Lets Talk About Sex Baby

I was barely fourteen when I had my first kiss.

His name was Kyle, he was seventeen and I was pretty sure I was in love with him. We had grown up in small town Georgia and I was his little sister's best friend. I had always looked at Kyle like he hung the moon. In my mind, he was the perfect boy to be with. I loved his family, he believed in Jesus, and we were destined to be together because we had been friends for such a long time. In my mind, my life was going to be like Sweet Home Alabama. I was going to marry Jake.

So, at fourteen years-old, I was determined to get Kyle to kiss me. In my mind, we would sit on the roof of his house, look up at the stars and talk about how much we liked each other. Then, toward the end of the night, he would lean in and gently kiss me on the lips. That's exactly how it happened in my mind, and that's exactly how I thought Kyle would want it to happen too. It would be the perfect first kiss.

In reality, Kyle lead me the upstairs bathroom of his house. It smelled like adolescent boy BO, sulfur water, and urine. Without any romantic build up, he leaned in and kissed me and almost immediately stuck his tongue down my throat. He started to feel me up and then he pulled me to the floor of his unkempt bathroom, sat he on his lap and started to grope and dry hump me. That turned very quickly into him finding a way to get his hand down my shorts. I had no idea what I was doing. I didn't really want it and I wasn't even aware of what fingering was until that night (I had to go home and Google it). He never asked me what I was okay with, what I wanted or how I was doing with what was going on. This was the first time I let a boy take advantage of me, and it wouldn't be the last.

The very next boy that kissed me was on my fifteenth birthday. He kissed me on the side of my grandma's house. He put his hand under my bathing suit and forced my hand onto his erect penis even though I said no and forcefully removed my hand. He just forcefully replaced my hand there. It was one of the sloppiest kisses I have ever received. I'm pretty sure his tongue was not only in my mouth but also all over it and around it. It was repulsive. But I let it all happen, and I only had a bigger crush on him after it.

Fast forward about four years and here I am on a date with an older guy. He has a job and a car and I feel so special that he likes me. He says all the right things, and tells me how intentional he wants to be about building a relationship with me. I thought that finally I could have my fairytale.

Well, his version of a fairytale was sitting in the back of his care on our second date, pressuring me into giving him a blowjob. I just wanted him to like me for me. For once in my life, I wanted a guy to be interested in my heart and my mind, and not what I could do for him. But I did anything he wanted me to that night, because I wanted the picture of the fairytale so badly. I still cringe when I think about how awkward it was and how continued to ask me to do things that I didn't want to do, and the things he did to me that I wish I never had to remember.

I wish these were the only memories I had like this, but they're not.

I don't want to give the impression that I was helpless in any of these circumstances. I was a big girl and I made my own decisions and trade-offs. But all throughout these experiences, the main thing I learned, was that beating guys to the topic was the way to never have to feel forced into anything ever again.

So I'll send nudes, I'll incite physicality, and I'll do anything I have to do in order to never feel like a man has that kind of power over me ever again. No one will ever make me feel helpless and empty and sad ever again, because I won't let them. They don't get to be special, and it doesn't get to be their idea anymore.