About six months ago, they got into a car wreck and died, and here I am now doing everything they told me not to do. Maybe I should feel a little bad that partying was the first thing I did.
Don’t stay out late. Don’t drink. Don’t wear short skirts, in fact… it's either long pants or a skirt that drags the ground. No makeup. No hair dye. Women are to be seen and not heard. They are meant to be barefoot and pregnant at home for their man.
They hated that I went to college, but nothing was going to stop me. I knew they weren’t going to help me, so I applied for scholarships on my own with the help of my youth pastor. Admittedly, I made him help me. By made, I mean blackmailed. Hehad been fucking me in the back of the church since I was fourteen years old. He told my parents that I would do well with counseling sessions, but his counseling sessions meant bending me over his desk, covering my mouth, and fucking me to tears.
The first time he had me suck his cock, I threw up. I was mortified, but it only seemed to fuel his lust. Eventually, I got the hang of it. I was sixteen.
See, I may be sheltered, but I’m fully aware that what he did was legally considered assault. I didn’t mind though. Not at the time at least. Now I’m so used to it that the pain doesn’t seep in. I enjoyed the orgasms he gave me and despite being a fucking creep, he did teach me a lot about the world. He was the one who told me that my parents were basically neglecting me by sheltering me from the world so much. I told him that I wanted to go to college. He said I would need money for that, so I told him that he needed to help me get a scholarship somewhere. He was reluctant to help considering my father was the pastor, but he was happy to play along when I told him I would tell my parents.
He helped me get a full-ride scholarship to Western Carolina University. It is a six-hour drive from my house, clear across the state. It is close enough that my parents wouldn’t die of a heart attack but far enough away that I could do things that I wanted to do. My parents tracked the phone they paid for, so I simply got another one and left theirs in my dorm when I went out.
Inherently, I still follow some of the rules. It’s almost ingrained in my head at this point. If I drink, it’s always with some of the girls from my dorm. I don’t drink around men. I was always taughtto not draw unnecessary attention to yourself or you only have yourself to blame if he holds you down and rapes you.
I got into reading about two weeks after my parents died. I needed an escape from the incessant calls from everyone at the church. My parents didn’t have any family because their church was the family. Everyone expected me to come back. It had been a year and a half since I had attended service really anywhere, and they were appalled to find that out. Eventually, I got sick of the calls and told the new pastor that I was an atheist, and I would really appreciate it if everyone would leave me the fuck alone. He was shockingly nice about it. He said he understood, and that he hoped that one day I would come back to the church. Although, he is no longer the pastor.
My friend, Amanda, got me into reading smut to try and teach me things because My youth pastor, Oscar, is the only person I’ve ever had sex with. I’m not really versed in this type of situation, but I’d like to understand more. The last time I slept with him was the day of the funeral in the casket room. He was the one doing the service. My parents were moved from wherever they were being held to this room before they transitioned into the main room. He had me come and check their appearance. Somehow, that led to me getting bent over a casket. I expect him to put his greedy little hands on me every time I am alone with him. Luckily, it wasn’t either of my parents that I got fucked on top of.
Amanda looks over at me and grins. “Wren,” she says.
“Amanda,” I laugh.
“Truth or Dare?” she asks.
“Truth,” I say.
“Okay. Next time, we are adding a rule about how many times you can say truth,” Henry laughs.
“Truth… okay. Is it true that you got fucked on top of a casket at your parent's funeral?” she asks and I burst out laughing.
“You’re a bitch,” I say with a smile. “Yes. It’s true. By my youth pastor, too. You can’t blame me because he groomed me at fourteen years old.”
“Like… were you literally on top of it?” Henry asks.
“No. Just like… bent over. I would like to point out. It wasnotmy parents' casket,” I laugh.
“Ew. They were in the room?” Adam asks.
“It’s not like they were sitting in the corner jerking off, Adam,” Amanda laughs.
“It’s okay. The lid to their casket was closed,” I shrug.
“You’re so fucked up,” Henry laughs.
“That’s trauma for ya,” I smile. “Henry. Truth or dare?”
“Hmm. Truth,” he says.
“Okay,” I say, thinking of what to ask. “Ah. I’ve got it. When was the last time you and Amanda had sex?”
“What kind of sex are we talking about?” he asks with a smile.
“Anything with the words ‘sex’ in the name,” I laugh.
“About an hour ago she gave me head,” he grins.
“Bitch,” she laughs.
“Wren,” Henry says with a mischievous grin.