Preseason Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

tugging at my panties, pulling them down to my knees. I squirmed and asked him to stop. Ivan began thrusting his penis inside me anyway. I could feel his manhood pounding away at me as I lay there wishing he would hurry the hell up. Soon his thrusting began to burn for the lack of moisture between my legs. It blew my mind that he could not sense that I wasn’t into it. I said no several times more, but he kept pumping.
    Once he was finished, his sweaty palm touched my shoulder, he kissed me on the lips, and then he rolled over. I did not feel a sense of fear, but I was definitely confused. What just happened? Did I have sex with my lover or was I raped? I had no clue.
    I quietly crept into the master bathroom to clean myself up. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I felt like a pitiful mess and I looked the exact same way. I wasn’t battered or bruised, but my body and spirit felt abused. I didn’t know what to say or do next, so I turned off the light, opened the bathroom door, and walked into the darkness to lie beside the man that suddenly felt like a stranger.
    Only in the days that passed did I realize that I had, in fact, been raped. It stayed with me tucked away in a tiny dark corner of my soul. I was confused because I still had feelings for Ivan. I never told my girls from The Clique because I felt silly and I did notwant them to judge my relationship. Essentially, I blocked it from the forefront of my thoughts. After a few weeks, I guess you could say I acted as if I’d gotten over it, but I promised myself that, if I could help it, I would never let anything like that happen to me again.

Chapter 3
New Life
    T he morning of my first day in the New York PR office, I was a nervous wreck, but I tried to play it cool. Am I ready for the hustle and bustle of the city? Will I get on the right train and get off at the right stop? Will my new colleagues like me?
    Eighth Avenue and Fiftieth Street was my destination. I had to hop on the New Jersey Transit, then transfer to the C train at the Port Authority terminal in the city. I’d been haunted by dreams of riding the subway. In California, the closest I’d been to taking public transportation was the occasional bus ride in junior high. The overall concept was basically foreign to me.
    I finally made it to the C train. Once I stepped inside the train car, I felt like the other passengers could sense my insecurity. I felt as though they were looking at me like I didn’t know where I was going. In reality, they probably couldn’t have cared less about my insecurities and didn’t even notice me.
    I could hear Mary J. Blige blasting from the earphones of the hefty woman in hospital scrubs sitting beside me. I started to jam along to her music until I realized that I looked like an idiot. However, I would have been in good company since the man sitting directly across from me in the cramped, bench-style seating started showing his ass. Out of the relative silence on a crowded morning train, he started rapping what seemed like an impromptuperformance of the most vulgar, explicit, and raunchy lyrics that his simple, ignorant brain could think up. I knew rap, and this man’s foolish nonsense came straight from his personal collection of bad rhymes. After the initial shock wore off, it was almost hilarious how serious he was about the crap he was spewing.
    I casually looked around the train car to gauge the reactions of other passengers. Most people totally ignored him. Their facial expressions remained stoic. That must have been a sign that you were a true New Yorker. Thankfully, the train started to slow down. It was so crowded that I was having a hard time seeing the signs at each stop. I shifted my body and leaned my head to the right in order to peek through the people that were standing. I could see enough to figure out that it was my time to depart this unsolicited show. I exited stage left of the train car.
    After navigating my way