At 19, I was a popular, experienced dater. I was pretty and athletic, and I’d learned to camouflage my brainy tendencies with tequila shots and judicious use of the word “fuck.”
I had dated a few bad boys in high school — boys who ditched school or stole cars or smoked (still felonious) weed — but none crossed the line with me. Ever. I said when. I said how far. I believed myself to be in total control of the males I encountered, all of whom were surely enchanted by my beauty and desperate to please me.
I wasn’t fighting for my virginity; I’d ruined that freshman year of college. I was fighting for what would today be called my agency. I had never been at anyone’s mercy. In my 19 years, any problem I had was quickly dispatched by my father. But now, the full weight of the truth crushed me into the mattress: I can’t stop him. I can’t stop this from happening.
Otis was 6'3" and 230 pounds easy, and when he slapped me — a swift, backhanded strike — his ring scraped the skin off my right cheek. He raised his arm for a second blow and I saw my blood drip down his wrist.
humanparts.medium.com
Why do all these articles sound like they’re
Subtlety bragging about being young sluts having sex with Chads?
I had dated a few bad boys in high school — boys who ditched school or stole cars or smoked (still felonious) weed — but none crossed the line with me. Ever. I said when. I said how far. I believed myself to be in total control of the males I encountered, all of whom were surely enchanted by my beauty and desperate to please me.
I wasn’t fighting for my virginity; I’d ruined that freshman year of college. I was fighting for what would today be called my agency. I had never been at anyone’s mercy. In my 19 years, any problem I had was quickly dispatched by my father. But now, the full weight of the truth crushed me into the mattress: I can’t stop him. I can’t stop this from happening.
Otis was 6'3" and 230 pounds easy, and when he slapped me — a swift, backhanded strike — his ring scraped the skin off my right cheek. He raised his arm for a second blow and I saw my blood drip down his wrist.
How I Got Away
At 19, I was almost raped. For far too long I thought it was my fault.
humanparts.medium.com
Why do all these articles sound like they’re
Subtlety bragging about being young sluts having sex with Chads?
Last edited:
