That One Night

by Duane Herrmann

An acquaintance

far from home

needed to sleep,

was offered the room

next to mine.

I, a naïve teen,

uninformed, unaware,

socially innocent;

he, twice my age

and that much heavier,

offered a massage,

curious, I accepted.

Midway through

objected to my undershorts –

I removed them.

In moving over me

I felt he had none too.

Then he poked

and asked for lube.

I froze, paralyzed,

unable to move or speak.

“You want it rough then,”

he chuckled and began.

What?!

I felt the handle

of a rake, or hoe, or shovel

going in and out –

it hurts!  It HURTS!

until he finished,

got off, thanked me

kissed my back,

then went to bed.

Next morning he

was cheerful –

I could not speak,

still felt him in me.

*Previously published in Remnants of a Life