His is a short one. He was my boyfriend in sixth grade, he was the school dean's stepson. He's the lucky bastard who took my first kiss. He kissed me in the girl's bathroom and I hated it. It was sloppy, it was wet, it was nasty, but sadly, I can't change it.
Devon was the boy every girl in my grade wanted, and those bitches made me feel like I should thank him he had laid his eyes on me. As if I was some sort of play doll. Pathetic.
He was well known for being a fuckboy. Yes, a fuckboy in grade six, you read that right. He was an athlete, very tall, and very quick for his age. By this I mean, he had already had sex. Yes, in sixth grade. I was just twelve, maybe thirteen, I vaguely remember. He wanted me to be the same, but my morals and fears (of having sex at twelve I mean!), impeded me to accept his requests. He was very nice, I can't lie about that, he did talk to me as if I was his princess, but that didn't change the fact that homeboy wanted to pop my cherry and he wanted to do it quickly.
I don't believe in blaming people from your past for the actions you take later in life, but maybe Devon laid a curse on me, because boys keep screwing me over ever since we dated.
We broke up just two months in. He demanded too much and I couldn't give it to him. He dated my ex-bestfriend exactly two months later. I'm not sure if they had sex.
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Letters To My Men
Teen FictionA series of unsent letters and stories dedicated to the men in my life. Read for a fun time. Most names have been altered.
