My First Time

My mom was a very crazy but kind of progressive woman. When I turned 16 she sat me down and we had our umpteenth conversation about sex. Only this time her focus was only on birth control. She explained all the options and how to get them and then told me that when I needed to, come to her and she would be happy to help me get what I needed. Several times I tried to stop this heart to heart then finally I interrupted her and said, "MOM, I'm telling you, I am waiting for marriage. We do not need to have this conversation right now." Then I paused and said, "Let me amend that- marriage or 25 (which sounded ages away). I don't think even God would expect me to wait any longer than that." I smiled and she hugged me and we laughed together. It was a really good moment in what was otherwise a very rocky relationship.

All through high school and college I had fun dates, a few boyfriends and a couple times I thought I had found "the one". After college, I even followed a guy to Washington DC and lived there for two years because I was sure he was it, but he wasn't. Through all of those years I kept my promise to myself to wait for marriage, to be pure. I totally expected that I would only truly share my whole self with one man, my husband.

Then I met Joe. My dad had died suddenly of a heart attack a few months before and I had moved back to Grand Rapids so I would be closer to my mom and three younger sisters. The weekend of my 25th birthday I came home to Indiana to celebrate with family. When I walked in the house my mom introduced me to a coworker who had stopped by to do some sort of home repair for her. I was immediately attracted and his pop-in to screw or nail or weld whatever he was fixing turned into a five hour conversation on the front steps. As he was leaving I told him that I was having a pool party on Sunday for my birthday and he should stop by. And he did.

The next week he drove two hours north and visited me. A few weeks later he told me he loved me. Long distance bills piled up, our gas money got steep and we were spending every minute we could together. Neither one of us had a cell phone yet but I had to carry a pager for work and throughout the day it would beep with the numbers 143- I (1 letter) LOVE (4 letters) YOU (3 letters).

Now Joe was not the kind of man I thought I would end up with. He was 30 years old, had been married before- TWICE, and was a security guard at a maximum security prison. Frankly, he was not the man anyone thought I would end up with but no one had any doubt that I had fallen hard for this guy.

Early in our relationship I sat down with him and gave my own sex talk. I told him that I knew this would be hard for him but I was really committed to waiting. I told him about a sermon my pastor had preached where he took two pieces of duct tape and stuck them to each other then showed us how practically impossible it was to tear them apart. He then took two other pieces and stuck one to the pulpit and one to the carpet. He then ripped them off and stuck one to his jacket and the other to his hand. Then he tried to stick them to each other and they would not stick. He compared this to sex and said the more partners each person has slept with before they find each other the harder it will be to really bond. I told Joe, "Honey, I want to be sticky. You are not as sticky, I'm not sure where this is going and I want to give my marriage the best chance to create as strong a bond as possible." He laughed and hugged me then cupped his hands around  my cheeks and told me that he respected and loved me for being sticky and he could honor my wishes. I could trust him.

The evening before Thanksgiving, Joe was in town and so were some friends from college. We made plans to all meet at a fancy restaurant and I was really excited to introduce them to my boyfriend. We had so much fun! I remember feeling so happy, so safe, so comfortable. My friends and I ordered a pitcher of Sangria, Joe drank a beer and we had some fantastic food. At one point in the evening I leaned over and whispered to Joe about who was going to drive back to my apartment. He said he would switch to water and for me not to worry about a thing. So I poured myself another glass of Sangria. Then my friend poured me a glass, then her husband poured me a glass and it was only when I went to stand up to leave that I realized I was really drunk. I remember coming back to my apartment and kissing Joe. The rest of the night is a bit of a blur.

I woke up very early in the morning with a terrible headache and a funny feeling. How did I get to bed? Where were my underwear? Why did I notice some blood after I went to the bathroom? I started to panic and woke up Joe and asked what happened when we came home from our date. Then he said it, "We made love." My head was spinning. I started crying and I fell to the floor. He picked me up and said, "I know you want me to regret it but I don't, it's natural and I love you." I racked my head for any memory of it. Vague images flashed in my brain.

Then I pushed him away and said, "But I trusted you. I never trust anyone but I trusted you! You knew what I wanted. You promised me that it was fine with you. You told me that you even wanted to wait with me. You wanted it to be special. I can't even remember it!!!." And I stormed out of the room.


The next few hours I sat on the couch while Joe slept in my twin bed. I was convinced that I had let it happen, that he couldn't help it, that I was to blame for having too much to drink. My final assessment was that the only way to make this feel ok was to assure myself that at the very least he would be "the one" and technically, still I will have only ever been with my husband.

We had a comepletely silent drive to Indiana for what was my first family holiday without my dad. My mom had decided that she couldn't bare making dinner so for the first (and only) time in my life I had Thanksgiving dinner at The Old Country Buffet. The worst holiday of my life, filled with firsts.

It took me years to forgive myself for that night and much longer for me to realize the truth about that night. It was the night that I was raped by my boyfriend. It took me many more months to break it off but thank God, he did not become my husband. And I am A okay about that.