Tish
Written by Sean Catlett

My dick is pumping hard inside of her.

Heh.

Sounds bad when you put it that way, doesn’t it?

My man rod was easing in and out of her femininity.

Better?

However you want to bullshit it.

So, basically, we’re fucking.

Yes.

We can use metaphors if you wish, if it makes it more erotic.

We can use ‘sweet nectar.’

In fact, we can use that for almost anything.

‘Her sweet nectar came spilling out of her femininity, and I drank of it, enjoying every minute of it.’

‘I felt her sweet nectar run down my leg, and it only got me more hot.’

‘I poured myself a glass of orange juice and drank of the sweat nectar.’

See?

Pardon me while I barf… my sweet nectar out.

Anyway, we’re fucking. I keep getting off track because this is something I’m not very proud of.

Think of it this way: Something that you thought was a good idea, turns into a bad idea while you’re in the process of doing it. That ever happen to you?

Happens to me all the time.

The thing is… she’s young.

Very young.

This is supposed to mean she’s stupid. It’s supposed to mean she doesn’t know what she’s thinking. Immaturity.

And I’m fucking her. Hard. My hardest.

Need metaphors?

Okay.

Cherry blossom red.

Straightforward?

Her pussy was sore, I was pounding it so hard. Sorry to be blunt, but it’s what’s happening. And I’m not hung, either. I’m only six inches. Under normal circumstances, I’d be adequate.

Did I mention she was young? I think I did.

I can’t even get myself all the way in her, she’s so young. I imagine I’m hitting her cervix with each pelvic thrust, but I can’t tell. I have the condom on extra tight. Pregnancy is something this child doesn’t need in her life.

You may be asking me why I am doing this if she’s this young.

And like I said, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

**********

Amy always told me I was her hero.

Amy always told me she liked me.

Amy always asked me to go out with her.

So, one time, I told her yes.

Yup.

I don’t know why, either. I think it was because I had never ever been in a relationship before. She would be my first real girlfriend. All this hero stuff sucks up your leisure time. Nothing to yourself. But, wait, Superman had Lois. Batman had that reporter chick.

I had nobody.

I had this on my mind when I told Amy yes.

“Yes.”

She was so happy. She looked liked she was about to jump up and down for joy. I smiled, looking into her eyes and seeing complete and utter celebration. She was practically bursting confetti and shooting fireworks into the air.

Naturally, though, there were some underlying factors.

**********

“Are you fucking nuts?!” Knuckles. “She’s like… twelve!”

“So? Tikal is over two hundred.”

“That’s different!”

“How?”

“She’s in the other direction! If anything, it’s better that she’s more experienced than me.”

“Point made, but it’s like I’m Tikal to her. I’m the experienced one. I can teach her the things she needs to know. I’m like a mentor, only closer.”

“Man, you can be a mentor without going fucking out with her! Shit, what will people think?!”

“Like I give a shit what people think!”

This conversation was being held at a restaurant. I told Knuckles that I had some good news. He obviously didn’t take it very well, and customers were starting to stare.

“All I know is that I really like Amy, in a friend sort of way, and that makes this even better. A strong friendship makes the relationship that much stronger.”

“But she’s twelve!”

“Yeah, she’s a little young…”

“A LITTLE?!”

“But that doesn’t mean she isn’t a woman. Man, back in the Cro-Magnon era, she would’ve had two children already.”

“Yeah, and you’d be dead at thirty five.”

I was silent. There was no convincing him.

“Look, Amy is a sweet girl, she really is, but… have you ever actually talked to her?”

“Well… yeah. We talk about stuff.”

“Okay, how much do you really know about her?”

“...”

“Listen, I’m trying to help you out, man. But, somewhere along the line, sex is gonna come up…”

I scoff and get up to leave. “… and one thing is gonna lead to another, and the next thing you know, you got her knocked up. Is that what you want?!”

I stormed out. I could hear him calling out to me as I slammed the door to the restaurant.

“Sonic!”

**********

The next day and the entire town knows about us.

Sonic and Amy, finally going out after all they’ve been through together. Yipee.

Surprisingly enough, the reactions of my fans were positive. A long debated issue finally put to rest, and all the reporters staked at my house could go home at last.

Already, perks. Good sides to dating Amy.

Cut to the first date. No press coverage. I had decided to take Amy to the movies, and then to the burger place downtown. Very basic, no biggie.

The first words that came out of her mouth after the movie were if I was a virgin.

My god.

She asked me if I was a virgin. Nothing about the movie we just saw, nothing about where we go next, just blatant curiosity.

I told her the truth. Obviously.

“Yes.”

“Really?” She says. “You?” she says.

“It’s true. No time for relationships.”

“But… look at you.”

Flattery will apparently get you everywhere.

The rest of the night was uneventful, uninspiring. We ate burgers, we exchanged semantics, we made small talk. She never took her eyes off me.

It was late when I took her home to her front doorstep. We stopped at her porch and I kissed her on the cheek goodnight. I watched her open the door and walk inside. She stopped inside the door frame and looked back at me.

“Wanna come in?”

Tempting. More tempting than I thought it would be. I forced my reply.

“Sorry, but I’m tired. I have some work in the morning.”

She slumped, looking disappointed for a second, then she smiled. A wry, mischievous smile that spread from ear to ear.

“What?” I asked.

Amy reached up with her left hand started to pull down on the neck of her shirt, slowly. With her right hand, she grabbed the doorknob. She kept pulling on her shirt until I saw the very tops of her tits. The part where it curves down into a semicircle. They looked rock hard from where I was standing.

During this, she was closing the door and saying, “Goooooodniiiiight.”

And it closed.

**********

Metaphor: I had wood.

Straightforward: My dick was extra hard.

When I got home, about two minutes later, I started jerking off.

This I am not ashamed of. Fantasies are nothing.

This is something that almost every guy assuredly does. Jerking themselves off is how they escape from reality, how they make their worries go away. This is why so many of them don’t commit suicide, because it gives them a goal. Something to hope for. Maybe, some day, this will be real.

I’m not afraid to say I thought of Amy’s tits pressed against me while I stroked my dick with both hands. I’m not afraid to say I imagined her sitting in my lap, her back to me, riding up and down and moaning. I licked my lips and thought of her sitting on my face.

It’s one of those times where thoughts flood in and make me want to move my hands faster.

Metaphor: man juice.

Straightforward: … is cum a metaphor?

And after it was over, after I was all out, I regretted nothing. And I wasn’t hoping. I call it self-improvement, preparing for the real thing when the issue does come up. This is why I kept my hands moving at a constant speed.

I fell asleep. Not once did I think about where she learned to appeal to men’s needs.

**********

The following afternoon, I went to my mirror to look at my face.

Just to test.

Just to be sure.

I heard somewhere that you can’t bear to look at yourself after you’ve done some horrible deed. Murderers and rapists supposedly can’t do it. Politicians can’t either.

Child pornographers.

Pedophiles.

I was looking at one.

He stared back at me, a perverted little smile on his face. No caring in his eyes. No remorse or regret. His spiked blue hair was tossed and messy. He had to go to the bathroom. He didn’t look one bit ashamed at looking at himself.

Heh.

Don’t believe everything you hear.

**********

I’m still fucking her, you know.

As we speak.

Only now it’s gotten slicker. It’s easier to slide in and out.

Weird. Like a gush of fluid just came out. Maybe she came.

I would consider this a compliment, even if she’s really young. It still means I can give pleasure.

I was lying on top of her, my hands pressed to her bed, holding me up. I scooted myself higher and tried to see her face. Amy had her head tilted back, and she was moaning. Her hands were digging into my ass. I brought myself higher still to see her expression.

Oh.

Oh shit.

She…

She isn’t enjoying this.

I look down.

I look down at my dick, at my waist.

The room is light enough for me to see clearly.

I can see it.

This wasn’t an orgasm. She didn’t come.

It’s blood.

I’m so busy staring that I don’t stop my hard, pumping rhythm.

**********

Second date, and she asks me what we do next.

I say, “Miniature golf.”

“No,” she says. “I mean how far we’ll go.”

“Um… like what?”

She smiles. “Like this.”

She grabs my head and presses her open mouth onto mine. I feel her tongue move around inside.

All I can say is, “mmmmppphhhh.” It surprised me, to say the least.

This had never happened to me before. And it’s a good sensation, too.

Unsure of what to do, I slip my tongue into hers and start moving it around. We stay locked like this for about twenty seconds.

When we pull away, I tell her, “Well, that was interesting.”

She smiles again and laughs. We walk to the golf course reluctantly.

**********

Third date.

We were sitting on the beach, late at night, watching the waves crash to shore, and Amy jumps on me and we start to make out. I wrap my arms around her and we stay together. We roll on the beach in the style of From Here to Eternity. At least, it starts out that way.

Only she sticks her hand on my dick and starts giving me a hand job. With her other hand she keeps me pressed against her face.

Pornography.

Romanticism.

Both of my hands move lower, to her lower back, to her waist, to her ass.

I keep my tongue moving as she strokes my dick with her surprisingly soft bare hands. It’s sticking straight up and lying on her stomach. Unconsciously I’m thrusting back and forth and pressing her against me.

Escapism.

For that moment, I forget all about the age difference. I forget the fact that this is probably the best it’ll ever get.

I forget the fact that, when I peak, our relationship will peak.

And it’s downhill from there.

In two minutes, it’s over, and the waves crashing over us wash away our sweat. My face inches from hers, I peck her on her lips with mine, and whisper: “Thanks.”

No I love you.

No apocalypse.

Just an expression of gratitude.

Now, there, I was starting to get it.

**********

Fourth date.

I’m sitting next to Amy with my arm around her in a restaurant and I ask her what she wants out of this relationship.

She just shrugs.

Can you fucking believe that? She shrugs. She didn’t know what she wanted. For being so experienced she sure is immature.

Maybe I’m just a flavor of the month to her. Some fucking hero figure that she can say she’s gone out with. A childhood fantasy crush she doesn’t know how to deal with.

And I said yes.

Fuck me, I said yes.

“I just want you,” she says as she hugs me tighter.

**********

Blood.

She’s bleeding.

I just earned my red wings.

No, you assholes, this is a bad thing.

It’s my fault this is happening.

I said yes to her.

“Yes.”

Great, and now cherry blossom red is ruining the bed spread, but that’s easily the least of my problems.

**********

The news had been well received by most of my friends. Tails, the one who’s opinion I admired the most, had yielded a positive reaction.

“I’m happy for you two.”

“Thanks, buddy. That really means a lot to me.”

“It’s just age, man. It’s no biggie.”

“Exactly. Knuckles doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Knuckles was against it?”

“Yeah. Must’ve left a bad taste in his mouth or something. He hasn’t spoken to me since I told him.”

“Don’t worry about him. He doesn’t know a thing about relationships. Remember when he couldn’t decide on Rouge or Tikal?”

“Oh yeah, how is Rouge doing?”

Meaningless banter from here on in. Story of my life.

Until the end.

“Just don’t let it go too far.”

I didn’t know what he meant exactly, but before I could ask, he gets up and he leaves.

And I’m left at his table to think about it.

Think.

And I realized that I’m not going for meaningful or romantic anymore. It’s just lust. It’s just happening.

**********

The rest of our dates aren’t even worth mentioning. All that happened was escalation to this. And I’ve been thinking the same thing ever since the fifth date.

End it.

The point is, we’re here now, and it’s all my fault. It’s because of my inability to end this that Amy is bleeding. It’s my fault that I have to put her through this.

It’s gone too far.

End already.

Shit.

Knuckles was right. This is too much to deal with. I never should have said yes. Leave it to me to make Amy’s first time having sex a bad experience. I wouldn’t be surprised if she became a lesbian.

Or killed herself. Leave it to me to fuck up her entire life just because of my emotional problems.

Time to finish.

And now I start to regret practicing. Makes the entire jacking off process seem like a waste. It’s the first time I do something like this and I just want it done. I want to squirt so I can go to sleep unfulfilled in Amy’s blood puddle.

Her sweet nectar.

Without thinking, I speed up.

Faster.

Without me registering it, Amy’s fingers dig into my ass, breaking skin.

Need to unload somewhere. It’s not my choice. I’m breaking up with her first thing in the morning.

Faster.

Like I give a shit what she thinks.

Without me knowing it, Amy screams over and over for me to stop.

Through all of our dates, I never learned anything new about her. I never met her parents. I never kissed her without tongue. I never had a meaningful conversation with her. I never thought about her just as a friend and not a goal to top off. Amy was never nothing more than a longer version of a one night stand. A drawn out masturbation, only painful. It was better when we were just friends, when we were still innocent.

Without me realizing it, her body goes limp.

So, it’s over. I’m done. Finally. The sooner she gets over this, the sooner I can go on and put this god-awful mess behind me. It’s something that I’ll later repress. It’s something I won’t tell my future wife. It’s something that I take to the grave with me. No loose ends. It’s another confession I don’t make.

It’s after I’m done and I’m breathing heavily that I notice that she has passed out.

And that my condom is torn to shit.

The End