I was absolutely smitten with my first boyfriend. He was cute, handsome, and very smart. I had never been in love before.
I thought I loved him more than I could love anybody else.
I was clear; I wanted to wait until I was married. I wanted to share that with somebody.
No, I didn’t expect him to be a virgin. But I expected him to understand that I was; I wanted whomever to respect that.
And he said he did.
But he didn’t.
And, in a moment of lust, he didn’t respect my wishes.
And after he took my virginity, in which felt both like a second and an eternity, he didn’t respect what I wanted.
And then he begged. He begged me to understand. He begged me to believe I was a virgin. Like I still had a choice.
But I felt dirty. I felt violated. I felt like it no longer mattered.
So I continued. As if it were my choice. I continued. As if this was what I had wanted all along.
Because I had to marry him. I had acted like this was what I wanted all along.
If not… I was dirty. I was weak.
And in some way or another, I’ve indirectly told people this.
But when I told those who were closest to me after all these years, I was told…
“I waited too long.”
“I should have told them years ago.”
“I’m acting like liberal scum.”
I’m mildly conservative, but apparently feeling violated makes me “liberal scum.”
Because I guess I wasn’t clear enough.
— Survivor, age 24