We talked of growing up as awkward people, people who didn’t fit in.
I told him that I didn’t want to grow up, that I wished I could have stayed a girl forever and if not, wished I had died before I had to be an adult. He asked me when would have been the perfect age to die, the perfect moment, and I shocked myself by saying;
“... the moment after my first orgasm.”
“It was good?” he asked me quietly, stroking my hair behind my ear so I could hear his ever-softer voice, his lips to close.
“... yes ...” I whispered back, feeling like I was in a dream, “My first scared me and overwhelmed me, and when it started and my body reacted I was amazed at the intensity and when my quim clenched and pushed in cycles, I thought I was going to push my insides right out of myself, and leave myself gutted in my bed and die that way and my mum would find me dead and happy with my entrails puddled between my skinny little legs.”
Then I blushed because I had never spoken those words before and I thought my twisted fantasy would drive him from me and he would tell. But he stayed and he smiled and he kissed my ear.
“I could give you that.” he said, and I believed him.
“But no pain.” I said, “I wouldn’t want any pain.”
“No pain.” he said, “I promise.”
He asked me where would be the perfect place and I told him about my bench on the Strand-on-the-Green, my favourite place to be alone. And when we parted he told me he would wait at my bench in the morning, and if I felt the same then I could come to him.
“It will be just like the first time.” he said; exciting and overwhelming because I would know it would be my last time, and as my belly quivered and as my quim clenched and pushed as my orgasm lingered, all would end and there would be no pain.
So here I sit beside him, his arm around me, his fingers busy beneath my skirt and I feel it building. And he was right, it is just as exciting and the feelings are just as overwhelming because I know it will be my last and though that is what I want, it also scares me.
It’s just like my first time only this time it is his fingers and not my own, but the pleasure is building the same and I recall when I lay in bed that night so long ago that it was the growing pleasure of touching and rubbing myself that drove me on. I didn’t know about orgasms then, so I didn’t know what the rubbing would do to me, so I just kept on to keep this sweet feeling. And when my first orgasm started it scared me as my body convulsed and my quim started to clench and push in cycles ever increasing, and when it clenched it ached and when it pushed I thought I might soil myself, and when it peaked I had visions of my entrails gushing out of me, to puddle under my bum and I would die.
But I didn’t care.
I didn’t care then and I do not care now.
I don’t want to be an adult. I don’t want the responsibility of making my own way in the world. I want to be held like a little girl and feel that old ecstasy and die painlessly in his arms like he promised.
It’s getting closer and I hear his low murmurs and my own wispy sighs and feel my wetness growing. He showed me the gun he keeps in his waistband and I like it - it’s barrel is thick enough to be able to feel it in my mouth, but not so thick to be unpleasant. He said that when he pulls the trigger it will kick hard between my teeth and probably shatter them, but the bullet will pulverize my brainstem before the pain signals can travel from my mouth to my brain.
He told me that I would feel the impossibly fast expansion of gasses from the gun plump my cheeks and rocket down my throat but I will die painlessly before I feel anything unpleasant, and though that idea frightens me with its implied violence, it also adds that thrill of what we are doing and how it will end - it will add to the intensity of my final experience.
So close now. So close. I feel my insides start to tighten; my quim, my womb, my stomach, even my bowels.
Here it comes! Oh god, here it comes!
And just like that my orgasm bursts in my lower belly as his fingers work me harder. I feel my quim begin its cycle of clenching and pushing, and my arsehole sucking inward then pushing outward, trying to open, trying to push my guts out of me. I feel my rectum drawn deep into my lower belly, then pressed outward as it tries to escape my body by turning inside out like a sheer stocking pulled off a foot. My womb is doing the same, my clenching belly trying to push it out of me.
Do it now.
I am that young girl I was, just a child overwhelmed by her first intense orgasm.
I am still feeling the cycle of convulsive orgasm when he stops touching me and pulls his loaded gun from his belt.
"... yes-yes-yes-yes ... please ..." I whimper.
And lifts it to my face, and I eagerly part my lips and lean forward, allowing him to slide it into my mouth until lit touches the back of my throat and tickles my gag reflex and that feeling is so sexual.
Please do it now! End this while everything in my belly is quivering and convulsing, let me die with this feeling of utter bliss and ecstasy!
I feel the hot explosion in my mouth. I feel the gun kick hard and shatter my front teeth. I feel the hot gasses plumping my cheeks and roaring down my gullet to bloat my stomach hard and tight in an instant, and in an instant the gasses and my breakfast and the bile come gurgling back up and it is intense and sweet. But I do not feel the bullet smash through my brainstem and blow out the back of my skull, I only feel an white and pure confusion that blends with my orgasm and sends me to where I belong as parts of me are sprayed in a pink mist up into the morning air.
This was perfect, my love. Perfect.
As my body slumps forward and falls face first onto the cobbles gurlging and leaking, he rises and walks swiftly away. The few people who are walking the strand this beautiful Sunday morning are slow to approach, and when they do I hear their muffled screams as I drift away into the ether.
I am little again, set free, drifting in bliss and weightlessness.