My First Boyfriend

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