||First I want to say that I am so glad I found this site. I am so confused right now. I guess my story begins just after my 17th birthday. I was dating a boy my age who seemed caring, genuine, and made me feel beautiful. We had been dating for a couple of months when he told me that he loved me, I was the prettiest girl he knew, and that he wanted to "make love" to me. I knew I wasn't ready, and I told him so. He begged me. For weeks he begged me, and finally he told me that he was going to leave me if I said no again. I had never been rejected. I think I feared losing that control, in a way. And so I said "okay then."
He wanted to do it at my house or his house, in a bed, but I was scared our parents would find us, and also I thought having sex in a bed would make it more "real" or something. I had always imagined having sex for the first time with my loving husband on our wedding night. I wish I had been more adamant about my beliefs. So anyways, I told him I would pick the place. He agreed. I wanted to at least have that control. So I packed a blanket and we went to a park a couple miles from my home. It was a park I had loved as a child, playing with my my siblings on the swings, feeding the ducks with my mom, fishing with my dad. We went into a secluded, woodsy section of the park. The noise of the river meshed with the noise of the highway. It was not romantic. I realized I couldn't. I told him that I didn't want to, thinking "ok, we'll just turn around and go home. I hope he doesn't really break up with me."
But he wasn't going to let me change my mind. He told me we were going to have sex, and he started taking off his clothes. I just stood there. I still don't know why I didn't do anything.I still blame myself completely. Then he started to take my shorts off (it was summertime - June, just after my birthday) and then my underwear. I still remember what I was wearing, what he was wearing. I just stood there. And then he tried to enter me, with both of us standing up like that. He didn't kiss me or anything. He couldn't enter me like that because he was really tall and I wasn't helping much, so he layed me down on the ground and and pulled my legs up into the air at a 90 degree angle against his chest. I just remember he pushed so hard and it hurt so badly. I felt really sharp pains deep inside that I wasn't expecting. I told him to stop, I told him that it hurt. But he called me a liar. He said "it doesn't hurt, you like it." It only lasted a few minutes I think, but it seemed to take so long.
I stayed with him though because I was ashamed that I hadn't fought him, and because people had said from the start that our relationship wouldn't last, and I didn't want to be a failure. He ended up forcing me to have sex with him three more times, and each time he was rougher and it hurt more. I thought I was supposed to only bleed the first time, but I bled every time. After the first time, he made me do it in his house when his parents were home, but he at least listened when I begged him not to make me do it in the bed. We had sex on the floor. By this time school had started, and it was my senior year. The first three years of high school I had gotten excellent grades and loved school and had a healthy social life. But after what had happened in June, I became more withdrawn and couldn't focus in school. My grades dropped from straight A's to C's and D's. I started to smoke and drink and take pills and cut my thighs with a razor blade.
Then I met a different guy. He was shy and sweet and handsome, and he asked me to go to the movies with him one weekend. He was newer to the area and had graduated from highschool in his hometown the year before and didn't know I had a boyfriend. I told him yes anyways, and called my boyfriend that very night to say it was done, i wouldn't submit to him anymore, that I wanted nothing to do with him. I felt I could leave him now because the other boy was interested in me and this way I wouldn't be alone. Having a new guy also helped me feel protected.
This guy didn't smoke or drink, though he didn't try to stop me. He did ask me to stop cutting myself, when he found out. I liked that. I felt like he cared. He was sincere and polite and even asked my permission to kiss me the first few times. I had never been so happy. After about a month, we were alone at his house, making out on his couch. I felt so strongly about him that I decided I wanted to have sex with him. Not for personal pleasure, but because I wanted to please him I think. I simply stopped kissing and asked if he had a condom. He seemed surprised and then said "yes." He was so gentle and made me feel loved. I thought "this is what sex is supposed to feel like." We had protected sex for about two more months, until one day he asked wether or not I wanted to use the condom. I asked "do you love me?" He said yes, so i took the condom and tossed it aside. My first boyfriend had always used condoms, so I wanted something special with this boy, since I truly cared about him and this time it was MY choice.
My next period didn't come though and I started to worry. The first two pregnancy tests turned up negative and as much as I wanted to believe them, I knew they were wrong. My period was NEVER late, and I just felt different. A third test confirmed my fear. Luckily, my boyfriend responded well. He recovered quickly from his initial shock. I stopped smoking and drinking and I loved my baby right away. Part of me was happy this had happened, and we would be a family forever. I graduated from high school and we moved in together when I was about 6 months along. He treated me very well, until the very end of the pregnancy when we got into a stupid argument and I made the mistake of slapping him. I have never been violent, and I don't know what came over me. I apologized, but then he slapped me back harder. He ended up hitting me five times and running me out of the apartment with a butcher knife. I was in shock; I
had never seen that side of him. He eventually let me back in thehouse, but said it was my fault because I slapped him first. I accepted that; I should never ever have hit him and to this day I still regret it. I ended up going in to labor that night and had a beautiful little boy we named after his father.
My boyfriend apologized to me when he saw his son, and said he would never be violent towards me again and that he was dedicated to making our family work. He even cried. I believed him. Our son is now 4 months old, and the last four months have been hell for me. He berates me, calls me "bitch, slut, whore." He tells me I am fat because he knows I am insecure about my weight and have had issues with anorexia and bulimia in the past. He told me he would leave me if I didn't lose all the baby weight quickly enough, but then he yells at me when I don't eat and tells me what and when to eat. He monitors the food in the house and asks me to tell him what I've eaten every day when he comes home. If I haven't eaten I have to lie and make meals up, if I've eaten too much I lie too and only tell him some of the things so he wont call me a pig. I have lost over 50 pounds for him and now he tells me I am "too skinny" and that he doesn't like skinny girls. Some days it is "gross" that he can see my ribs and hipbones, some days it is "gross" that he can still pinch flesh on my belly.
When he gets mad he slaps me and pulls my hair and threatens to kill me. He chokes me and kicks me, all in front of my baby. The reason I came to this site though is that last night he had a particularly nasty episode because I was using MSN on the computer when he said "I should be doing my homework" (I take college classes online). He ran me out of the house with out my shoes, my keys, or my phone. It was nightime and he knows I am terrified of the dark and terrified of our neighborhood. I started running to his dad's house, but he caught up with me and took me home.
When we got home, he told me to go into the bedroom, so I did, and he pushed me back onto the bed and pulled my pants off without unzipping them or anything. Then he grabbed my underwear and pulled those off. I told him not to, and tried kicking at him, but not really very hard because I was afraid he would hurt me more. I was begging him not to, and then I begged him to at least put on a condom because I didn't want anymore babies, but he entered me anyways and pushed hard in a way that is not like him. He only pushed for maybe a minute, and then stopped without finishing. I think he surprised and scared himself a little bit.
I was in such complete shock, and still am. He hurt me so much more deeply than my first boyfriend, because I truly felt that at least at one point we loved eachother and we have shared everything. He is the father of my child. How could he treat me this way? And he had always been so supportive and caring when I talked about what my first boyfriend had done. He even said he wanted to "kill the bastard for what he did." He held me when I cried and I truly feel that talking to him helped me get past my rage over that experience.
Now he has betrayed me so deeply and I feel a new, stronger rage bubbling inside me. But I am so confused. If I leave him, I won't be able to support my child alone right now, especially since I am trying to get an education so I can get a job that will take care of us someday. And my boyfriend threatens that if I leave, he will find me and take my son from me. And perhaps more than anything, I feel like his family is my family. He has a wonderful sister and father. I feel that I am closer to his father than my own father. I can talk with him about anything and he always is supportive and loving. I told him once that his son had hit me, and he believed me and confronted his son, who told him it would never happen again. To the best of his knowledge, it hasn't. He believes we are happy, and I pretend the best I can. I feel that if I leave my boyfriend, his family will stop loving me. I feel like I have ruined my life and I will never get it back. I am so scared for myself and my child.
Reply from Sitemistress:Note from Sitemistress Louise: Readers will be pleased to know that three years after Alice submitted her story, she has gained her freedom and is taking life back beautifully for herself and her son.
Good for you, Alice - all the very best xx