the first time

the first time, i hadn’t wanted it.  i had a sudden saddening as i compared it to winona ryder in mermaids, as her inner dialogue is saying, “this is really it,” and i knew that this wan’t even a person i liked – not really, so, even in my sharing that experience with her, i was not actually like she was.  i was not just exploring, i was doing bad.

and, what’s worse, i didn’t even want it.  i could imagine the idea forever, but it didn’t mean that i actually wanted it.  but, in that passive way i do, i let it happen, and i partly ignored that it was happening.  i also had been drinking the past couple hours-ish, and was definitely drunk.

perhaps this is why i so dislike being drunk – i allow for stupidity to happen, and i do nothing about it.  aka i get into trouble, if only with myself, letting myself down, even if no one else even notices.

 

the worst part?

perhaps the worst part, aside from the fact that is happened, and the part that i often won’t even allow my own private thoughts to acknowledge, is that there were parts i enjoyed about it all.

i enjoyed having someone seek me out.

i enjoyed having (at least some) sexual release1.

i enjoyed having someone to check up on, and who even would check in on me at times.

i enjoyed having a secret – it felt special, somehow.

 

1 okay, but let’s be real here for a minute.  he was incredibly, totally and incredibly, lame in terms of pleasing or satisfying me sexually.  even when he specifically was pursuing me “pleasure” (by oral means, you see), i received little pleasure from it.  it was mostly a waiting annoyance with just enough satisfaction  involved to allow me to tolerate the act.

rearranging my life

i am disappointed sometimes in how much effort i made for his convenience, for him to be able to spend time with me.  now it seems utterly one-sided in the efforts – he just had to show up or not – , but it felt ‘only fair’ at the time, because he had a job and life to manage, and i (somehow in my head) didn’t – i just had free time, even though i did have school and a job and a life.  but i rearranged so much in order to make him, essentially, my life.  that i did it for someone who so totally did not love me, is saddening… or something like that.

… but still i remain

one time, we were sitting in the car, windows down, as he waited for his deposit transaction to finish at the bank drive-through.

it was sunny, and a relaxing song i really enjoy came on the radio.  i closed my eyes to enjoy the sun on my face and the internal calm and joy elicited by the song, and i smiled and sang along lightly.

and he just didn’t get it.

and i knew he didn’t get me.

and i wondered how long it would take me to get out of there.

and i did nothing.

on the way to the strip club

i remember one time that he was on his was to a strip club with buddies, while the girlfriends and wives went to see a movie of comparable content, and he came by.  perhaps he wanted to satisfy his already rising desire before he went to the club.  it’s the only sensical explanation, anyway.  though maybe it was just an average day and desire for him, and he wanted whatever he could get.

his “needs”

he talked about how men should treat women, how it was just wrong not to do certain things for women… hold open her car door for her, and hold other doors for her to enter first… and he did those things he always fussed about other guys not doing.  how did i not see that those were the only kind things he did?  how was i so blinded by them, that i missed the part where he was using me for sex, even though he had a good few other women regularly there for his “needs”, as he called it?

that’s what he said, you know.  the he had needs; and I just couldn’t help him.

that was the accursed phrase that had me climb into his bed and offer myself to him, say that i wanted to be able to help him.  that moment when i gave up on myself, in order, as i saw it, to care for this other in need.  more like a full castration and a jaw wiring would have helped him (and the world) with his “needs” and his problems…  and sometimes I wish I had had the sense to do that.  it couldn’t have been too hard, to pull out some scissors or a chopping knife… right?

huh.  the things these sorts of things do to us, to our minds.  that i even have that idea is ridiculous.  the pain i must have endured to want to cause such harm to another.  as much as i may have wished to want to be compassionate, i couldn’t even spit out the words to ask for the ability to be compassionate – i didn’t want to have compassion; i wanted him to suffer that almost-unbearable pain.

what held me

he said he wanted to take care of me, and to please me.  he said he wanted to “make love” to me.  i knew with all my sense that it was complete bull.  and yet something in me wouldn’t let me walk away, leave him alone, report him, even.

it was like the whole thing was okay, because – well, definitely not okay… tolerable, perhaps – was it because i was wanted?  that i somehow now was good enough that someone would want me specifically.  and not just want me, but pursue me.  and in much less than ideal circumstances.  someone who had seen, met, known others for what seemed like an eternity, found me desirable.  it made it feel as though there were something truly special and unique about me…  above all, i was wanted – i specifically – and that meant i was worth being wanted.  well, that was my experience of it, rather: i was good enough and i was wanted.

somehow that was all that mattered.  i never had those actual thoughts, of course.  they were just the underlying feeling of it all.  in my almost sub conscience, those thoughts ruled rather omnipotently, tossing loosely to the wind any contradictory thoughts and ideas to remove myself from the situation.

in the beginning…

in the beginning, i was your average girl.  happy, healthy, even somewhat holy.  i didn’t know what i was missing out on in life, per se, but i knew i wasn’t involved in much of what most people my age did.  i didn’t smoke (cigarettes or marijuana), i didn’t drink (wasn’t legal, but what did my peers seem to care, let alone most of the world?), i didn’t make out with random guys, and i didn’t have sex.  while i constantly was getting involved in all sorts of fun things, they were always unique, never a very common sort of activity for my peers.  i mean, who goes roaming around a nearby college campus with her boyfriend and mom, in order to check out an art exhibit together, and has an amazing time?  yes, it’s great, but it isn’t exactly normal.

so, i was average white bread, but i wasn’t exactly normal.  perhaps i was like the cuff of the loaf, instead of a regular slice.  something like that.

in the beginning, i was happy, but i didn’t know what normal was, and i wanted to know why everyone else seemed to love it so much.

in short, i was curious.  and, as quite nearly was the case for me, curiosity killed the cat.

i got involved in dance lessons when i was about 11 or 12 years old.  my dad had been taking partner dance lessons, and his teachers wanted to start a class for kids.  so, i was one of their first kids.  i didn’t really like the husband of the couple too much from the start, as he was somewhat degrading toward me and my skills of comprehension (i.e. he didn’t believe me when i said that i had understood something, and somewhat snottily told me to prove it.  when i did, he didn’t really acknowledge that i had done anything good or that he had been unjust toward me – he just moved on in the lesson.), but i thought he was handsome, and so apparently let it slide.

ten-ish years later, this same man, whom i had accepted because he was in a position of “teacher” and “adult” when i met him, in addition to the fact that i had initially found him to be handsome, became to me what felt like the worst thing in my life.  married and with kids, he decided, for whatever reason, that a girl over 20 years his junior was a perfect option for his newest mistress.  i, having been so curious about what all these normal people did for fun and why they found it so amazing (plus experiencing a serious case of fomo (fear of missing out)), allowed myself to ignore my morals (in terms of my actions, anyway), simply due to my own curiosity and my utter trust and reliance on this man who had been ‘somewhat like family’ to me since i was a little girl, and who had introduced me to one of my favorite things in life: partner dancing.

no, i wasn’t technically underage.  yes, it was sexual abuse.  no, i wasn’t fully aware of what was going on.  yes, i wanted to know all about the sex and drinking life that seemed to be so crucial in the lives of my peers.  yes, i knew it had no integrity and went against my morals.  yes, i trusted him.  yes, i knew it was stupid beyond reason.  no, that didn’t stop me from wanting to be wanted, or from accepting the only person who offered anything similar to being wanted.

these are my tales from that eye-opening, dreadful part of my life.

 

candidly yours,

val