The Path of Innocence

    His arm fell lightly on her shoulder and he leaned closer to brush a kiss against her cheek. The kiss was the sort of casual peck they had exchanged on previous occasions, yet she automatically stiffened against him as if in anticipation of what was to come.

    "I really admire the way you stood up to Tim tonight," he murmured in her ear. "He can be such a pain. I've never seen you so animated."

    Fiona turned to reply, but his mouth immediately sought out hers, smothering her words and swamping her with his directness. Yet, despite everything, she found herself responding passively, as his thin lips parted and moved in a slow, circular fashion before pressing down more forcefully.

    Her head was confused, yet her body continued to respond, as though she was oddly powerless to stop. Pushing him away would seem almost…rude. She closed her eyes, still slightly heady from the intoxicating effects of the alcohol, and relaxed momentarily in his embrace. Her senses were curiously roused as his teeth fell lightly against her lips, gently nibbling and, as if by their own volition, her arms slipped around his neck. Then a roll of thunder clapped loudly, making the fabric of the shelter tremble, and she shrank back in alarm. "Looks like it's setting in," she spoke to the air.

    "Mmm, good." Jeremy swiftly pulled her back toward him so that her eyes were forced to meet his pale face, still pitted with the scars of adolescent acne, and she glanced at his greasy hair, his wispy little nanny-goat beard, a travesty of the symbol of masculinity it was meant to be.

    A wave of panic overtook her, but it was too late. The signals of encouragement had already been sent.

    With a leery smile, his gaze dropped to her breasts and a matchstick arm stretched across her waist. She stiffened against him, but he was upon her before she knew it, pressing his lips against hers again, this time harder and roughly.  He prised open her mouth and poked his moist tongue inside, probing, at first slowly, but then faster, exploring her orifice. She listened to the sound of his breathing quicken as his kisses grew harder still. A hand cupped one of her breasts, then another, rubbing faster and faster, squeezing her nipples so hard that she let out a sharp yelp. She pulled away, but his hands had already moved to open her blouse, fumbling to undo the fastening of her bra. Cursing the fullness of her nipples, she flopped back helplessly as his mouth plunged on top, sucking like a hungry baby. She should stop him, she knew, but instead, her arms hung by her side like useless rags. She screwed her eyes tightly closed, desperate to block out what was happening.

    In the darkness, she could feel his tongue circling the areola of her nipple and she shuddered at an involuntary tingling inside. Then her juices began to flow and she willed them to stop, knowing it was no more than a reflex reaction, yet her response repelled her. She took a long, deep breath of air and concentrated hard, but the movement of a hand across her abdomen, feeling its way over the contours, made her stiffen again. Her heart skipped a beat, then slammed to a halt as he reached the crossroads of her limbs and a pair of straightened fingers began to rub up and down. Instantly, her mind splintered with confusion. She went to push him away, but his reactions were quicker and he grabbed her hand to pull it down on to his arousal instead. She heard the sound of air sucked through his teeth, then felt his hot and steamy breath plunge on to a nipple again.

    Her stomach tightened, then an odious stench of stale urine wafted up on a gust of wind, suddenly seeming to overpower all other sensations and her insides began to churn. Swallowing against an acid taste in her throat, she was unsure what was worse, the foul reek or the equally vile sensation of touching him. Revulsion rapidly turned to panic and she tore her hand away. She stared down at the mousy straggles of hair splayed across her breast and it struck her how his physical attributes had never been particularly relevant before, but how now, in this dark bus shelter, on this cold, wet and windy night, they seemed overwhelmingly significant.

    Fiona and Roger are young innocents treading a turbulent path towards self awareness, especially sexual. Idealistic Fiona is headstrong, but even she cannot live up to her own standards and her naivety leads from one compromising situation to another. Roger, on the other hand, is already emotionally scarred, devastated by the loss of his mother, and his encounters only serve to gauge ever deeper wounds, until, that is, he finally meets Fiona. Yet, is the happiness they find too good to be true?