Wednesday, November 15, 2017
Please Tell Someone
I didn’t start making out with boys until I was around 18 years olc. I had my first kiss at 14, some under the shirt action at 15, and then nothing until I was 18. I was living in Charlottesville,Virginia and I met this guy who was a parking lot attendant near UVA. We were make out buddies for a few weeks. We never went all the way and we didn’t have oral sex. He kept asking, but I was so innocent that the thought of it terrified me. We kissed and touched and I realized what I had been missing. Still, I was dead set on retaining my virginity until my wedding night. This guy never pressured me to go beyond with what I was comfortable. He was really nice, his name was James, and I later found out he is now the bass player for Yo La Tengo.
When I was 19, I was living in Greensboro, North Carolina. I was busy catching up on all the partying I’d missed in high school. To me, partying consisted of drinking a few wine coolers and making out with the boy du jour. At that time, I could make out with boys and when I said stop, they would always stop. I was having fun and as long as I remained a virgin, I felt what I was doing was harmless.
During the 80’s, the thing young people did for fun was ride up and down a strip of road, blast music, and yell out of their car windows at cute boys and girls. In my town, this was known as “cruising High Point Road.” This road is now called Gate City Boulevard and people don’t cruise there anymore.
On one particular night of cruising with a girlfriend, we ran into some friends. These friends introduced us to another friend named Gene. He was 17, shorter than me (as many guys were since I’m 6 feet tall) but he was really cute. Later in the evening, I discovered he was a really good kisser. We met up a few more times after that and kissed some more. I really loved kissing.>
One evening, I was at Gene’s house. It was near a railroad track on a side of town I didn’t know well. I'm not sure if I could find it today. We were alone in his room, his parents were in the living room, and his brother was in the room next to Gene’s. He put on a Police CD, their Greatest Hits. Every Breath You Take was playing on repeat. We started to kiss. It was nice. He put his hand down my jeans and put his fingers inside me. After a few minutes, he got aggressive and I asked him to stop. I can’t remember his exact words but he kept asking if we could fuck. I said no, and I tried pushing him off of me. I must’ve said stop a hundred times. Suddenly, I realized he had removed his hand and put his penis inside me. He made the ‘switch’ so fast that I almost didn’t realize it. It hurt. I kept trying to push him off, still saying stop and no. He kept going. I had him in height but he was very muscular and strong. Get off! He finally finished. He immediately started apologizing. “Oh I’m so sorry. You’re never going to talk to me again now. I’m so sorry.” I was kind of stunned. I didn’t say anything. I zipped up my jeans, put my shoes on and left. I passed his parents as I went through the living room to the front door.I think I said something stupid like “bye!” I remember feeling embarrassed and ashamed. I hopped in my little white Ford Escort and sped off.
What happened next, or what didn’t happen next, is one of my life’s biggest regrets. For some reason, it didn’t even occur to me to go to the police. I drove around, crying. I wondered if I was still a virgin. I went home. That’s what I did. I went home and I never saw him again.
I told my friend, the one I was with when I met him. She told me I asked for it because I was making out with him. She and Gene's friend Tim agreed on that. So Apparently Gene had told his friend about it, blaming it on me. I was able to put the episode out of my head for a while, but it affected me in many ways later on and I didn’t even realize it at the time. Sex wasn’t special to me for many years. I stopped saying no, because what was the point? What I had held so sacred had been stolen from me and I couldn’t get it back. All these years later I feel like I think about it now more than I did when it actually happened. I know now that I tried to forget about it because I felt like it was my fault. It took a lot of soul searching to realize how ridiculous that line of thinking was. I know now that you can kiss and make-out with someone and not have sex. Unfortunately, one of the participants may not care to believe that. I have been in therapy for one reason or another on and off for many years, but I never talked about being raped. I was too preoccupied with how my Dad never thought I was skinny or pretty enough or what boy had broken my heart most recently. Lately I find myself looking at his Facebook page. He has a kid. I wonder if he ever did to anyone what he did to me, and if he did, I hope it’s not my fault for not stopping him.
Please tell someone.
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