Diary Of A Sheltered Student

Part 6: No?

So as I said, I had no intention of sleeping with Charlie that night.

He thought differently.

As soon as my door was closed his shirt was off, and he was walking towards me. My drunk brain did a kind of "oh shit okay, this is happening. This is fine, we can just make out for a bit".

I'll be really honest here, this is kinda hard to write about. Remembering all the details that I've tried to suppress is proving difficult and painful, but here we go.

So we made out for a bit, then he moved us over to the bed. I could feel him trying to push me to lay down, but I stayed sitting up. He stood up and took off his trousers. I just remember looking up at him and thinking "Shit, I don't really have a choice in this, do I?"

He asked if I had a condom. I said I didn't, hoping that would make the decision for me.

He pulled out his wallet and got one out anyway. There was no conversation, no "are you okay with this". Just the assumption that I was going to sleep with him. I was bloody petrified.
What if it hurt? What if I bled? What if the condom broke? So many thoughts were going through my head that I hadn't even realised his boxers were now on my bedroom floor, too.

I finally spoke up.

"I really don't know if I'm ready for this", I managed.

His response is something I'll never forget.

"You'll be fine. You don't even have to do much".

I just remember feeling sick to my stomach, the kind of feeling where you would literally do anything to get out of the current situation.

"Actually Charlie, I really don't want to do this".

That should have made him stop. That should have been enough.

Again, "you'll be fine".

Something weird came over me then, and I'm ashamed of it still. For some reason, I decided that the easiest way to deal with this would to just let him do it, and hope it was over quickly.

I said nothing.

There was some part of me that still wanted him to like me, and it would be like I was disappointing him if I said no. I remember him lifting up my dress, and taking my pants down. He'd slowly pushed me down on the bed to ley down, and started to kiss me again.

That was the worst part- he was so gentle. I feel like it would be easier to say that he was in the wrong if he had been harsh with me. But it wasn't making love. There was no feeling. Just body parts crashing against each other until the end result was accomplished.

It ended, sooner than I had expected it to. I didn't feel anything, I just lay there. I felt like I had been robbed of something, something that should have been shared with someone I cared about, and who cared for me.

I'm not going to put any sort of label on this scenario, because technically I consented eventually, and there are so many horrific stories of people not getting that option at all.

He left, maybe 20 minutes afterwards.

I got up, and had a shower. I felt filthy. I felt like I would never be clean again.

I remember finally getting out, looking in the mirror and just saying "Slut". I couldn't believe what I had just let happen.

I actually called my mum.
My very Christian, very traditional mother.

She was obviously not impressed, and I didn't tell her the whole story. In fact, 5 years later, I've only just told her how it really happened.
But in that moment, I just needed my mum.

We talked, I got a lecture about God and whatever happened to saving myself for marriage, and then she just let me cry.

I went to sleep that night completely hating myself.

But I woke up, shoved it to the back of my mind and just got on with shit.

In fact, I'm pretty sure this is one of the first times since it happened that I've actually gone into detail about it. Welcome to my therapy session, one and all.
5 years later, older, wiser and now actually engaged (we'll get to that, too).

Fuck me, I'm so glad that chapter is done. I promise that's one of the worst ones!

Now, let's move onto something brighter, shall we?