ESSAY: SUMMER SENIOR ASSIGNMENT

        All may be over now but, I regret nothing. I regret none of what arose between us—not the sins, not the perverse actions that culminated the relationship. I am sorry for, however, the pain and suffering of the unnamed party, the unnamed man.
         If you have not caught on yet, I will make it clear to you. This unnamed man of my youth was twenty-four when I was fourteen, my age when we met. This unnamed man of my passion-strung young adolescent years will be twenty-eight when I turn eighteen. And, this unnamed man of my fatherless childhood was twenty-two when my father abandoned me in my twelfth year. I didn’t know him then. But, I felt a sense that I was meant to know him. I was meant to find a man, not boy of my age. There was a feeling lost, you know, a feeling of a male figure. You see, I wanted to gain that sentiment and the only way to replace that lost little part of me at the young age of fourteen was to act upon my new-found desires. 
      He was something of a Jekyll and Hyde: one minute gentle and caring, another minute, stubborn and insolent. Sometimes he was persistent when he didn’t have it his way; yet, other times he gave me freedoms I never had. In a way, he was still a child—as I was a child when I first met him. But, unlike a child, he had a conscience. I recall an instance (or instances, as it grew to happen so often) where he told me to strip in front of him. At first, I declined with a half-hearted smile. I wasn’t meaning to be cruel to him, I simply raveled in the reaction he would give. The response would send a red flare into my body heightening the senses. The pleading and the constant “please” and “please” echoed soundlessly into my ear as the ecstasy pumped into my veins. I marveled in the blind dependency he had on me to fulfill his desires. But, in the end, I always gave in. I’d pay my end of the price at giving him his share of excitement with a pleasure. I gave him what he wanted but, didn’t want, for after I was done with my deed he would weep at the vicious and devilish actions that he had flogged me with. Oh, reader, do not only scowl at him for the corruption of a young innocent child!
    Sinner, he no doubt is, but predator and beast, he is not. If you had known him, you could have felt a certain pity for him. A certain sorrow for his weakness and contempt for himself. But, when he looked into my eyes and saw the smile on my face, I saw all grief subside and a moment of deplorable happiness arose from his eyes. Then, his demands from me would come again and my secret desire for control raged through the blood of my veins. After all was finished, when I would pan my eyes up and down at his naked body, the strength of his existence was gone. He was, once again, the helpless weak man I had come to know so well. A lament would sound from his mouth, his face almost grief-stricken with those sad blue eyes, whispers of “I am sorry” and “I am sorry” in my ear, and a mournful goodnight and goodbye. Looking at him, I felt the utter disappointment, of complete embarrassment and innate disgust.
      The last time we talked was when I didn’t want to show myself anymore. The moment of our last goodbye was the moment of complete sin. Here was his proclamation: To (once more) strip in front of him. I laughed it off, saying, “no” and “no.” He begged in genuine “please” and “please.” I wanted to seem particularly cruel this time (just to see his initial reaction) and continued my “no” and “no.” To him, every time I declined his “please” and “please” would seem like the crack of the whip and the streak of pain upon his flesh. I sensed it. I did my best to count to thirty-nine lashes, but, I must have counted to the morbid forty, because, as I innocently toyed with him, he had had enough. With the snap of the fingers he left me. He removed himself neatly from my life without a word. It was at that moment that I realized that I had truly loved him. It wasn’t for all the wicked pleasures I had indulged with him. It wasn’t for all the sins I had taken part in with him. Dear reader, those are not the reasons. I loved him for his conscience. What made me stay with him for those almost three years were his innumerable accounts of sanity deep in the recesses of his heart. He was not an evil man, his intentions were not bad. The question is: Who was I? What kind of game did I play with this poor, poor man? I look back now and I can only think: Punish me, reader. His moral demise was instigated and executed by me.
      Since that many and many a year ago in that kingdom by the sea, I have grown to experience first love and real love. Never again will I feign a man’s emotion, at least, not in the callous way that I did. Reader, I know you think that man had problems, my thoughts do not differ on that matter, but, in the end, he was no less of a man in my eyes. Now, this makes two relationships with a male that I have had, and both have failed—but, not utterly, for I still hold on to what good memories I’ve had with them. They are fine memories. And, despite it all, I still carry on with no hate or spite because I know that I will survive in the end. I regret nothing and I hold blame to no one. Throughout these months and weeks, I’ve realized my sins and I’ve realized his flaws. I understand now that there is a fine line between love and insanity.