Sanguine Love Part 1

I hear that everyone remembers their first time. I know I do. The rivulet of crimson on the sheet, that ever so distinct smell clinging to the air, the way his face contorted at the end—I remember it all. But none of these details compare to the endless waves of ecstasy that washed away the tremendous pain. That night I will never forget.
         I was upon my tenth year when I met him. Dark strands of hair wreathed the face of an angel, and a pair of ebon eyes warmed my soul for the first time as he gazed upon my filthy, emaciated body. So nervous was I that my eyes darted everywhere but toward his, yet he still took me home with him. Perhaps it was my blossoming bosom, or just a spark of kindness in a world that had shown me naught but pain and hardship; still, he brought me to an enormous villa, bathed me and gave me the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. I can still feel the elation when his first glimpse of me stole his breath away. He took me through the town to the shopping district and even introduced me to his friends. We visited almost every store and shop in the district and then walked to the beach to watch the sun set together. Never had a day been so perfect. Never had I felt wanted like that. I still remember how I wanted that feeling to last forever.
         After several serene minutes, he told me he wanted to see me again. I was to meet him there the following evening, but as he walked away, the flame he had so deftly ignited in my heart grew even greater. As I sat on the beach listening to the lapping of the waves, I overheard him conversing with one of his friends. The way he spoke of me made me realize that nothing in the world could prevent me from being there the next day. I had to see him again.
         The following evening I nearly burst as he strode down the bank to meet me by the sea. No longer able to restrain emotions, I threw myself upon him, wrapping myself in his arms, but I could hardly contain the strange joy that overwhelmed my senses and knocked him supine beneath me. I bent over him and pressed my lips firmly on his until I felt his straining muscles surrender. His hands hesitated as they glided over my young, tender body, for we knew it would be wrong to go any further in such a public place. Quickly, we stole back to his villa where I we could follow our passions’ paths in privacy.
         Again, I crushed him between my legs, and again his strong, masculine hands explored every contour of my body. So enticed was he by such forbidden fruits as those of a girl hardly a decade alive that he did not notice my hand slide behind my back. So enraptured in games of the tongue and lips was he that a stolen knitting needle he did not see pass from the ruffles of my dress. He was so intent on entering the forbidden realms of sinful delight that it was not until his heart was pierced that he did realize the flame he had enkindled just one day prior had transformed into a raging conflagration.
         “Why?” he gasped as his face twisted in pain and a sanguine river poured from his chest.
         Smiling, I whispered, “What were your words again? ‘I cannot wait to see the look on my sister’s face when she sees her favorite gown on that disgusting little vagabond.’”