This may be one of the hardest posts I will probably write, no promises though. I don’t know if it is because I’m finally writing this story or if it’s because I know people can’t stomach it. Maybe I’m getting one of the hardest stories out-of-the-way early. Maybe I’m just trying to scare you all away. Maybe you need to have a glimpse into my real story. I have side stepped directly saying this in print or on social media for years now, but not in person. I’m tired of side stepping. I’m tired of hinting. I’m ready for the air to be cleared. So here goes nothing. I don’t need your pity and I don’t need your sympathy. This is my past.
At 23, so many things have already started fading from memory, but the tiniest of details decided to stay with me forever. It was Tuesday, October 14, 2008, I was sitting in my car reading a book when I heard the car pass. I looked at the clock: 4:17. My boyfriend said goodbye to his dad who pulled out of the driveway to run errands for the next hour. I met my boyfriend at the front door with a kiss before we went inside to the living room.
We had been dating four months; although we had known each other much longer. We grew up in the same church having crossed paths for a decade, though he was a year and a half younger. We started dating after my 17th birthday when he was 15. He was tall, blond, and in a band. He was the opposite of me. I was a nerd who preferred to study and he was an edgy rocker. Doesn’t that sound like the beginning to the perfect romantic comedy? This isn’t that.
We had never really been left alone before, so of course as all teenagers do: we started making out. When we started dating, I told him I wanted to wait. I wasn’t going to have sex in high school and not until I knew it was “the one.” He said that was fine. He’d never had sex. I’d never gone past first base. I was the epitome of a goody-two-shoes.
We were kissing. I didn’t think anything of it. He was my boyfriend. We met in church. He was my boyfriend. He was a good kid. He was my boyfriend. I trusted him. He was my boyfriend.
His hands started taking off my shirt. I wasn’t completely opposed. I was 17. There were hormones. I had wondered. I wasn’t ready, but I wasn’t not ready either. I wanted to know what the next step was. I knew baseball. You didn’t have to run home to make it to second base. I was in a bra. He turned me around so we were vertically spooning. He kissed my neck with his hands on my hips. His hands started pushing me to my knees. I resisted, but he was stronger. Before I knew it my face was buried in the ottoman. I tried to push against him so I could stand up. But his elbow in the middle of my back was forcing me down. I tried to scream, but I could barely breathe. The harder I tried the warmer the green leather was. Green filled my eyes. Green filled my mouth. I felt my jeans yanked down around my thighs… Not even to my knees. My underwear came next and a searing pain. He leaned over and whispered in my ear “I love you so much.” It was the first time he’d said it. His elbow dug deeper into my spine as I felt his sweat on the back of my legs.
Then it was just an elbow as he sat back on his heels. I heard the flick of his cell phone open. I saw only green, but heard him call his three best friends. “Guess what?” “I lost my virginity.” “Yeah! We finally did it.” “So fucking good.” “Tight too.” “Mmhmm.” “Blow job soon!” “See you at band practice.”
Then the garage door.
I frantically pulled up my pants and grabbed for my shirt. He pulled me in and gave me a deep kiss on the mouth. “God, I love you. I’m so glad we took this step in our relationship. I just know I’m going to marry you. You’re the one for me sweety.”
He turned on the TV and plopped down on the couch as his mom and dad walked in with grocery bags.
The endless chit-chat and small talk.
We had pizza for dinner.