I remember when I was printed, when I first existed with my many siblings. We were all seperated, into different homes. I was in a little book store in this small town. I waited for long untill I was picked up, his strong fingers flexing and opening me to my limits. It was electric.

He brought me home that night and placed me on the table, his fingers were beautiful, he needed me, he searched me, his finger running down page after page. Settling on this word and that, he was in university. He liked looking at big words…

I remember one time he was with a bunch of friends, laughing untill they started arguing. One of his friends rushed to me and picked me up roughly, I protested, but he yanked me open, and flipped the pages, it was hurting. It hurt so bad when he run his fingers all over me trying to find that one word. He accidently cumpled a page, I sobbed.

Jason, for that what was his name, he took me away and smoothed my pages down, closed me gently and tucked me away, fingers lingering on my spine as he turned to his mean friend and glared at him, told him to treat me with respect.

I beamed.

That was his university days, Jason grew older, I watched him, he brought home girls. Then just one girl, then that one girl lived with him. She too would lovingly open me up and find the word she needed, her fingers were soft, she barely touched me but I didn’t mind. It felt fantastic.

Jason and Sarah had a child and I too watched him grew up, he was taught words from my body, he would open me up and read me. He was a lovely child. When he was a teenager he would look up ‘dirty’ words, it was our little secret.

Now Matthew is in university and the cycle continues. I’m not as young as I was, my page are yellow, my spine is weak and subble. There is a corner frissled from water spilling on it when Matthew accidently knocked his juice on me. I forgave him, he tried his best to save my damaged pages, looking sorry all the while.

I will continue to age, as Matthew finds a wife or husband, has children of his own, where I will teach them the meaning behind the words they speak, untill they grow older too.

By then my pages would fall out, my spine would crackle, but I don’t mind, I would have had an long life with owners who cared for me.

It could have been worst, they could burn me I suppose.

(not so much an erotic memoir as an actual memoir, sorry)