||It all began when I met my ex-boyfriend two and a half years ago. He was 20 and I was 16, and he was everything I didn't want in a boyfriend. But he was charming and so, I grew to like, and even pursue him.
Our first kiss happened when I was drunk, which was likely a sign of things to come. I had never done more than kiss a person before, as I valued myself and my body and even wanted to save myself for marriage.
The second time we hung out, we weren't even official yet, and he had already tried to touch me through my pants. I stopped him, but he continued, and worse yet, it was just outside his house where his parents could see. It made me uncomfortable that a private act was taking place so publicly, and worse yet, it was one that I hadn't experienced before and wasn't ready for yet.
The next time we hung out, I asked him if we were in a relationship. He asked me what I wanted, and it became official. He pulled me onto his bed and held me. I remember telling him that I felt uncomfortable being on his bed already, but he told me it was fine. He ran his hands along my legs and inner thigh and once again I told him I wasn't ready, but he was reluctant to stop.
Weeks later I asked him how many partners he had been with and his answer was astonishing.. 16. I knew then that I was headed down a path that could be dangerous, but I couldn't leave. I had strong feelings for him when we weren't in an intimate setting, so I stayed. I told him that I was a virgin and that I wouldn't give it up easily. I told him that I had to be in love and wanted to wait years. The next thing I knew he was using the l-word just three weeks into our relationship. I didn't say it back for another month.
He began by going up my shirt, and although I told him that it made me uncomfortable, he would reassure me and let me know that it was okay. I layed their awkwardly and allowed it to happen, he was so charming I didn't know what to think.
It progressed from there when he put his hand down my pants and began to touch me, not too far into our relationship. I told him that I was uncomfortable and that it seemed too fast. But he told me that I liked it and it would feel good. I remember pulling his hand out of my pants and telling him that we should wait, and he'd talk to me for a few minutes, trying to reassure me that it was okay, and proceed to touch me again. I was not stimulated by any of this, as it was wrong. The situation did not allow for any sort of pleasure. I only felt dirty, violated and confused.
Soon afterwards, he would remove my pants and go farther, penetating me with his fingers. It hurt and I told him that he was hurting me. He said that I was going to have to get used to him somehow and that this was his way of preparing me for sex. I laid there in pain, and asked him to stop. But he ignored me. As the days went by, he would continue to do the same and I would lay there crying. He knew I was crying and didn't stop. He told me that it felt good, that I liked it. I didn't like it. I hated every minute of it.
Beyond that, I remember two incidents that made me increasingly uncomfortable. He took me to two frat parties, over the space of 4 months, and both times took me into a random room to be intimate with me. I told him that I wasn't comfortable with going into a strangers room, let alone on their bed, but he ignored me. He even went as far as builing a door with bookshelves in a room that was missing a door, just to be alone with me. I told him that it felt wrong, but he said it was fine. He told me that lots of people did it. And although I didn't let a lot take place, I felt humiliated. It was even worse when I walked out and his friends were smirking, patting him on the back and making sexual jokes. I hated it. And he loved the attention. I remember girls asking me about if the rumors about how well-endowed he is was true.. and I felt as though my innocence was violated. I didn't care. I barely understood.
On the way back from one of those parties, I was drunk and he was driving home. He told me it would be hot if I performed oral sex on him while he drove. I told him that was disgusting and I wasn't that kind of girl. He continued to pressure me and went a far as to undo his pants while he drove with one hand. I told him I didn't want to.. but he ignored me, and being as drunk as I was, I couldn't resist as he pulled my head towards his lap.
As things progressed, I remember drinking with him in my basement one time. He was drinking a beer and once he finished, he took the bottle to the back of the room and rinsed it off. We began to fool around and as we went farther, he grabbed the bottle and pushed it inside me. It felt awful, cold and foreign. It didn't belong. I looked at him in shock and told him to take it out of me. He continued for a moment and then removed it, telling me that it was a way of preparing me. I got dressed and tried not to cry. I shut down and wished it all away.
Similar to the bottle incident, he would enter me without a condom, just enough to penetrate me a bit. And I hated it. I told him that I didn't want to get pregnant and that it wasn't safe, nor was I ready. And he became frustrated with me and told me that I should be ready for sex soon, as every other girl he'd been with would have by now. And that he would have to leave if I didn't do it soon. He entered me on several occassions, and I shut down. I would cry and he would eventually stop.
When our first time rolled around, we had planned out a night when his family was away. He told me that I would have to be drunk, or at least drinking, because it would be very painful. He made me many drinks throughout the night and encouraged me to finish every one, because I would need them. Eager to make the pain stop, I did as I was told. I felt it was better to forget. We entered his room and he laid down a red towel on his bed, in case I bled at all. Within minutes, he entered me and the pain was excrutiating. I remember placing my face into the pillow to muffle my screams or sounds of pain. I told him that it was too painful and that we had to stop, but he didn't slow down. He was enjoying himself and wanted to finish his part. Afterwards, I shook and moved away, placing my hand in my own blood. I stood up and ran to the bathroom, using toilet paper to slow the flow. He told me that it wasn't much and that I would be okay. I felt destroyed.
I cried most of the times that we engaged in sexual intercourse. And also many times when he would penetrate me with his fingers, but my tears did little to stop him. I would tell him to stop, as I had before, and he still didn't seem to care. He said it would make me feel good. I was constantly forced into sexual situations without my consent, and cried all the way through it. It happened all the time, sometimes multiple times within a day.
I remember one time that we were fooling around and he, literally, forced my head down on him so that I would perform oral. It was not a gentle nug, or pull, but a forced action, I could hardly breathe. He kept my head held down for a few minutes into it. Worse yet, he knew I couldn't breathe through my nose due to allergies, and I am also an asthmatic. I felt like a slut.
Another time, he had convinced me to get down on my knees and allow him to ejaculate on my chest. I told him that the act of getting on my knees was humiliating enough, but that allowing him to complete an act like that went against all of my values. He continued to pressure me, telling me that he would love me even more if I let him do it. So I did. And I spent hours in the shower that night, but I never felt clean.
He treated me as though I was a trophy, an object and not a human being. He was a heavy kid and was often bullied, and he told me that I was the girl he would have never had in high school. I believe he loved that I was young because it allowed him to make up for what he would have never had in the past. He proved this to me when I bought a loose-fitting kimono-style dress for a formal, and when I showed it to him, he said it wasn't hot enough. He lifted up the dress immediately, and began to touch me in his kitchen - with several windows open so that all could see. He made me return the dress I loved for a tigher, short, red dress. He wanted to "show me off" to his frat buddies. All of whom were in their twenties, and often made sexual jokes or gestures towards me. One went as far as to flick his tongue at me. It made me want to puke.
He tried on several occassions to initiate anal sex with me. And I never allowed it to happen. One try he tried to do so without telling me, and I had to collapse in order to free myself from the situation.
I asked him why he did these things to me and he told me that if he didn't force me sometimes, I would never actually do it. That I was a prude and I needed to be pushed into things. I felt sick.
Everything that we did, I told him to keep private. But I found out that he told his close friend every detail of our private life, as well as his other frat brothers.
Near the end of our relationship, I began to ask him to hit me. And when he refused I told him that it was no different than what he was doing to me sexually. He agreed and choked me once, and then cried. I felt a form of satisfaction when he did something that was against his will. I hoped that it would wake him up.
After 7 months, he broke up with me out of the blue. He told me that he didn't love me anymore. And then the next day, he would give me false hope that we could try again. We met up several times after we broke up and he would only have sex with me, not talk to me. He once drove to a parking lot and was intimate with me in his car, and the other times it took place in his bedroom. He only told me he loved me while we had sex, never before or after. And everytime afterwards, he would treat me like shit, tell me he didn't want to be with me, and send me home (or sneak me out of his house).
I walked by his house one day, as he still lives down the street from me, and he was outside. I went to say hi to him and told him that I loved him. He smiked at me, and without a word, put his hands down my now-loose pants (I wasn't eating) and started to touch me, saying that I was, "So hot." and that he wanted me now. But I loved him. That's all. I loved him. I felt that his neighbors could see, and I felt so dirty.
He told everyone that we were breaking up before I knew. And continued to use me for weeks afterwards. But all I wanted was to love him. He never loved me, because those who love you would never hurt you in such a way.
A few months later, I met the guy I am still with today. We have been together for over two years and he has helped restore my faith in men. I couldn't touch him, have him touch me, or even sit next to him, hold his hand - anything affectionate - for four months afterwards. And I still have moments where my mind goes blank, and I can't talk or move if something triggers a memory. But I have gotten better. I will not let him ruin my life. He took my body but he will not take away my heart. I believe in love again, and I will spend the rest of my life with my current boyfriend.
I believe in karma, and I know he will get his. And while I have to drive past his house everyday, it only further cements that I am a survivor. I can live through anything and thrive. Everything happens for a reason, and I will save lives through my passion for Psychology.
Thank you for reading my story.