My Father's Age

Just a piece of poetry I scribbled up quickly. A story of general indecency, the views the French have on young people's sex lives, the Lolita complex and sex itself. Read with caution. More-or-less explicit content. Trigger warning for mentions of rape.


1. My Father's Age.



Pushing, thrusting, entering and breaking

Blood spilt on the pristine white sheets

Crying, whimpering, shuddering, lips quivering

What was once a part of me is now lost


Lolita is a myth, a pretty little fairytale

I now drown my sorrows in expensive wine 

That my lover buys for me

'Lolita, ma petite Lolita' he calls me

Humbert Humbert is hungry 

A low growl, he wants more


All I can do is lay down and wait

knowing that it'll never be my turn to come

'Whore' he whispers

I say nothing

Because I know that he is right


Sipping wine is my only pleasure now that he's gone

The expensive gifts please me just as well

But that is all material goods, what can I say
I cannot refuse

He's just assuring himself that I'll come back

I cannot refuse


Call me a whore

Call me a slut

Call me a bitch

I don't care, I don't care, I don't care

Call me proud

Call me strong

Call me admirable

I'll punch you, I'll punch you, I'll punch you

I know what I am

Get off of me

Get the fuck off of me

You can't put words in my mouth

But I can put my fist in yours


Use me 

Abuse me

I no longer have my integrity

I might as well let the Marquis rape me

And Valmont, and Grey, and all those other bastards

In books they are harmless

In reality they exist

That is their flaw


But what can I say

Truly what can I say

He's calling


Wanting for more

What can I say

Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me

I can't complain


You're all disgusted with me

I know

I can't bring myself to care anymore

I am done

I am gone

But that's what I get after all

For fucking men my father's age.

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