C is for Condom

This scene, originally posted April 3, 2015 for the A to Z Challenge, may or may not change as I continue in my writing process for Camp NaNoWriMo. I want to make Whitmore sound a little less rapey, yet still oppressive and demanding over Jessica. We’ll see how it works out.


“It’s our anniversary,” Whitmore said, standing behind Jessica as she unlocked the door to her apartment and walked inside. They had just returned from dinner at The Melting Pot, a popular fondue restaurant downtown. Dinner was almost $100. Thirty per entree, and thirty for the appetizer. Jessica wasn’t sure what exactly they were paying for. All the kitchen did was dice meats and fruits and mix up different broths and cheeses for them to dip and cook their own food in at their table. When Jessica had returned from the restroom, she’d found a red rose on her seat.

“It’s our anniversary,” Whitmore said.

Jessica hesitated to sit down. She was afraid a ring was next. She knew Whitmore was starting to get impatient. Two years was too long. When they first started dating, he had expressed his desire to get married and have children. He was obsessed with it. Two months into their relationship, he was already asking her to move in with him, and thinking of baby names. Their daughter would be Whitney, named after him.

Jessica had asked him to give her three years. However, Whitmore saw that as enough time for her to realize she didn’t need him like he needed her. So he pushed her. Told her that she would never find another man to love her as much as he did, and if he’d “accidentally” gotten her pregnant, she would have to marry him. Three years or not.

“Do you want to come in?” Jessica  asked flatly.

“I mean, it is our anniversary. What do couples do on their anniversary?” He stepped inside and kissed her, biting her bottom lip and sucking it hard. He took her hand and led her to her bedroom.

Jessica wasn’t in the mood for sex. In fact, she wanted him to go home, but denying him what he believed was central to every relationship on their anniversary of all nights would mean that she didn’t love him, that she never cared for him, that she had been stringing him along for the last two years. Hadn’t she?

Her plan was to come to dinner and end the relationship; the significance of that night never crossed her mind. Now he was in her room undressing her, kissing her stomach and between her thighs, promising to be with her and love her always, as if it were their wedding night.

Jessica opened the drawer to the nightstand next to her bed and pulled out a condom.

“What’s this?” Whitmore asked, snatching it from her hand.

“I forgot to take my pill this morning. We need some kind of protection.”

Whitmore sat up on his knees. Jessica thought he was about to put it on, but he tossed it to the floor and continued on his conquest.

“You don’t want me to touch you?” He said as he kissed her, as he climbed on top of her, as he pressed between her legs. “You don’t want to feel me inside you?”

“I don’t want to get pregnant, Whitmore!” she said, pushed against his chest. “You drank a lot of wine tonight. You might not be as careful.”

“It’s our anniversary. We should make this night special. We always use condoms. Tonight I want to touch you. Tonight I want to make you mine.” He pinned both of her hands over her head and lay on top of her. As he pushed himself inside, he whispered, “This will bring us closer together.”

“But I don’t—”

“Shhh. If it happens, it happens.”

Jessica cringed as Whitmore thrust hard and deep.

 

—Nortina

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