Mike started it; I don't know when, but he did. The motel had a room behind the front desk, behind a smaller room that led to the alley and was used for holding 'fresh' blankets and a screen for the video surveillance system. When Mike was on duty one night, he called me into the back room, and before I knew what was happening...and that seems to be the summation of my existence...my orange shorts were off, and he was having sex with me. I think he had sex with me everywhere he possibly could in that room. And in more positions than I was remotely comfortable with. It was painful, but more of an exhausting kind of pain. I distinctly remember thinking to myself how tiring this all was, and how I just wished he would hurry up and finish already. And then, after a while, he told me that he had a 'medical condition' where he 'couldn't cum'. I didn't know at the time what any of this meant to me; he was even garbling about his wife, but it all went over my head. Now I realize that he was trying to manipulate me, and trying to make me think that I couldn't get pregnant with him.
Van was later, but not by much. I liked him...he was (I thought) a nice guy.
He had lent me his bike and told me where to ride so I could get to a park not far away. I rode there, and spent some time sitting under a tree, perfectly content with myself, smug with what I'd been 'up to'. I wrote in a tiny notebook about some of the men I'd slept with, how hot they were, and things like that. I was actually proud of myself, bragging to myself about what a good whore I was.
Van had taken a liking to me; but when he pulled me aside, he insisted that I tell him whether or not I really was eighteen years old. "And not like sixteen or something?" Actually, I was precisely that. Sixteen. But at that point...I kind of thought I was eighteen. Not completely, but enough to tell him honestly enough to pass a polygraph that I really was eighteen years old.
Back into the back room I went, this time with Van. I sat in a chair as he minded the front desk, and he came back and gave me hits off his pipe. I didn't get high; I didn't know how to inhale.
We ended up beginning to have sex in the tiny video surveillance room, which was just all weird. He seemed super paranoid, and he even had me stand in the alley for what seemed like a long time, waiting. He had me go up to his room, and wait for him there. It was a long wait, and a strange one. He had had friends come into town, and they had had a party where they had roasted a whole pig. They had promised him some...but left him only the head. And so, on a table in his room, there sat an entire pig's head, huge, with a serrated knife beside it. Under his television were a pile of porn magazines, all in Spanish. I browsed through them. It was the first time I'd ever held a porn magazine in my hands. It was kind of exhilarating, though in an underwhelming non sexual way. But they were great nonetheless, and I was thrilled. I deemed them brilliant, and promised myself that I would own one someday. Piles and piles of them...
Van opened the door and walked in. It was awkward, starting off from such a weird place to have been coming from to begin with. It was all very uncomfortable. He really seemed to want to get me high, and to want to incorporate his newly imported california cannabis, supposedly very high quality, into our sexual experience through shotgunning it. I was confused and didn't know why he was breathing smoke into my mouth, and got freaked out. Once he explained it to me, besides the fact that I didn't know at the time how to inhale, he was finished before I realized he had even began with me. He seemed embarrassed that he came so quickly. I didn't know why. He used the excuse that he hadn't been with a woman for a long time. I believed it at sixteen...now I realize it was probably embarrassment talking.
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