If you want to follow my story from the beginning, [check out *Bombshell* #1.](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/n305g2/bombshell_1_when_i_f18_was_broke_in_college_i/)
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It was a week into working at the club that I first felt his palm smack against my face. He’d summoned me down (he did that a lot) to his basement, to blow the infamous cock, while he watched a movie. It was disgusting, though familiar enough. I knew its rhythms, how to retch along with them, like riding a bike that’s dysfunctional in predictable ways. What I didn’t know was how to react to my throat being grabbed, easily grasped like some sort of handle, to pull me off, to twist my face, and to position me just right for the smack. (My rail-thin frame left little in the way of resistance.) I was sort of as dazed by the surprise, in that moment, as I was by the stars I was seeing– and before I knew it, I was tossed forward. That was the first actual sex we had. Romantic, isn’t it?
I tried to playfully laugh off his hitting and his force. Better that than to seem pathetic, right? He didn’t fall for it. He knew I was dying inside, but twisting the knife accented his Viagra. “Don’t you like driving your car around?” he asked. “I’m going to make you a rich girl one day.”