I was a complete chicken when everyone was telling their #metoo stories
Back in 2018 I was a complete chicken when everyone was telling their #metoo stories… I never shared mine. Part of me tells me that all my #metoo experiences were “my fault” and that I should have known better. I should have put my foot down stronger. I should have had better selections in the men I involved myself with. I tell myself my body doesn’t matter, because I am “property”, with less rights to boundaries than a man.
Since I was conditioned by the church and by my parents from a young age to be obedient, my “people pleaser” tendencies have been the main culprit in my lack of ability to properly stick up for myself.
I am not labeling any of these experiences beyond describing what happened. You can be the judge, I suppose. I always just kept all this to myself. But if you have any comments, advice etc I appreciate hearing feedback.. please be kind though.
Ok… here goes nothing.
“Follow me!” He gleefully led, up a dirty hill into the bushes. “Where are we going? Aren’t we going to miss our bus?” My first boyfriend was very spontaneous, and always had crazy stories to tell, and antics he brought me along to. I was in love with him at the time, my first love. And I wanted to rebel and do all the things “hott girlfriends” do. He told me I was his hott girlfriend, and I really liked the validation.
I should clarify that this first boyfriend is not the same person I lost my virginity to (described in a previous blog post). That other guy was not committed to me… he was messing around with other girls too at the time I was infatuated with him.
“If we miss our bus, the next one comes in 30 minutes,” he reassured me while putting his hand up my shirt. I liked physical attention with him. We’d reached third base the first time we met, and he declared me his girlfriend on our first “date” (which involved him reaching his hand down his pants at 1am at a Denny’s in Bellevue, pulling out some of his own pubes, decorating our shared dinner -a nearly finished plate of french fries- with said pubes, snapping at the waiter and claiming that since he found pubic hair in his food, he wouldn’t pay for it… I really knew how to pick them…)
He embraced me and we slowly moved from a standing position to crouching on the dead leaves and the dirty ground. We had already “hit home run” a few times, once in an abandoned building, and once when his mom was upstairs losing her teeth strung out on meth not giving a shit about her derelict son’s antics in the basement.
I was ready to get dirty! “Get on your hands and knees!” He ordered, pulling my black work pants down once my rear was facing his direction. “This is going to feel so good!” He leaned over and groped my breast with one hand while pushing his cock onto my butt hole with the other hand.
“Ow!” I recoiled. I did not expect that, and it hurt!
“Wait give it a try! I know this is supposed to be the best pleasure ever!” I wasn’t sure I believed him, but I let him try again. He pushed harder, and it hurt even more! “No!” I struggled.
“Just relax, it will feel better if you relax! I promise! I know this for a fact! You’ll have so much pleasure!”
I had no idea at the time what source could have convinced him that this was supposed to feel good. Looking back now, it’s obvious to me he got all his information from watching porn. I hadn’t watched any, I was only 16 at the time. I relented and grit my teeth and silently offered myself to him again. The third time he pushed yet even harder, I felt like I was splitting… “OW!” I couldn’t help but tighten up and scream in pain, while looking downhill at the bus stop to see if anyone could hear me. He continued trying to convince me to “just relax” but by this time I just couldn’t go on any further.
This is one example of how being body shamed as a child, avoiding the topic of romance and sex all together, and preaching abstinence instead of how to set boundaries, hurt me in my relationships.
Thanks for reading…
*Kristy
XoXo
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