Errr, hello, my name's Tina, you may have met me in the last story, When The Music's Over. Amy has asked me to write a note of introduction so you'll know all about me the next time I crop up.
Where should I start? Well I'm 23 years old, a masseuse (full trained, I have certificates from college), a proper one as well, not of that mucky stuff, I work in a good hotel, but if you read the story I mentioned above you'll already know that.
That's the introduction over, I think the story I'll tell you is the one hinted at previously, it's distressing, very distressing actually, but important, as it's the link I share with Amy, what she saw in me, and is the cloud around the silver lining that is our friendship.
I used to go out with a lad called Finlay, an Irish lad, I've always had a thing for the Irish accent, so much nicer than the harsh tones of many people in Glasgow, my home town at the time. I was born in Edinburgh, and lived there until my mum & dad divorced and mum moved back in with her parents in Easterhouse, a suburb of Glasgow.
Anyway, Finlay won my heart with his lovely voice and his kindness. We started dating when I was 15 and he was 17. At first everything was perfect, we would go on bike rides round town and into the countryside, we would kiss in the fields, it was lovely. I know he was getting impatient, but I wouldn't let him go all the way until I was 16. Once or twice I had to give him handjobs to relieve his tension, and once I gave him a blowjob in the cinema whilst we watched Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I suspect he got horny watching Hermione.
On my 16th birthday we rode our bikes all the way to Strathaven Park for a picnic, about 20 miles. It was a lovely day, not too hot, which is nice for cycling. We set our picnic out on a rug, mum had made us sandwiches, apples and a bottle if Irn Bru for me and a can of beer for Finlay, who was 18 by this time. After lunch we left our bikes chained to a lamp-post and went for a walk.
Finlay started acting a bit weird, getting quite aggressive, he snapped at some kids who were dancing around on the grass and even slapped one lad who dared to laugh at him. I was getting a little scared.
Finlay led us off the path into a stand of trees, he was fair dragging me along now, almost pulling me off my feet.
Suddenly he stopped and pushed me too the floor and lay on top of me, kissing me roughly, his hand reached between us and up my skirt, pulling my knickers to one side, then I felt something else, something hard and hot pushing against my pussy, it missed a few times then he got it between my lips and pushed it hard, breaking right through my hymen. I cried out but he stopped me with another kiss, a violent kiss with no passion.
I was hurting bad now and started pounding on his back with my fists, but he just carried on pumping away faster and faster until he came. Then he pulled out, stood up and pulled me up by my arm. The whole event seemed to last for hours, but I reckon it was over in about two minutes.
He changed straight away, apologising for being a little rough (massive, massive understatement), he kissed me tenderly then asked me to keep quiet about what just happened.
On our way back to the bikes we stopped off at the café and he bought me a cornetto and a Of mug of tea.
I was very sore for a couple of days, and you can imagine the cycle ride home, 20 miles, wasn't terribly enjoyable, but it still ranked higher than being raped in the grand scheme of things.
So there you have it, bye bye virginity, the one thing I wanted to willing give to someone was wrenched away by the very person I was going to give it to that night. Can you imagine how fucked up I was feeling that night.
More than anything though I was feeling guilty, it seems weird now, but for a long time I felt it was my fault. My fault for not putting out sooner, my fault for dressing sexily, my fault for leading him on. Of course it was his fault for being a violent dickhead, but I hadn't realised that yet, and it would take a few years for that to finally sink in.
For a few months everything was back to normal, now that I'd lost my virginity I didn't hold back any longer, so I put out for him pretty much whenever he asked, which was two or three times a day sometimes. Some days though I was still sore from the last time (he never mastered the art of foreplay, just ploughed straight in whether I was ready or not, luckily he wasn't well hung, or I'd have been seriously damaged) and he'd take my refusal as a slight on his masculinity, which would often result in a slap, sometimes a punch to the stomach, and more than once a black eye.
.... There is more of this story ...