Isn’t it ironic that after all this happened, I tried to erase every piece of him from my life, only to copy the same trait in him I always hated? I write in riddles with my poetry just like he did in his words to me.
On February 11, 2011, I lost my virginity. On February 11, 2011, I lost my virginity. On February 11, 2011, I lost my virginity. On February 11, 2011, I lost my virginity. On February 11, 2011, I lost my virginity. On February 11, 2011, I lost my virginity. On February 11, 2011, I lost my virginity. On February 11, 2011, I lost my virginity.
I’ve written that line in every journal, blog, or iPhone notes I’ve ever owned.
His name was Jared.
By mid January, after coming back from winter break, Jared and I had grown more distant than what we’d been in the fall months. We still flirted and texted every day, but his moods were more inconsistent and he seemed angry and distant more often.
Even though he lived with his worship band mates, sometimes he would go on binges of not attending band practices or university classes, and would go out drinking with old high school friends who did not attend church. I usually liked that he had a side like that because I could relate to him better than any of the other church kids at the foundation.
The week before February 11, we had barely talked or texted at all. I can’t remember now where I was that night, if I was out with friends or had been alone up until that point. All I remember about the earlier part was that it was late when he texted me the night of February 11. I was wearing skinny jeans, loafers, and an old baseball tee. He picked me up from my dorm in his car, and it wasn’t until we were already on the road that I realized he was drunk.
I’d ridden with friends who were drunk before (bad I know) and knew that though he shouldn’t be driving, it wasn’t too bad of a situation for how short the drive was. I can still feel the stone in my gut during that passenger ride though, realizing we were finally alone. As much as I had enjoyed being alone with him in all those months, this was the first time I was actually nervous and couldn’t identify why.
We pulled up to his apartment complex and he explained that all of his roommates were gone for the weekend. When we got inside, he left all the lights off and turned on the TV to a strange German program that we watched for the next half hour or so. We didn’t sit right next to each other on the couch, but did kind of slump over so we were awkwardly touching and cuddling.
Abruptly, he turned the show and TV off, got up and led me back to his bedroom. It was the first time I’d ever been back that far in the apartment with him and only really took in the size of the room being the biggest. The head of his queen sized bed was pushed against the left side of the wall as you first walk in, with the window being at the foot. He had dark blue and green flannel sheets and everything else in the room was chaos.
He changed in another room and offered me clean boxers so I wouldn’t have to sleep in my jeans. I declined.
I told him I didn’t realize I was staying the night and thought we were just hanging out for a bit.
He told me he was drunk and couldn’t drive me home and it wouldn’t be a big deal if I slept over. That no one was home this weekend anyway, like that statement made it better. Drunk Emily might’ve tried to walk a block to the Del Taco and call for a ride, but sober me was too afraid of the dark and knew the walk to the dorm (where I also left my phone) was too far.
“Plus, what would sober me say to the Del Taco workers? A guy friend is drunk and forcing me to sleep in his bed? That doesn’t sound serious enough.” – my inner dialogue at the time
He did fall asleep. I slept lightly, completely still next to him, still fully dressed and only beneath one blanket.
I have a very vague, very foggy memory of him kissing me. It happened either when we first got into bed or when he first woke up in the night. Whenever it happened, it was our first kiss. A second after it happened, his hands were gripping my face, my breasts, handling my hip, and slipping back to my butt. He made it all happen so quickly.
As much as I wanted this to happen over the past few months, and was internally so justified that he really had been into me that whole semester, it was happening too fast. I pushed his hands away and told him I was tired and he stopped.
Until he woke up again mid night and began grabbing for me. He began to kiss me again, aggressively this time, pulling at my shirt and trying to undo the buttons of my jeans. He told me to get undressed.
I wasn’t really thinking out escape routes in my head. Part of me kept reminding myself how much I had wanted this to happen since we’d met and the other part of me wondered if all he wanted was for me to get undressed and then he might pass out again before anything would really happen. More importantly at the time, “If I don’t do this he won’t want me anymore and I can’t lose him.”
So I got undressed down to my underwear and bra and watched and realized that he had undressed too, except he was now naked. Stunned, I reached over and felt his chest with the muscles and the brownish red hair, and snaked my hand all the way down.
I remember being surprised by how much smaller he was (it was probably average) than the guy I’d been fooling around with the summer before college and over winter break (there was no emotional connection with the big dick guy, all physical). Ian and I never had sex because he was saving it for marriage and no matter how much I aroused him, I never worried about sex because I knew he didn’t want it to go that far.
I don’t know why I just assumed Jared would have those same values of wanting to save himself and knowing when to stop, because he didn’t. As soon as I touched him, Jared made noise immediately. He rolled on top of me with his full weight and I momentarily lost my breath completely. I couldn’t react.
Until he was tugging my underwear down with one hand and I put both of my hands on his shoulders and asked if we could go slower. He leaned back and got off of me long enough to lift my feet up and slip my underwear off. He started for my bra, but when I wouldn’t turn to let him unclasp it, he dug his hand beneath the wire band and groped for whatever he could find there. He tried a few sloppy, poorly aimed kisses after that.
Then he was between my legs again and forcing himself in me. He was moving so fast but the moment seemed so slow and so painful and I put my hands to his shoulders again telling him it hurt and to please stop or slow down or get off and give me a second. And he didn’t, he kept going, kept forcing himself through.
He didn’t wear a condom and he did finish inside me. He did roll off me after he was done. I didn’t cry and I did give up asking him to stop after he moved my hands aside and told me the pain would be over soon. I just laid there and waited until it was over. When he was done, he rolled off and went back to sleep.
I stayed awake. I stared at the ceiling, then the window blinds, then the blue and green flannel sheets for the next few hours. My thoughts kept repeating themselves; you just lost your virginity, he just took your virginity, you just lost your virginity…
He woke up in the early hours of the morning and it happened again. This time I didn’t stop him. It still hurt.
He must’ve been sobering up though, because he stopped himself mid thrust during the second time and stared me in the eyes saying, “This is wrong.”
And I got my hopes up. I thought that he might actually be sobering up and the real, gentle Jared that I know might be coming back. Until he finished his sentence; “We shouldn’t be doing this, God wouldn’t want us to be doing this.”
So he stopped, rolled off me again and went back to sleep. I did try to go back to sleep after the second time. I wasn’t tired and I wasn’t awake, I just didn’t want to be awake with my thoughts anymore.
Ceiling, window shades, blue green flannel sheets…
I woke up around 6:30 with a full bladder, mostly naked, and with no idea where the bathroom was. It took me a long time before I could move and feel confident that he wasn’t going to wake up beside me. Finally, I got my underwear and shirt on, but couldn’t find my pants. By 8:00, he was awake too. His first words were something about having to get me home and he changed and threw my jeans to me on his way towards the bathroom.
As soon as he was out of the bathroom (I had my jeans on by this point) he grabbed his keys and I, not wanting to be in that apartment any longer, held it for another 5 minutes, long enough for him to drive me back to my dorm.
When he dropped me off, he said we should talk about what happened and understand that it would never and should never happen again between us. He drove off before I got to the building door.
It took me most of that day before I was able to undress and take a shower. I didn’t talk to anyone. By the end of the day, I’d managed to listen to one song and still couldn’t stop sobbing long enough to leave the dorm room (my roommate was gone for the weekend) for food.
I was in my own head for a lot of that day with the same words repeated over and over again because I didn’t have anything else to call what had happened; you just lost your virginity, he just took your virginity, you just lost your virginity…
I did receive a lot of texts from church group friends that day asking what had happened the night before. Jared sent a riddle text to one of his roommates that had hinted at him bringing me home for the night. I should’ve felt embarrassed maybe, but everything was numb to me after February 11, for a long time.
The boy I had been in love with for half of a year did something to me that I couldn’t process and even though I was pretty sure I hadn’t done anything wrong, that boy didn’t want me anymore. He didn’t want sex with me and for the next few weeks, he avoided every text, every room, every building that had me in it.
My life was still split between the people who really knew me but didn’t know about this and the people who I had kept at a distance but suddenly somehow knew a version of that night.