Squeaky Bed

Rocky and I made up.  I went with him to visit some family for mother’s day. It was kind of depressing because the family gets together on mother’s day at the cemetery and decorates the graves. They do that on father’s day too. It seems like a sweet tradition, but it’s also just sad. Rocky didn’t want to go alone. I learned a little about his family, the ones that are dead at least.

Rocky’s grandma died in her 30’s because her husband was a jealous man. He was never home so she got a pen pal. When she met the guy, her husband shot her and then himself. Rocky’s mom was 12 at the time, and saw it happen. Actually, her father shot over her head to shoot her mom because she was running out to her to warn her. She could have easily died. Rocky’s mom committed suicide January 6, 2006, a year and two days after my dad died of cancer. I wish I could have met her.

The night before we went to visit his family we had make up sex. Sort of. It was the least pleasant sexual experience we’ve ever had. And the least I’ve ever had period. His family believes in no premarital sex, which is fine except that he still wants to have sex at his place where we have to hide it. So he told me I couldn’t make any noise, no moaning for me. Then, because his bed was squeaky I wasn’t allowed to even move. I had to lay there. Silent. It kind of freaked me out. I felt…I don’t know how to describe it. It wasn’t sexy at all. I felt like a sex toy. I told him afterwards that I don’t want to have sex at his place again. What’s worse is that we couldn’t cuddle afterwards for very long because I had to sleep on the couch so his step mom wouldn’t walk by and get pissed. (He has to keep the door open when I’m there.) It feels like I’m 16 again. Only when I was 16 the guy I was seeing didn’t have to keep quiet and was allowed to shut his door. Okay, I feel younger than 16.