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Nancy is one of the most compassionate women you know. She has her flaws, everyone does, but she has few and far between. Your mother adores her more than anything, having friendly conversations almost every day. The Lanzas often came over for dinner. Nancy’s son, Adam, was generally antisocial, even when you tried to make conversation in the past. After dinner, you had excused yourself to your room. Adam’s eyes follow you, his stare awkward and curious as ever. You sat down in your bed, awkwardly kicking your feet as you thought up a cure to your boredom. Your eyes drifted to your laptop, which was now in sleep mode. You hadn't touched it since the night before… You thought about playing a browser game, but that thought was quickly interrupted. Your door creaked open before you could stand, revealing the tall, lanky boy who had just been downstairs a few seconds ago. He must have followed you up.
“Oh,” you quietly said, taken aback that Adam would attempt social interaction of his own volition. “Hi, Adam,” you politely greeted, “Did you need something?”
You felt a twinge of doubt regarding his reason for joining you upstairs, yet you were almost totally positive there was no ill intent behind whatever it was. You decided that he was more than likely feeling lonely and weary of conversing with the older women downstairs.
“Could you close the door?” You ask, nodding to the door. He complies, but remains totally quiet. The door gently shuts, sealing your inescapable interaction with him.
You were met with nothing but silence in response to your question. Silence and that awkward, cold stare. He entered, his body language indicating he was either nervous or didn’t want to talk to you. He shuffled awkwardly near one of your walls, as if trying to fit himself into your room, but not quite knowing where to place himself.
There's a long silence as you both stare at each other, your eyes darting around awkwardly as if addressing the imaginary audience to indicate that this was weird. His eyes were so piercing, you thought, his stare was heavy. You felt like he was trying to obliterate you with his wide, fearful-looking eyes.
“Sorry, my room is kinda a mess. I was gonna clean, but, you know… I got busy.” You offer an explanation, but Adam doesn't seem to care for it at all.
He just stares at you, wandering around your room like a curious cat that isn’t quite comfortable with its owner. Though, Adam lacks a tail and ears. You inwardly felt amused at that thought. Really, you were trying to distract yourself from this moment of awkwardness.
“Nice laptop,” he remarks. “I have a PC at home. I would tell you my PC specs, but they are slipping my mind right now. I think my processor…” Everything past this point sounds like gibberish to you.
You nod, trying to act like you understand what he's discussing with you. You are, at the very least, happy that he wants to talk to you, though you are not all too sure if it was his choice. Nancy might have made him come up here and talk to you. Though, Adam wasn't easily swayed. You figured he was really particular about the way things were done.
“Oh… that’s interesting...” You awkwardly responded, having lost track of what Adam was saying about midway through. “Do you want to go into technology work?” You ask, trying to cease the one-sided conversation Adam had started.
“What sites do you browse?” He asks, obviously trying to engage with the lousy comment you made about the wonders of the internet. He ignores your question regarding his future job. “I peruse forums, mostly. Not everyone there is very kind, though. I try to keep to myself. Have you heard of Something Awful?”
“Uhh…” You pause, trying desperately to search your memory for any mention of whatever that site was. You should've expected this much from Adam. A twenty-something-year-old guy who lives with his mother would obviously be into niche websites. “No, I don’t think so… what’s that?”
“It’s mostly a blogging forum. I can show you.” He responds, inching over to your laptop.
The recollection of what you had been doing on that laptop suddenly hits you like a train and you silently curse yourself for never adding a password. You swear you were going to. Your procrastination had bit you in the ass yet again, and now it would be in the form of your neighbor’s son seeing the porn you were watching. This wasn't the first time, either. Your mother had caught you before while trying to print something on the computer, and she had scolded you vehemently.
“Wait, wait,” you halt him. You spill the first thing that comes to mind, some excuse, anything to keep Adam away from the degeneracy that lies within that laptop. You couldn't handle the embarrassment. “It’s dead. The laptop.”
You cursed at yourself again. The light that indicated the power was flashing, not to mention that the cord was right there, plugged into the device. If it were true, he could simply plug it in and continue with what he was doing.
“No.” He responds curtly. “The battery indicator is on, meaning the laptop has power.” He points to the bright LED light on the side of your laptop.
You don’t know if he's innocent or just oblivious, but he's obviously not getting that you don’t want him on your laptop. He taps the spacebar twice, the screen fading to the last opened window. There was a long silence in the room as Adam watched the looping porn video for a few moments. You covered your face.
“I’m sorry,” you meekly said, utterly defeated and consumed by shame. You attempt, in vain, to convince yourself that Adam isn't disgusted by what you were indulging in. “Really sorry… I didn't want you to see it, I tried to stop you, but you… kept going, and I didn’t want to admit I was... I'm sorry, please don’t be grossed out!” You sputter, your face turning an ugly shade of pink as you hold back tears.
It wasn't something to get worked up over, not at all. Not when you simply could have stood up and moved your computer away, or created a password like you procrastinated, or merely told Adam you didn’t want him on your computer. He continues to stand there. His expression is hidden from your face and all you can see is his back, but you swear you know that he's holding back amusement. You have humiliated yourself again, and he's going to tell your mother.
“Do you watch a lot of porn?” He asks, and you immediately think he’s asking that to make fun of you. If only you could see his face. He’s blushing, but only slightly, rubbing his crotch ever so slightly.
He must think you’re a loser, a porn-addicted teenager who can’t even have sex, so she resorts to touching herself to porn. “No… I… I don’t…” You quietly say. It’s not true. If it were, you wouldn’t be in this shameful situation.
“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” he responds, turning to look at you. Your eyes meet his, and he immediately shifts to look at the floor again. Even in a situation where you should be embarrassed, he can't even look at you. “It’s normal to watch porn. Forty to fifty-two percent of teenage girls do it.”
You make a face of confusion, utterly lost on what he's trying to say. It’s not normal, not at all! If it were, your mother wouldn't scold you so vehemently for indulging in it. “What? It’s not normal.” You mumble, looking down at the floor again.
“It is normal. Sexuality is something you have… permission to express. Could I ask you something?” Adam asks, his gaze still fixed on the floor. He's shy for a man asking such a personal question.
“Uh… I guess you can?” You hesitantly respond, not all too sure what he’s about to ask.
Adam swallows nervously. “What kind of porn do you watch?”
You remain silent, not wanting to respond. Ever. Why does he ask that as if it were a part of a survey rather than an intensely personal and humiliating question? You shift back on the bed, feeling anxious about this unexpected aspect of Adam that you have discovered.
“I want you to go, I think…” You say, now taking the role of being the one staring at the floor. “You need to go. Please.” There it is, your inevitable instinct to fawn. You're trying to soften the blow, even when Adam had clearly made you uncomfortable. And it was this very instinct that got you into this situation in the first place.
Adam comes up to your bed, that stupid bug-eyed stare no longer awkward. Instead, you feel terrified. You feel like you should have known. Why didn’t you do something?
“Adam, get out of my room…” You try to sound stern, like you’ll really get upset if he tries anything. “Get away. Now.” But your voice quivers, you’re far too quiet, and you know he can tell you're afraid of him.
He climbs onto your bed, hardly making the springs creak. He’s lanky, so, so very lanky. You could push him off your bed if you want to, but you feel paralyzed in fear. Why were you so afraid of Adam? You tried to lift your arm, but instead, you were gently pushed back onto the cushioned bed. It was soft, comfortable, the bed you’d slept in since you were barely six. You had sought stability in this bed every night. Crying into the mattress when you were overwhelmed, hiding under the blankets when you were afraid, cuddling with your mother when you were sick… and now you would be raped in the very same bed, the very same house, you were raised in.
You would be raped before your first kiss.
Neither Adam nor you said a word to each other. You didn't need to. He knew what he was doing and you knew what he was doing. The hand he had previously pushed you down with was still on your chest. He added another, gently squeezing your small breasts. It felt violating, the way he was being so soft with you. Rape is supposed to be violent, the worst thing you can do to a person, totally unjustifiable. But with the way Adam is touching you, it feels different. It feels normal. You finally build the courage to lift your arm, grabbing his wrist. It fits in your tiny hand.
It doesn't stop him, but it makes him look you in the eyes for what might be the first time during your entire interaction. That quickly changes as Adam looks back down at your chest (though, there really isn't much to look at in the area). Adam pulls his hand away, averse to the way you touched him. How could he touch you, but you couldn't touch him? He was an enigma.
“Your boobs are small for a teenager,” he observes. It makes you feel embarrassed. “It’s… cute. Everything is cohesive. Your small breasts fit with your looks, perfectly sized for your frame. Is that weird to say?”
You aren't really sure why he’s analyzing your breasts, but it does little to make you more comfortable. He sighs at himself, though it seems like an attempt to brush off what he just said. His hands quiver above you. He’s nervous. He's nervous to rape you. He could stop if he wanted to, but it seems like he’s fighting against himself, like he's out of his own control. His shaking hand moves to your shorts, undoing the little bow you had tied on them. It unscrunches around your hips. He seems to know you won't do anything for him, so, against all reasoning, he pushes your shirt up to touch your bare skin. You’re too warm, too sweaty, and your skin feels like sandpaper to him. It feels uncomfortable. It feels human.
He takes your shorts off with as minimal contact as he can manage, swallowing at the sight of your cunt in your panties. You were a teenager, a teenager who still wore cute panties. They matched with your outfit and that made Adam feel very flustered. You thought about these things as much as he did, you thought about how visually pleasing the colors would be on your skin and in the context of your outfit. He felt related to, but only slightly.
His hands sweat and shake as he sits on his knees between your legs, your shorts only halfway down your legs. He grabs the waistband of your panties, nervously pulling them down as if anticipating something to jump out and attack him. Instead, all that’s there is your vagina, bare and laid out for him to stare at. He stares for about a minute, face entirely red. It’s embarrassing, being naked and displayed for him. He pokes at one of your lips, feeling how warm you were. Your body felt warm, far too warm. He was cold. You shut your legs, trapping his hand between your thighs.
He retracts his hand, holding it. “Don’t do that.” He demands, his tone quiet. He’s telling you not to, but he doesn't exactly sound upset. Only monotone, like always.
He hesitantly spreads your thighs, though not very far since your shorts and panties stop him. He picks them up, lifting them into the air to get easy access to your soft pussy. He holds them with one hand, the other going to slowly unbuckle his belt. He's weighing his decisions. Could he back down now? Was he past the point of no return? He decided yes. With a bit of fumbling, he gets his belt and pants down, his dick only half hard in the prison that was his underwear.
You’d never seen a dick before. You felt a morbid curiosity to see Adam’s—after all, you two were about to be closely acquainted. He pulls his underwear down just below his balls, but decides it feels weird, then pulls them halfway down his thighs to match yours. His hand hovers near your thighs for a moment before wrapping around his cock, stroking himself hesitantly to get to a full erection.
You can't really see past your own legs, but between the little gap of them, you can see Adam’s brown hair. “I’m going to put it inside now. It’s probably going to hurt quite a bit, but try to relax…” He mumbles.
You panic a bit, but only internally. You feel the tip of his dick rub against your clit, and he moans. It’s quiet, and he probably won't do it again for the rest of the interaction. He’s not very big, you can tell. He presses it against your opening, gummy and hot. You whine at the resistance your pussy puts up as he tries to put his hard dick inside. It feels ridiculously uncomfortable, so you try to relax as Adam said. You take a deep breath, now all too aware of the stiff foreign object wedged in your tight cunt. You squirm a bit, but Adam’s still holding your legs in place as he pushes himself all the way inside. He prods against your cervix gently, but stops there. He doesn't move for a while, seeming to be oddly the same amount of uncomfortable as you are. It’s almost like you’re the one raping him.
“Why are you doing this?” You quietly say, not really expecting or wanting an answer. It’s disregarded by him as he slowly starts to fuck you.
He pants and exhales, but never moans. Not once. There's a rhythm, now, as Adam gets a bit more comfortable with touching you. His hands grip your plush thighs, perfectly trimmed fingernails digging into your young flesh. He's pulling you onto him with animalistic desire, though he's fucking at a snail’s pace. It feels ticklish inside of you, like a big, stiff worm working your insides. His balls press against your ass, gently sticking to your sweaty skin. It feels so embarrassing, but you can’t think of those things right now.
He pulls out of the embrace of your pussy, fucking his fist instead. His hot sperm splatters on your thighs, cunt, and between your ass cheeks. It feels gross.
He pants, putting your legs down to look at your face. Your hair is a bit frazzled from all the wriggling you were doing, but you look cute as ever. You sit up with him still between your legs, unsatisfied, but only wanting one thing.
You press your lips against his, tasting his spit. Kissing Adam made everything feel normal, like you were allowed to do it. Adam didn't seem to like this, but was willing to put up with the touch as a means of repaying you for the deviant act he had done against you. He grabs your shoulder and pushes you away, only slightly.
“…Thank you…” He quietly murmurs, not knowing what to do with himself. He feels gross.
He leaves without another word.