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He rubbed my thighs with his and then stood, his massive appendage bouncing in front of him. I watched intently as he slid on a condom and crawled on the bed. I scooted back, spreading my legs in anticipation.

He balanced on one huge arm and positioned himself for penetration as I stared up into his eyes.

He worked his way into me and everything else faded away. As the hard thickness slid in and out of me, it felt like we were made for each other.

I ran my hands down his firm and strong back. He leaned down to kiss my lips.

Letting my hesitation fade away, I enjoyed the moment. He thrusted in and out of me, faster and harder, sending chills through my entire body.

“Don’t stop,” I begged, so close to coming.

The desperation on his face pushed me over the edge. I felt myself tighten around him as my whole body began to shake. All the while, he continued pounding me.

“Fuck, yes…” I moaned.

His face scrunched up and he grunted, thrusting into me one final time. “Yes…” he hissed, breathing heavy.

Slowly, he stopped. Staying inside of me, he stared into my eyes.

Suddenly, fear washed over met.

What the hell am I doing? I thought. This guy is practically a stranger…

Without warning, images of war-torn Afghanistan came to mind, along with memories of Melvin’s forced kiss, and the way things had gone wrong with Warren during our picnic.

My chest suddenly felt too tight. My breathing to shallow.

“Get off!” I said, propping myself up with my elbows.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as he pulled out.

I looked to the wall, wanting to see anything but his face and blue eyes. “This was a mistake,” I choked out between my labored breathing.

“Mistake? What do you mean? You wanted—”

“I know,” I snapped, cutting him off. “Will you please just leave?”

Guilt and shame mixed, forming an emotional cocktail I wasn’t ready to deal with, especially not with him still naked in my bed.

“What the hell?” he muttered, crawling out of bed.

“Just go. Please.”

“You’re the one who called me over,” he reminded, intensifying my guilt.

I pulled a cover over my naked body, not even fully understanding why I felt so ashamed. Tears welled in my eyes. “Will you please just leave?” I said again. “I’ll call you later.”

“Whatever. Where’s your bathroom?”

“There.” I pointed.

“This is so messed up, Rose,” he muttered, grabbing his clothes and crossing the room. “You’re making me feel used.”

I said nothing. Tears flowed completely outside of my control, effectively making me feel even worse.

When I heard Warren leave a few minutes later, practically slamming my front door, I laid back and cried, letting everything out.

It wasn’t him, but he had opened a floodgate that would not be closed easily. All my problems had started after I got back from Afghanistan—after I’d seen brutality, the mistreatment of women, and so much more. None of my life had made sense after returning from that country.