Editor’s Note: The following article is an excerpt from my manuscript detailing my own abuse. Please see “My Story of Abuse” under the category link.
I was date raped at thirteen by a twenty-three-year-old man that drove my school bus. He was my first true love. He was married and in the process of divorce, or so he told me. He flirted with me and was so good-looking. I was easily taken in with his charm and gorgeous sky blue eyes. I would tell my parents I was going to the Friday night school dance and instead meet Gary and he would take me out one of the ridges and find a deserted lane to park.
He told me how much he loved me and he was going to divorce his wife and marry me as soon as I was old enough to marry. We’d run off to Virginia and get married—there would be nothing my parents could do about it then.
I later found out that he bragged to the high school boys on the bus about me and how he was going to rape me. He was the first man that ever kissed me. He was gorgeous, and he loved me—he made me feel so good and so alive. I would have died for him. I had never felt this way in my life and it was wonderful.
After seeing him for about three months, one Friday night, he took me out on one of the ridges and parked the car—our usual date. He kissed me passionately and felt my breast, unzipped my jeans and was pulling them off of me. He’d never done that to me before. I started shaking and said, “I don’t think we should do this.” He smothered me with kisses and told me how much he loved me, and if I loved him then I’d let him do this to me. I said, “What if I get pregnant?” He assured me that I wouldn’t. Not the first time—no one gets pregnant their first time. Then, he’d kiss me again passionately and tell once again how much he loved me and there was no reason to wait until we were married. I told him once again, my Mother had told me if I allowed a man to do this to me that he’d never marry me. I believed her. And, I thought this was some kind of test for me to pass to make sure I was the right one to marry. Mother told me, “only sluts give in.” He told me how ridiculous that was and did I really believe that as much as he loved me.
He shoved me down on the seat and got on top of me. He sat up and quickly slipped his jeans off and was back on top of me with nothing covering him. I was petrified as he began to roughly kiss me and pulled my underwear off. I tried to hang onto them but he pulled them off. I started yelling at him, telling him no—stop! He kept trying to kiss me to muffle my screams and I was pushing against his head telling him, no, please stop! Then, he actually began to enter my body—the pain was unbelievable and I begged him to stop. He couldn’t penetrate me, and it hurt so bad and I screamed at him to stop again and again! I was frantic and in so much pain. But, he thrust himself hard against me and the pain was so intense I thought I’d pass out—my head was spinning and I thought I was going to throw-up. Everything was so wet now and his thrusts began to slow down. He said, “We’d better quit now before you get pregnant. Get dressed.” And with that, he sat up and began dressing.
He was distant now and asked if I was okay. I couldn’t answer him—I just sat there stunned and hurting. We drove off the ridge in silence—no more conversation about loving me or marrying me. He stopped in front of the State Police barracks and said, “I need a pop—do you want one?” “Sure, I said.” He dropped me a couple of blocks from Crystal’s house—I was spending the night with her. I climbed the stairs and went straight for the bathroom. Crystal called out from their bedroom, “are you okay?” “Yes, I—just have to pee really bad.” I sat on the cold toilet seat and looked at my underwear—they were covered in blood and I was perplexed by it. I had blood all over me. How am I going to hide this from Crystal, I thought. My mind racing—I tried to wash my underwear in the sink and get the blood off of me.