the blood of a virgin

I was fourteen when I lost my virginity. Emma was sixteen, and she said she was a virgin too.

It was a Friday afternoon, and she was supposed to help me with my French, so my mum paid her for it. Come to think of it, after a first time like that, it's no surprise I had to pay for almost every sexual encounter after that.

We went to the same school and she told me not to tell anyone. I didn't have to. That Monday disgrace awaited me, not her. I didn't put it in the wrong hole; I didn't go floppy; I didn't come too early; like normal boys. When I lost my virginity, I bled like a girl.

She had told all her friends how one moment I was fucking her in missionary position, and the next I had covered her firm pale titties in dark red mucus.

"I'm so sorry," I muttered, trying to wipe it off her, and thus covering her in blood completely.
She started to cry while I was still hard in her. Oh God.
"It happens sometimes," I tried to explain. But I didn't have to. She knew about my nosebleeds.
"Get off me, you freak!" she screamed. And than she slapped me. As if I wasn't bleeding already.

Her friends told their boyfriends, who told their little sisters not to sleep with me, who told their friends who told their siblings. Monday morning even my teachers knew I had lost my virginity and sprayed blood all over my tutor's tits.

"I expect you'll get an A for this test," said Mrs. La Vie, my French teacher, "considering you've had some help with your homework last Friday."

I remember everyone laughed.