Headboard Jessica

(Note: the Names of some people have been changed to protect the no longer innocent)

(Also Note: This story is graphic, sexually disturbing and awesome, please turn away NOW if you’re faint of heart, over 40 or religious)

I think back a lot about the girl I now call “Headboard Jessica” the name is different because I don’t want to put this poor girl through any more embarassment. But she’s a Freak with a capital everything. Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

The year was 1998 or 99′ which ever sounds cooler in your head, and young teenage me was chock full of hormones and swagger. I met Jessica through a friend one day and decided that I HAD to have her. She was very pretty, a total geek and aggressively weird, in short the perfect woman for me, seemingly at least. I pursued her for all of a week or so before we ended up making out and soon after ‘officially dating’. Keep in mind these are the teenage years where that’s pretty much the status quo.

Dating consisted of us hanging out several times a week, making out frantically and standing indecently close at public gatherings. After a few weeks it came time to take it to another level. The first time we had sex (or “rode the light fantastic” as I whimsically call it today) we were at her friends house and ended up having a few hours of privacy. We made out a bit, and soon the shirts came off, then the everything else came off in a frenzy of passion and clothes flinging. Suddenly there I was poised above her, ready as hell, when she turned into the ice queen…

Before you judge me completely (you’ll do that later, trust me) keep in mind, I’m a horny teenager, yes, but I’m not a rapist or inattentive to a woman’s needs. There was a sufficient amount of foreplay and clear direct questions like “Would you like to have sex?” that were all to the positive. It’s just that when it got down to the act itself, she just went total cold fish. To clarify, she went cold fish, like Hiroshima had a fireworks show. There I am, feeling all the feelings you’re supposed to feel when engaged in intercourse with a woman, looking down and seeing a girl whose expression says “I could also be doing math homework” after several attempts at changing the pace, and asking if anything was wrong, I did what all men do sometimes, I finished, passed out and thought on it later.

Now this wasn’t off to a great start, but sex is probably right along side the ability to compress and expand your lungs in importance to a teenage boy. So I asked questions, “What do you like?” I offered toys, fantasies, oral, spankings, all were met with an indifferent shrug. This process repeats several dozen times. Things get hot and heavy, the act occurs, and suddenly I’m fucking one of Edgar Allen Poe’s ex-girlfriends. I start to doubt myself, am I less skilled than I thought? Smaller than I thought? I’d had nothing but great feedback and experience from every girl so far, and then this comes along and threatens to shatter my near-stratospheric ego. I vary things up to an extreme degree, hours of foreplay, crazy position variety, everything I can think of is met with a solid “meh” from this girl whom apparently can’t be pleased.

Drastic measures were called for. The ice had to break. Fast forward a few months and we’ve had sex about 30-35 times and every one a dismal, icy failure and deflating jab to my manhood. Then there was a party at her parents house that lived in infamy. Jessica and several of her friends ended up throwing a house party while her parents were gone for the weekend. We drank, laughed, drank some more, generally partied our asses off for a few hours. As the night wore on, my sex drive took over and we ended up locking ourselves into her parents bedroom. Darkened hardwood floors and classy faux-victorian furniture provided a picturesque frame for the king sized monstrosity that was the centerpiece bed. This huge mahogany nightmare was a california king, with a massive posts at the foot and a huge 2 inch thick headboard that spanned the entire length of the top of the bed, raised about 2 feet into the air and curved tastefully at the top.

Ignoring the upper class decorations, we stripped our way to the bed and threw ourselves onto it with a total disregard for anything around us. In my slightly tipsy haze I forgot about our usually dismal love making and started in. It wasn’t long before reality started to seep back in though. I looked down and noticed that same bored, vacant look that I’d come to dread. That’s when I made my decision. I was going to kill her. Not literally kill her but I was going to try the one thing I hadn’t yet. In full blown geek terms, I disabled the safety protocols.

Keep in mind I’m not a small person, now or even back then. I’m a pretty big guy, decently tall, broad shouldered and as my friend used to describe me “built like a brick-shithouse”. It’s always been my understanding, since day one, that you don’t hurt women. As I flowered into a penis-wielding agent of hormones, that was a backdrop to almost everything. You can do it ‘hard’ but you can’t just let fly or you’ll damage somebody. But today was the day. I let fly.

So I’m 20,000 leagues into this bitch, and as high school physics will teach you, the angle, versus weight, versus thrust and inertia says that this chicks pelvis was probably taking something like deep ocean pressures per-square-inch. To put it bluntly, I’m REALLY railing her. Suddenly… she’s alive! She starts moaning, at first I didn’t notice among my herculean and likely dangerous amount of thrusting. But I look down and see a look of literal “surprise” on her face, urging me ever onward to new heights of destroying this girls icy demeanor (and chances of avoiding hip dysplasia). She’s screaming, moaning, thrashing around, ripping the sheets, and pulling both of us further up the bed.

I’m simply blown away.

It seems that what she wanted, nay, needed, was for someone to seriously wreck her. At one point I hear a new and rhythmic thumping noise and I look up and to my horror I realize there’s a spray of blood across the pillow and her head is hitting that mahogany backboard in a disturbing fashion…

She’s still coherent and loving it, but I start to pull back fearing that I’ve actually done some damage. She digs her fingernails into my back and screams at the top of her lungs “Don’t you DARE fucking stop”, being a gentleman… I continue. Losing myself in the next few minutes we both reach orgasm simultaneously (and I might add as a FIRST for her so far) and I collapse in a sweat-coated gasping heap onto the bed. I open my eyes and see a living nightmare before me. Jessica is catching her breath, literally giggling with pleasure, a huge smile on her face amidst an acre of blood. The headboard is literally dented, the pillows, sheets, wall, even the cute victorian lamp next to the bed is splashed a brilliant shade of crimson shame.

Jessica’s head had kept hitting the headboard, opening a non-dangerous but heavily bleeding head wound and our vigorous actions had ended up making the bedroom look like a voodoo temple had been erected around us to please the blood drinking god of vengeance. I ended up wrapping her head and spending the next several hours cleaning blood off of everything. Some few weeks later, I broke things off with Jessica. Despite having climbed Everest, I simply didn’t want to do it several times a week. So I gave it all up but gained a disturbing and potentially awesome story. Which I hope you enjoyed.

And that’s why, to this day, we all refer to her reverently as “Headboard Jessica

1 comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *