Confusion and shame

“Jesus, forgive me.” I only hear Alison's whisper because I am draped across her back but the pain and confusion in her voice is unmistakable. “I'm a whore and sinner.” I prop myself up on my elbow to take a little pressure off of her chest while I try to figure out what to say. She uses the extra space to catch her breath, and I realize that I am breathing just as hard as she is. I am still inside her and feel her vagina squeezing my cock milking every last drop of cum from my slowly deflating member. Alison too must feel the hot cum inside her because she jerks to pull free.

“Are you sure it's safe? I can't get an abortion, Mr. P.” Alison's right hand curls protectively around her abdomen, her voice a hushed whisper, “my belly will swell and everyone will know how I fornicated.” For a just a second, I wish I could see her belly swell with my child, but I remind her of the circumstances.

“I know, Angel - but I promise, I had a vasectomy.”

“Oh.” Is it my imagination or does she sound disappointed? An awkward minute passes in silence and then I see she has buried her face in her hands.

“I've never had an orgasm like that.” I thought Alison would be blown away by my skillful loving, but if anything she is distraught by her uninhibited response. “I'm so embarrassed, Mr. P, what we did was wrong but I got so excited I couldn't help myself.”

“Good sex is never something to be embarrassed about, Angel.” I try to keep my voice smooth and easy as I calm her down.

“Good sex?” Alison seems to pounce on my word, “What is good about being held in place and used?” I should have realized that a sheltered young woman like Alison would feel uncomfortable with these fantasies of control and domination. Before I can explain that I was reading her responses and trying to bring her to the fullest climax I could, Alison confirms that she knew it was what she needed. “Why is it that the more I feel like I am being ****, the better it feels?” She takes my hands in hers and searches my eyes for answers and reassurance. “From my very first climax, when I read about Saint Ursula being captured by the Huns, to what just happened ... what kind of sick person gets excited by that?”

“That's not that unusual, Honey.” I squeeze her hands firmly, “I promise. There are whole series of books written about innocent young women being enslaved and trained by men.” Her eyes lift to find mine again.

“Really?” The open skepticism on her expressive face makes me smile.

“Really, Angel.” I pull her into my arms and cradle her trembling figure. “And it's not just men who are excited by fantasies of control either.” I lift away a strand of sweaty hair and brush her lips with my thumb. “Haven't you ever read any Harlequin romances?”

“Oh no, Mr. P.” Alison seems to blush, “The Walmart tried to sell them, but the Women's Auxiliary picketed the store, and my father gave a sermon about trashy pornography. By Monday all the books were removed.” Alison seems proud of her parent's ability to keep the real world from intruding into her small town.

“Well, you'll have to trust me about this then.” My sister had a stash of Harlequins hidden from your parents and I had read through them too, skipping to the 'good' parts, so I feel pretty confident about this assessment. “Those books are written for a female audience.” I remind her, “Almost everyone has the innocent young heroine overpowered by a much older, billionaire Greek tycoon or dangerous desert sheik.” If Alison's parents hadn't sanitized every source of information from her life, this poor thing might have a better sense of what sex should be like. If her only experience with male-female interactions came from the bible with it's ancient sensibilities of rapine, ownership and subjugation of young maidens, or the fire-and-brimstone sermons of her father it's no wonder she's so confused.

“I don't know, Mr. P,” Alison is clearly not convinced. “There's more to love than lust. How could I ever be a mother or wife if all I can think about are these awful things?”

“Oh Angel,” I give her another quick hug, “when you find the right man you're going to make him very happy.” Once again I seem to have touched a sore spot, because her gaze drops to her hands that are twisting together on her lap.

“What kind of man would even want a ruined sinner like me?” The pain in her words is palatable and I wonder how she could even doubt herself like that, At this very college, I am sure that there are over a hundred young men right now who would love to be in my place, and who would treat her better than what I'm doing and certainly much better than that asshole Dick.

“You're not ruined, Angel.” I tell her, “Just because your legs have been spread by another man, doesn't change how smart, caring and beautiful you are, besides a lot of men like women who aren't afraid of sex.” Her eyes find mine again and I can see the gears turning in her mind as she goes over this completely different world view than what she has been taught.

I don't know if I've convinced her or not, but at least she's not rejecting the arguments out of hand.

“Come here, Angel,” I pull her gently down into my arms until I am spooning her soft naked body, “Let's just lie here and enjoy each other's company.” In the summertime, Connecticut nights are warm enough that we didn't even need a blanket as we lay on the bed with her in my arms.