The Little One By @UberBetty
I didn’t think about ‘it’.
Only when mummy says: ‘Wash your bom-bom well!’ when she’s monitoring my bath. And when she adds ‘Don’t let any one touch you there’ when she read some story in the Newspaper.
Then that day Uncle Victor came to visit,
I was shocked into awareness. I was.
He was the children choirmaster. And I was the star.
He said I had ‘the voice of an angel’. He adored me; I worshipped him right back.
Mother shouldn’t have left me, but it was just Uncle Victor. She had to ‘wash and set’ her hair.
I wanted to sing for him. I was doing a solo on Sunday. He said ‘Sit on my lap’.
I clambered on happily.
I opened my mouth and started ‘Joy to the world! The Lord is come.. Let…’
Then he touched me.
I jumped off. Mummy said no one should touch me there.
He laughed. Said it was only him. Only Uncle Victor.
I said no. Mummy said no one.
Uncle Victor got angry. He pushed me to the ground. Pushed my legs apart.
Then he rammed his large self into me.
I believe that ‘it’ is connected to the soul. I do.
Because I felt my soul tear and weep before my physical mouth parted and released the blood-curdling scream.
The angels heard it.
Then ‘it’ throbbed. Like its heart was breaking. And ‘it’ cried. Real tears of blood.
And when he cut off my screams with his hand, my soul still wept.
After we moved to the North and I was assaulted again. Mummy blamed me. She said I caused it.
I did not scream, and my vagina did not cry again; its tears have dried. But my soul is still weeping.
The Sexy Grey By @RealistXX
I have never really liked the term cougar.
If you ask me, I’d say mountain lion although some say they are one and the same. *chuckle*.
Ever seen a mountain lion hunt?
The way it selects its prey, toys with it and then goes in for the kill…..
I am a lion.
They parade themselves in front of me. Full of stamina.
Their bodies screaming “pick me mama”.
I don’t blame them. Experience oozes from my pores. Most times, I consider myself a teacher. My tool of choice, my whip
The other day, I attended my colleague’s daughter’s introduction party. I chose my outfit carefully. My short black clingy dress that made me feel like Eve.
Sin’s own offspring.
Boobs perky, vagina tight.
As the groom prostrated in front of our table, I carefully slid my legs apart exposing her in all her glory.
I can tell you that was the longest prostration in history.
It felt like time itself stood still. We connected. I had found my prey.
My new boy toy.
I played with him. Pulling my dress just an inch lower. Exposing them in all their perkiness. He poured the wine on his bride. Flustered.
I zeroed in.
He was mine from that moment. Maybe he’d learn something from me to teach his bride. She looked like a baby. So young; maybe I should let her know I’m to thank for all the great sex she’s been getting. Hmmmm… I really do deserve a thank you from her. Afterall, great sex is but a luxury nowadays
Next week would make me five decades in this deliciously sinful world. I should call him up. My birthday won’t be complete without a tumble in the sheets ;).
Hey guys. First off, huge thank you to you guys for the feedback from yesterday. Like I keep saying, lets look beyond the humour and what not to highlight the important issues in these monologues. Today, we look at a testimony from a victim of child molestation to further put some of the comments from yesterday into perspective and on a lighter note, the issue of the older female lover (still hate this word). You know the drill, if you’ve got experiences or comments to share, use the comment box and speak your mind. Cheers.