...My Newton couldn't hurt a fly.
It just wasn't in his nature.
Haven said this countless times, it came as easy as breathing.
This was Newton we were talking about.
Sir Newton, as I christened him on one of our numerous play dates and had somehow stuck.
"I've decided you will be my girlfriend", he said when we were just six and playing "daddy and mummy". No questions. Just a statement from someone who knew what he wanted and went for it. Smug lil' peacock he's always been. But he made up for it with the kindest heart and most disarming smile. You couldn't help but love Newton.
I couldn't help but love him.
Forget that he "broke-up" with me two weeks after when I gave him that permanent scar on his forehead...story for another day. But it was too late. He had stolen my little heart.
And so in primary six when he was head boy and I social prefect, and we barely spoke in school even though we saw every sunday in church; when Pearl my best friend asked who my class crush was, I said Sir Newton.
In SS1, when my school debate team went against his and his head debater, the big bully, picked on me, much to the chagrin of his team mates, Newton found a way to redeem the situation when it was his turn to speak. It cost his school the first position but he didn't mind. "Second position isn't so bad, besides I can't stand bullies", he said casually when I asked him why he stood up for me.
That's My Newton for you.
And when we both gained admission into Essex. Him to study Computer Systems Engineering, and me to study Law and Philosophy, it didn't come as a surprise few months into the term when we began dating. It was only natural.
We did everything together. We ate together, spent all-nighters in the library together, played pranks together, traveled to Paris on our second year anniversary together, and when his dad died, we dealt with it together.
We were a team.
"What's yours is mine", he'd joke when he stole my last bar of chocolate from the fridge. When I grabbed his ass in the hallway, I'd throw over my shoulders, "It's mine remember". And when we exchanged short notes...you know how every couple have a 'thing'?, that was ours; His was signed, 'Your Newton'.
And that night like any other night, when he kissed my nose, I smile and waited for him to get to my lips. And when he went to my ears instead, chuckling at the disappointment on my face just as he flicked the lobe with his tongue, I sighed softly. When he took my top off I let him. When he trailed kisses from my neck down to my navel, I sucked in a breath.
That was My Newton, he took my breathe away.
When he unbuttoned my pants, I couldn't get out of them fast enough. Next went his shirt, followed swiftly by his shorts. "Easy Tiger", I said jokingly, which earned me the tickles and had both of us in a mock-struggle. He was on top. Half-kneeling, half-sitting, even as his hard-on was pressed across my abdomen. He bent over, the laughter in his eyes replaced by desire and I thought to myself how lucky I was to have him.
What followed was an hour, maybe more, of passionate kissing, some fondly, kneading, more kissing, licking, then sucking and then some more kissing.
Tonight was different.
It was heaven. It was hell.
It was pleasure. It was torture.
I hated that we had to stop any moment soon. It was especially hard for him, coming so close but never actually going all the way. But he had agreed to wait till I was ready.
Two years and counting.
My Newton had waited.
"Newton...", I whispered waiting for him to take the cue and roll off, even as I wished he wouldn't. I moaned as I felt Him on my wetness. "This is torture", he groaned and remained in position.
"Just the tip" he whispered.
"Newton...we shouldn't ".
"I wouldn't hurt you I promise".
"I know baby, but..." I trailed off my tone begging him to understand.
He trailed kisses round my face, still pressing in.
"Newton you're hurting me!"
"n-n-newton?" I choked out, after what felt like centuries.
There were no further words.
My brain refused to comprehend what had happened.
He hugged me all night long.
I let him even as his arms felt like steel against my warm skin.
There were no words.
There were no tears.
All that lingered was a sense of nothingness.
I listened in a trance as his breathing slowed into a steady rhythm.
What just happened? I asked myself.
Could it be ....?
Was I just .....?
I couldn't bring myself to complete the thought.
My Newton couldn't hurt a fly.
It just wasn't in his nature.
I guess I couldn't call it RAPE
"What was mine, was his."
After all, he was My Newton.
Inspired by a true story.