you throw me onto the bed
but i don't want to do this.
you caress my cheek,
say it's okay.

you nudge my legs open
but i don't want to do this.
you keep murmuring that it's okay,
and your fingers start roaming,
leaving a trail of tingles in places
i didn't know could feel like that.

your mouth crashes into my closed lips
and you don't hear when i say
i don't want to do this.

and the sad thing is—
it's not until you're done with me that you say
"i'm glad we did this."