It almost seemed like a bad dream.

Why was this even happening? 

I didn’t want to be dating this asshole. Somehow we’d gotten here. I thought I was badass. I could handle anything. I’d been abused for so many years. I was free finally from all that and what did I do? Find an asshole to ruin my life. It wasn’t smart. I wasn’t smart. 

There had been moments. Great bits even.  Things that had thrilled me. His bed had cuffs for wrists. A sense of letting go. Being restrained.

But there had been more moments where everything was awful. Moments where he’d pushed me to do things I didn’t want to. Moments where he put me down or acted disappointed by something I did. 

So. I’d strayed. I’m not sure now but I feel like I did this so it’d take the choice out of my hand. If I cheated and he caught me, it’d have to be over, right? I hadn’t even really tried to be in a relationship. He’d tricked me with my dumb pride. But now it was clear I was screwed. 

He’d taken me hiking and promised me a present at the top. Just to make me hike? I don’t think he actually loved hiking. That “present” was him fingering me. I don’t like that term but it’s fitting in this instance. I was so disappointed. Public sex, yeah. I get it. But for some reason I had thought it’d be an actual present. Not some rough fumbling while I was mostly clothed.  

Or how he’d circled us on his bike while Heather and I went back to my house for the night. How creepy it was. 

Or him coming to the Daddies concert to threaten “losing his cool” if I didn’t leave the concert early?

Or how he’d break cigarettes in half? Disdain my use of marijuana? Buy me booze but get angry if I got drunk? 

Control. It was all control. He was 6 years older than me and he’d guilt me into doing things I hated in bed and not care when I cried during it. I said yes. It’s not technically assault since I said yes, right? 

Years later. So many, and I tripped and fell in front of him and he literally could not even pretend to care. His current person asked me if I was okay right away like a normal human.

In any case, I’d been fucking random guys for a bit at this point. I figured if I’d been tricked into this relationship, it wouldn’t be easy to get back out, right? I hadn’t been fucking him. On purpose. I really didn’t think I’d be able to break up with him. I’d been offered a threesome, although it was more like one guy, two girls. 

So when she’d invited some guys over the next time, I agreed. But then one of them had kind of assed out and the other one was good with his fingers but it kind of fizzled out. 

So why the fuck was that why I was getting blackmailed? It hadn’t even been great. But somehow my creep of a boyfriend’s friend knew the guys who’d come over. So he cornered me. Threatened me, said he wanted to fuck me. He wouldn’t tell. If only. 

One time he made sure to smoke pot with me, insuring BF would be pissed at me. Threatening me if I didn’t. As I write this out, part of me wonders if bf didn’t know. Maybe he was using his friend to further control me. Why did I even care about him knowing? Wasn’t I doing this to get out of this shit anyhow? 

He was a real bad guy. An adult, pressuring a teenager. I say this about both of them. They both tried to make me be completely submissive to them. Without asking. Which is a shame. 

Because force is not consent. Guilt is not consent. 

This guy went by a stupid nickname and I’m not even going to use it because he was that dumb so let’s call him jimothy. 

Jimothy wanted to fuck a 16 year old girl and was not above using blackmail to get me where he wanted me. 

Finally my brain kicked in enough that I realized I could just avoid campus and not see him that way. He had my number but I was rarely home so not much help there. I remember clearly having a conversation over Christmas where I told him I hated my house and wanted to put my head through a TV as I chain smoked and listened to Pretty Hate Machine non stop. Maybe I just thought an older guy would get me out of that house faster? 

Somehow I ended up running into this guy Chris and he said he had mushrooms and was going over to my ex boyfriend’s place with them. I said too bad because they would not want me there so I couldn’t partake. Somehow he convinced me it’d be fine. 

Cut to a week later and we’re hanging out. Staying up late to play monopoly. His wife (yeah. I know) freaked out and wouldn’t let him leave so they fought and we all went to the mall to escape her crazy. We were just friends ffs. 

Well. Until that night. She called the cops and the roommates decided she needed to leave and on her way out she whispered to me “I hope you’re having fun” so I decided if I was going to be tarred and feathered, I was gonna fuck my ex. On her bed. I’m nice. Sweet. Generous. I will give my friends everything I can but I’m also kind of an asshole. Clearly. 

A month later I was pregnant. I hadn’t heard from creepy ex boyfriend at all so I assumed he knew we were over even if I didn’t know how to say the words. 

At some point in my pregnancy, a mutual friend of my not so ex boyfriend and creepy ex argued with me about not knowing if my baby was my current boyfriends or not. Of course I knew. Can’t get pregnant without having sex and I had stopped caring about sex with him at all by that point. 

It was a span of mere months if memory is correct but it felt so much longer. Often I’m surprised when I think back. It had to have been at least a year, right? 

Nope. Not with my sexual timeline. 

I was dating my ex in July. Because I had my birthday at his place. Then he cheated on me with his wife (see, that’s why I didn’t feel bad about fucking him) and his roommate told me because he liked me. So we dated for a bit but somehow I ended up at creepy ex’s, and my other ex got married in September I think. I wasn’t around for that so I must’ve been dating the creep by then. It was over by December. 3 months felt like a year. I suppose that says a hell of a lot. 

There is no real end to this story, we had no closure. I escaped. Maybe he really didn’t realize I was crying during sex because it hurt. But it all feels like abuse. A little too close to repeating the pattern my family seems to fall into. In any case, it’s been years since I’ve seen him on my way to work or worse yet, in my store. I’m glad. One time I helped him at the customer service counter while he pretended he’d never watched porn with me. Acted like we’d never had our sexual bits pressed against each other. Complete strangers, we were. 

The only thing I do wonder is if he has the pictures. I wasn’t an adult. My face was not visible. Even if he shared them online, no one could prove it was me. I really should’ve not done that with him. I even let him blindfold me so no clue how many pictures he took. Even if they could prove it was me somehow, it would be illegal, he was 22, I was underage. 

I don’t care that much. If some guy gets off on how hot I looked at 16 when I was thinner, we’ll, I’m not dumb. That’s what the internet is for. I probably passed for 18, I certainly had been hit on by adult men a lot. I never tried to buy cigarettes before I was legally able but I did walk into a porn store before I was 18. Ha. I was a mother to a whole fucking person and signed for medical things at 17 but I couldn’t rent porn or buy cigarettes until I was the magical number 18. 

Why are we so obsessed with random numbers? I suppose that could be true of my relationship here. We had 6 years difference. Boys mature later - or we LET boys mature later whereas girls are over sexualized. I felt matched in terms of ideas. I was able to be myself freely, sexually. Maybe something I hadn’t been able to do with anyone before. I guess I should give him that much credit. 

For the most part I just thank gods I don’t see him. 

But I do sometimes miss those bed restraints.