It Happened One Night — Кассета

It Happened One Night Virgin Annie's night starts out sour but ends pretty sweet. By ExoticaEroticaInsidaya . Listen to the Podcast at Connected . Wednesday night before Thanksgiving, 2010 I slammed Richard's car door and stormed off. He rolled down the window. "Bitch!" he shouted, loud enough for everyone on my block to hear. His tires screeched as he hit the gas. Richard was supposed to take me out on a date and have me home by 12am. I looked at the cracked screen of my cellphone. It read 2am. They were having classic movie night under the stars in Springfield Park, there were showing Now Voyager with Paul Henreid and Bette Davis. I told my mom and brother I wouldn't be out too late. I tried not to replay everything that happened in the car, but I could feel a bruise forming on my back where Richard tried to press me into the dashboard. I still tasted his blood in my mouth from when I bit down on his lip. I had said no, twice, and I meant it. He was lucky that I didn't do more than break his nose, punch him in the nuts and bite his lip. The straps on my dress were broken. The kitchen light was still on when I cracked open the door, but the house was quiet. Everyone was asleep. I wasn't religious, but I thanked God Mathew wasn't awake to see the state I was in. He attended the same university as Richard and probably knew exactly what dorm to find him in. Mathew had a temper as it was, always getting in trouble for something. He'd kill Richard and wind up on CNN. The stairs creaked under my weight. I quickly ascended them. I got to my room, stripped, hopped into the shower and let the steam take me over. The streams of hot water stung the bruises forming on my back. I knew better than to go out with him anyway, my brother warned me. He said Richard had a reputation. I thought that was an ambiguous term. Reputation implied that he knew women, how to work them up and get them all hot and bother, and in the mood. Not drag them into a seedy back alley, park his car and grope them from behind his steering wheel. I was so disappointed. After flirting on the phone for weeks, I'd finally worked up the nerve to ask him out. That might've been where I went wrong, asking him out. Mom always said a woman should never ask out a man, but after taking my freshman feminism course I thought the hell with it. I now had to admit it, I was more than disappointed, but more in myself. I was forcing myself to be something I wasn't. I never felt like any of the other girls when I was in high school, it got worse when I started college. I wasn't like them, I wasn't girly. They wore heels, I wore sneakers. They wore skinny jeans, I wore sweatpants. They played volleyball, I started a touch football team. Even more embarrassing, I wasn't experienced in a certain department that made the other girls in my dorm grab a jar of Nutella and sit on the couch in a circle, sharing stories; I'd never had sex. I was a virgin. A big, fat, tomboy with a dusty vagina. My roommate asked me if I was gay and I told her no (though I had a mega crush on Beyonc<span style='font-size:13.0pt;font-fam