MEAT

A series I’ll be writing on giving women the power to say ‘NO’

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I can still feel his hands on my breasts, those wandering hands that will be the death of me. He told me we were just fellowshipping, a communion of two consenting, recent adults satisfying their curiosities. I think I tried to fight, I cannot remember. There was a blackout that night and as we sat outside, pushed together by shivers and disgruntled mosquitoes, I shut my eyes and let the silence bathe my skin. He slowly inhaled the smoke from his blunt, the red tip giving our silhouettes away. All my dreams went with that smoke, through those huge nostrils. People talk about ‘bliss’ and an overwhelming sense of peace you get at least once in your life,  this wasn’t it. I felt numb, drilled to his thighs. When he ran his finger down my neck, and added a few passengers to assess my breasts, I understood what I was, not his lover, not his friend, not a woman deserving of simple permission. I was just meat, snatched from the show glass, too mangled to be put back.  I let him burn me with his coal lips, I let him kill me. My skin doesn’t cringe at the sight of the blade, maybe it’s because meat is meant to be butchered…

 

A series I’ll be working on about helping young girls to say ‘NO’

 

2 thoughts on “MEAT

  1. Pingback: MEAT | BLACKSTONE.

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