I can’t say my first time was the most memorable, how many of us can? It wasn’t in a perfect relationship, or any relationship for that matter and it wasn’t with a total stranger I’d picked from a bar either. It was just the right time for me and at nineteen years of age I thought it was about time too.
I had nothing to compare it too and it certainly did not give me a taste for more as it was over a year that I contemplated doing it again. I definitely fell into situations that could have led to sex but I never followed through. I was confident yet massively insecure doubting how sexual I was or how appealing I came across. I received plenty of attention in my early twenties but put it down to my attractive set of friends. I never thought I may have been drawing that attention all by myself.
I knew nothing of men.
The only male figure I had around me was my father and that man could’ve put me off for life. I doubted men and was certain they’d betray me. I convinced myself I could never be loved. My father helped fuel those feelings with his constant criticisms and accusations against me. I felt disgusting most of the time. However, eventually, I pushed those deep rooted feelings to one side. I wanted to be loved and found physically attractive. I needed something positive from a man so I went looking for it.
In my early twenties a new found sexiness and courage developed in me. My love of fashion enabled me to flaunt myself and create a new seductive identity. It wasn’t me but it was better than the miserable identity my father had labelled me with. I revelled in it and enjoyed the copious amounts of attention I was now receiving from the opposite sex. My friends admired my confidence and ability to talk to anyone. It was just nice to be free, even if it was only for a few hours.
Soon, I became “addicted”. My lifestyle changed and I was out all the time. I was never a big drinker but my love of music and dancing drew me into the club scene. I was young and wanted a social life. My father didn’t care at first if I was out all hours but eventually it became another thing he wanted to control.
Clubs revealed a specific kind of guy. Ones that were out for one thing. Initially, I fell into this trap and believed their lines and flirtation. I thought I was giving as good as I was getting and still keeping boundaries. But I had never been exposed to the concept of boundaries so my lines were completely blurred. A few one night stands followed suit and many nights were spent anxiously waiting for the call that never came. I foolishly made these mistake several times, thinking each man would be different from the last.
But of course, I was wrong.
In my mid-twenties and in need of a long lasting relationship, I tried out on-line dating. I have to admit, I met some right bastards on that. Yet once again, I believed their lies as they romanced me into bed. Some I dated for a couple of months, others a few weeks and all the time they had the control. I see it now. I allowed it to happen, it was easier that way, it was all I was used to; a man controlling me.
Sex became an escape, a way to be free, to hide from the abuse and feel loved. It was a chance to feel released and become someone else.
Even if it was only for that one night.
Part 3 to follow.