...BELEN CLINT...
I once believed this handsome gentleman with the warm smile was an angel sent from heaven, and I found myself dreaming of a life shared with him. I had never been involved with anyone romantically, never even had a beau; I hadn’t lived anywhere but the orphanage until recently, an explanation for my naivety.
He sweetened my ear with beautiful words, and on the succeeding days he visited my workplace, he specifically requested my service. He always left substantial tips, and his friends treated me with due respect.
After many days, he asked me out. He was the first man to ever ask me on a date, and I was over the moon with happiness and nerves, but upon seeing us together, I decided to politely decline. It was obvious he had means; he wore expensive, distinctive clothing, whereas I was not on his level, nor did I have anything appropriate to wear.
He seemed irritated by my refusal, or perhaps that was just my imagination, but after being turned down, he asked me out again, although with less persistence.
Sonia and Andrea, two colleagues of mine, insisted I should accept, calling him a heartthrob apparently smitten with me, but I had enough shame to keep my distance and avoid involvement. I did not want to fill my head with illusions only to end up heartbroken.
Eventually, I managed to purchase some clothes, bolstering my confidence. Finally, I felt ready to accept a date with him.
When he invited me again, I said yes. Sonia lent me some makeup and showed me how to apply it. I felt confident that everything would turn out more than fine.
We went to a movie and had dinner. He was chivalrous and enjoyable company. Later, he brought a beautiful dress and shoes for me to my job, along with a card detailing the time and place for a second date.
We had several dates, and ultimately he kissed me. He immediately realized my lack of experience because he candidly asked me about it. I told him the truth, and he seemed delighted.
I continued working, and he kept visiting me there, always leaving generous tips and little tokens showing he was thinking of me.
A few weeks went by, our relationship blossomed, and I met his family. His father was indifferent to me, and his mother... she loathed me and made no effort to hide it.
"My son likes to be served his meals. What will you do if you live together? You’ll surely make him suffer," she said scornfully.
"Mother, please. It's my life, and I'm the one making decisions in it," he replied sternly.
(.....)
One night at the bar, just like any other, a man grew overly insistent, demanding I give him a night. He was drunk, his insistence compounded by the alcohol.
The bast*** who tried to touch me was met by my boyfriend\, who knocked him to the ground with a punch. I had never seen him so angry\, but in that moment\, I felt utterly protected; he was my savior\, the man I thought I loved.
"Are you alright, my queen? That man won't bother you again, no one will touch you while you're with me," he declared with fierce resolve, and I clung to his body, embracing him.
The encounter terrified me; no one had ever touched me inappropriately, not even my boyfriend, yet in his arms, I felt safe. He was worth it, always there for me, even standing up to his own mother. Surely, men like him are to be cherished, right?
Weeks later, he invited me to spend the night at his place. I was nervous. He would cook for me, and afterward, we could sleep together. How could I refuse? I had met his parents; our relationship was clearly serious.
At his house, I uncovered our first lie when I discovered the meal he claimed to have cooked bore a receipt from a fancy restaurant and packaging in the trash.
Nonetheless, I found the effort endearing—perhaps cooking wasn't his forte.
We dined, and after some kisses, he led me to his bedroom. He was sweet and tender with me, despite there being nothing special about the room considering it was my first time. I had longed for flowers or some lovely gesture but even soft music was absent. Yet, I believed he loved me enough.
Seeing me in my underwear, he said he would buy me beautiful sets. I felt slightly embarrassed but chose to ignore the remark and move forward before my courage faltered, and I disappointed him.
He was protected but not exactly gentle when he entered me. I did not enjoy it at all, yet he seemed to revel in it. He looked at me the way men at the bar did, touched me unabashedly, was somewhat rough but professed his love for me.
Afterward, he cleaned up and pulled me close. He expressed how much he’d enjoyed it, questioning if I had as well. For the first time, I lied, telling him yes.
That night we both lied—he about the meal and I about the intimacy; not everything could always be perfect. Surely, I’d enjoy it more in time, and the pain would subside. This wasn't his fault; my work friends said it always hurts the first time.
I woke beside him, feeling pain in my privates, noticing blood that had stained my legs, with droplets falling as I urinated. I padded my underwear with toilet paper, makeshift like a sanitary pad, before leaving the bathroom.
He took the sheets and handed them to me to remove the stains. I assumed it was just an obsession with cleanliness, adding to my shame—it was my blood, my responsibility to clean.
After that episode, our relationship changed. Sometimes he was my knight in shining armor, other times a different person, especially when he desired intimacy. As more time passed without my enjoying it and his complaints began, I did what I thought right—I pretended to enjoy it, to spare his feelings.
***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***
Updated 113 Episodes
Download
Like this story? Download the app to keep your reading history.
Comments