Copyright © 2011 Kirsty Moseley
I woke in the morning my head a little fuzzy from the alcohol, and my body aching all over slightly from our activities last night. Jamie was a lot of fun in bed and not like Mark at all. Mark was serious and dominant; he was a ‘lay on your back and spread your legs’ kind of guy. He never once wanted to change positions and if I ever suggested me being on top he refused adamantly, looking at me as if I had grown a second head.
Jamie on the other hand was different, he seemed up for anything, trying out different positions and angles. He wasn’t serious at all, he was flirty and would tickle me making me giggle and squirm, chatting easily in between sessions. After having sex for the third time we’d finally fallen asleep.
I tried to roll over, but I couldn’t. He was practically laying on me pinning me to the bed, his head was on my back, his leg thrown over mine. This was the first time I had actually spent the night with a guy before too. Whenever Mark and I had been together it had been a quick - actually compared to Jamie, Mark was very quick now that I think about it - anyway, it was a quick fumble somewhere before we would go home. He never once stayed over, and since we both lived with our parents that made it impossible.
I wriggled again and Jamie moved off of me, I rolled over to look at him, hoping that I didn’t have vodka goggles on last night and I was going to wake up to some spotty, ugly guy or something. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw him, jeez he is so hot. He looked so peaceful sleeping, like an angel.
I scooted closer to him and he unconsciously wrapped his arms around me, holding me securely to his side. I glanced down his body, I drew in a shaky breath at what I saw. The scars that I had vaguely seen last night in the dingy light, whilst having too much to drink, were really noticeable in the daylight. He had a lot of them, way too many to count. They were all over his chest and abs. Most of them were small, but a couple of them were raised and puckered and looked like they must have been deep.
They were a long time healed but I had to bite my lip to stop myself from crying for him. He had a few little round marks that looked like old burns or something. I trailed my fingers over them tenderly. When I got to a big scar the stretched all the way from his hip to half way across his stomach, I winced, and tried not to image the pain that this must have caused him. I bent my head and kissed it lightly.
“Hey,” he mumbled sleepily, putting his hand on the back of my head. I turned to look at him, willing myself not to cry about this. He sighed and rolled so he was on top of me. “Guess you’re gonna ask me about that now, huh?” he said a little sadly.
“I want to, but if you don’t want to tell me, that’s ok,” I said quietly, biting my lip.
“You want the truth or the lie?” he asked quietly.
Ok what the hell is that about? “The lie,” I whispered, running my hands up his back and pulling him closer to me, I could feel the scars on his back and I wanted to see them too. How the hell could this beautiful boy be put through so much pain like this?