I was 15, a sophomore in high school, and things weren’t great at home, so the attention from the senior was the perfect distraction. He was so cute and the way he looked at me, like I was the only thing he could see. He was so much more intense than any previous boyfriends I had been with.
It didn’t take long for us to be come sexually intimate. I liked the way he touched me and kissed me, like he couldn’t get enough. I liked that he wanted me, when I felt so unwanted at home. I took pleasure and pride in turning him on. I was willing to do just about anything he asked, including things I thought I would never do. And although it was enjoyable, I was never able to come when we had sex. I assumed orgasms were only possible when I touched myself so I never even tried, instead focusing on him and his pleasure was the name of the game.
We had been seeing only each other for many months and having sex often and regularly. Even though my mom would not let me date, I was frequently allowed to go places with him. He would even sometime pick me up for church early on Sunday mornings. Mostly it was an excuse for us to spend time together and more specifically to be alone and have sex. And normally I was OK with this, but today was different. I slid into the passenger seat and we drove away silently from my house.
I may have thought my silence and indifference was enough to tell him that sex was the furthest thing from my mind, but he did not understand this passive cue from me. We drove until he pulled into a familiar secluded spot. And then, without words he leaned over, kissed my neck as he found the recline lever for my seat. My heart raced as I tried to find the words to tell him I just couldn’t this time, but his body was already on top of mine, kissing me, his hand sliding up under my skirt. My body stiffened, and I became tense as he pushed my underwear aside, but I still couldn't find the words to say. I turned my head and looked away as he continued to push himself between my legs. I could not bring myself to be even slightly aroused, so it hurt when he entered me. He moved in and out of me, completely unaware that I laid there so still, not falling into rhythm with him, silent, as he moaned in his pleasure, burying his head in my neck.
He didn't hold me down, he didn't cover my mouth, I didn't push him away, I didn't object at all. It wasn't what one imagines when one thinks of being forced to have sex. I didn't tell him no, he never even asked. In that moment it was more important to give him what he wanted, to take care of his needs, then to take care of what I needed for me. I reasoned, if I just laid there real still, he would finish and he wouldn't be mad, and treat me like the baby I was. Try as I might to push my feelings down, it wasn't as easy as convincing myself to lay there and not push him away. I started to cry, quickly wiping the tears away that betrayed me. He continued to move on top of me, oblivious to my suffering. Unable to contain the sadness, the loneliness of being misunderstood, the tears silently rolled down my cheeks, as I laid there just hoping it would end soon.
At last, he lay still on top of me the last of his orgasm shuddering through his body. I felt sick. How could he not see I was upset? How could he not feel the lack of interest? My withholding? But he didn't. As he rolled off of me, I turned away and opened the door to the car, simultaneously pulling down my skirt. I couldn't breathe in the car anymore. My head swam in the smell of him and sex. It was just too much to bear any longer. Caught up in the rapture of the moment, he never caught the silence, never saw me wiping my face on the sleeve of my coat.
We drove the rest of the way to church and walked in together, hand in hand, sat down, along with his family and everyone else in the service that day. Numb everywhere but between my legs, which slightly stung, I sat next to him, holding his hand, lost in my own mind, wondering how it had happened. It was so surreal to be sitting there completely normal, when I was far from normal. How could I appear fine on the outside, while inside something was broken? And how was it that he sat next to me so unaware? And all of these people around me, could they not see? How was it that everyone failed to notice that something had changed. How did they not know that inside I was sobbing, screaming for someone to notice. That in the space of just hours I was so different. But no one knew that I would never be the same again. That my view of my world around me and my role in relationships would be forever tainted by this submissive act.
But even I was unaware in that moment, that this pattern of giving up who I was, would haunt me long into the future. That I would continue to stifle my own feelings, and my needs, lying there silently giving to others what they want, in an attempt to keep their favor. All the while on the inside begging them to notice what I am sacrificing and that this is costly for me. That the girl that was unable to say no back then, is still as an adult, unable to say no. The uncertainty that kept her silent still lives in my heart, making me doubt myself. I still have not learned in all these years how to find strength in my own convictions and yet still be what I values most, a giver. How to give but not sacrifice myself in the process. How to not lay there silently crying, giving up to another what I think they need, pushing my feelings down. I still have not learned how to value my needs as much as I value the needs of others.
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