This is part 4 of the story time series, where I take a deep dive into the men of my past. Each installment can stand alone. In these dives, I analyze what I learned and how I have changed since I met these men. As always Trigger Warning: Sexual content, mentions of SA.
In part four I want to go back in the timeline, and look a bit more into my first real relationship. By real, I mean the first relationship I had where it lasted more than the puppy love 2-week commonly seen in adolescents. My relationship with this person began after my entanglement with The Catalysis ended. I was confused and desperate to be/feel wanted.
I am about 13 at this time and it’s my first day of High School. The feeling of being “adult” was fresh and powerful. I wanted an older boyfriend, just like you saw in every movie and tv show. I wanted to be that girl who every guy fought to be with. It became my mission. Then one day, I struck gold. The bad boy and I sat next to each other in our “Teen Living” class. That day I didn’t speak to him at all. Instead, I would steal glances his way whenever I could. I knew he was two years older than me, and I knew he had a reputation. Within the first week, he had dropped the class and I did not see him again for another two months. He became known as the “blue t-shirt dude” between my friends and me. How poetic.
Two months after our initial encounter, I saw him again at lunch. My friends began teasing me and trying to get me to go and speak to him. I ran away like a child would at recess. So much for my adultness. At the time, one of my close guy friends went up to him and began talking to him about me. He gave the “blue t-shirt guy” my number. Soon we began to text, and even sooner, we began to date. I felt that nothing could have been better. I had snagged the bad boy.
The bad boy was a 17-year-old junior. The bad boy who I would eventually pass in grade level despite being a freshman when we first met. The bad boy who never finished school aged out and was forced to leave. The bad boy, who, a year into my freshman year of college, was arrested. But I am getting ahead of myself.
Me and this “bad boy” began to date. Well, date as any 13-year-old does. We would go to lunch together, hold hands, and kiss quickly down the hall. I thought it was great. He wanted more. One day after school, we went to the mall. Played my favorite mall game. We both picked things out for the other to wear. I picked goofy, silly clothing. He picked slutty breast-popping shirts and short skirts. When it was my turn for the dressing room, he followed back, snuck in, and watched me change. I was nervous but thought, “This is what boyfriends and girlfriends do”. “I cannot be a prune”. I wanted him to love me. So I let him in and watched as he took a seat, staring at me change. Once changed, he began to kiss me, pulled me onto his lap, and guided my hips to grind on him. It felt like forever. I had no idea what to do with my hands, legs, or mouth. Then I heard the door open. I whipped my head over and this cute little old man had walked in. “Oh, I’m sorry”, his voice still rings in my ears. I remember pure fear running threw me. “What if we get arrested”, “What if we get banned”, “What if…”. We were fully clothed, just kissing, but that did not stop little me’s brain from running a million miles an hour. I remember shaking and getting up to leave. We had to leave, was my only thought. He only laughed. No care in the world. Making jokes about the old man being turned on. Little me not processing the joke and its implications. At this point in my life, this was normal. Men being turned on by my body was normal. He knew this.
We left the mall and went for a walk. He led me down a trail past a park and trees. There was a little hut in the middle of the woods. A small bench table is inside of it. Things from horror films. Even then, everything in me told me to stay alert. Old dirty, used condoms lay on the floor. Empty beer cans littered the floor. He led me into the hut, telling me that it was okay. “All the seniors come here”, “It’s a secret spot”, “a special spot”. Uneasiness. He pulled me closer once again and began to kiss me. pulling me on top of him once more. The same pattern repeats. I knew what he wanted. I wasn’t dumb. Other men before him forced me to learn precisely what he wanted. I knew what I was “supposed” to do. But I couldn’t bring myself. Something that I still struggle with to this day occurred for the first time this day. The thought that I would pull away and if he didn’t let me, I would “just accept it”. Better than fighting. Better than being alone. Better than being the prune who was dating an older guy and wouldn’t “accept” what that meant. All things I knew were wrong but old habits, old ideas literally beaten into me were hard to break. So I gave in.
Luckily, he soon stopped us. Rain was starting and my curfew was near. My parents would soon be at the mall to pick me up. He walked me back to the mall and left. Left before anyone came to pick me up. Left me alone in the mall thinking. “Did I fail? Did I do a bad job? Did I not do enough? Was I going to be alone again?”. Two weeks later, we ended things. Never making it past kissing and grinding. Thank god, I would tell myself. I never knew why he got arrested. Never knew why he struggled as much as he did in school. He was smart, just never saw any potential in himself. Did he have his own demons he never shared? I am not sure. Never fully understood him past what he wanted from me.
But what he accidently taught me is hard to explain. He did not teach me anything per se, but these moments with him opened my eyes to my own behavior changes and traumas. He showed me how deep the forced teaching I received on how to be a “good girl” ran. The bad boy gave me the first real glimpse I would have a life-long problem I would have. He also implemented my four-month rule. After four months, I was to break up with every single man. After four months, they were tired of no sex. After four months, they would notice I was broken and not a good girl. So the date for a maximum of four months. Nothing more and nothing less. My four-month rule would follow me for another 5 years. The only man to make me break that rule almost killing me.
Be on the look out for Runaway: Cries for Affection. Here we will look further into my “Good Girl” training and how neglectful families/ a family with a sick child led to my own spiral for affection.
Expression of my life 