I had never had a breath stir the hair along the nape of my neck until a man called the woman out of me, knowing I was untouched, untried, but yearning to feel one breathless moment in someone's arms. I did not know the lips of a man much less the thighs, <br />when I was first asked to bed. <br /> <br /> And after a day's and night's deliberation, accepted. That was me: nothing on a whim back then. Everything thought through. I had for months been resorting morals to clear the way for love's approach. But no one came. All my college friends saw me as I saw myself: completely unbeautiful, completely lost in logic's cold embrace. <br /> <br /> How stiffly I sat on his couch - a statue with sweaty palms. Unable the first date to even touch back, I had to learn from distrust of any hand all the way to lovemaking - a crash course in six weeks - until I would allow him to enter <br /> And pound that hot sweet pain into me, <br /> Pound to the music of moans, <br /> Cracking the husk of childhood, <br /> To release the pulp of woman: <br /> Stone-ground blood flow.<br /><br />Lillian Susan Thomas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hymen-splitting-2/
