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2:47 p.m. | Thursday, May. 08, 2003
it's just one of those things, the past #1 This is one of the entries I keep promising myself I will write and then don't. It's an entry about the past and hopefully writing it down will help me resolve it. Then maybe I won't have to think about it so much. This entry in particular will be sexually explicit so if that bothers you, now would be the time to go. I lived with my now ex-fianc� for two years and the last four months of the time was spent living on our own in an apartment. It was one of the best times of my life, but one event stays in my mind that happened there. The location doesn't really matter to me; it's just a time frame for myself. We were both virgins when we started having sex and we took to the whole idea quite enthusiastically. We experimented a great deal, trying everything that sounded appealing and was physically possible. By the time this story takes place we had tried anal sex on more than one occasion and I had decided I didn't mind it and he seemed to realize that the word "Ow" meant stop. However, on this night (and I don't even remember now what went on before) I was on my stomach in bed and he started to use his fingers as a way to stretch and prepare me for him to have anal sex with me. This was fine and good up until he started the sex part... it hurt. I said the word that had always stopped him and caused him even to show concern for me, "Ow". He did not stop, so I said it again a bit louder "Ow", like hey, didn't you hear me the first time. I believe he must have heard me, but I suppose I can't prove it. In any case he didn't stop and I was so startled that I didn't say anything. That might be an excuse for the next few seconds but I didn't say anything else to stop him after that. I hid my head under a pillow and cried until he was finished. To this day I don't know why I didn't say anything, nor does he have any idea that I was sobbing underneath him. When he was done he left to the bathroom to shower and I composed myself. I lay there wondering what the hell had just happened. When I think about it I�m ashamed I didn't say anything when he didn't stop and become forceful about ending the sex. I remember feeling startled that he didn't respond to me, that if I just endured it then it would be over and I wouldn't have to say anything and there is some sort of vague submissive/ashamed feeling in there that I can't quite identify. Telling this story makes me sad and makes me want to cry. It wasn't rape obviously, though I believe he had to have heard me basically say stop. I will admit it's possible he didn't. That point is somewhat moot and his motivations aren't what I want to know about. I think the point is why did I feel I had to endure what happened and let something "done to" me instead of feeling like an equal participant.
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This is my blogchalk:
Canada, Saskatchewan, Saskatoon, , English, , Female, 26-30, Reading.