Where it happened: an unknown bedroom
Langauge: English
Sex: Female
Rating: 2
Category: Straight
When I was 15 years old, I ran away from home in the middle of the night. I found a public telephone and called Mike, a 27-year old man I’d met several days earlier while fundraising for a volunteer group I belonged to.
After buying me breakfast, Mike brought me to a house several towns away where he and a couple of friends were staying. Mike led me into a back bedroom that had only a mattress laying on the floor. He casually took off his clothes while instructing me to do the same. I was terrified. Not only had I never seen a man naked before, but I’d never even kissed a BOY, much less a man. I was very nervous, since I had my period and had a tampon inside me. In an embarrassed voice, I explained this to Mike. He said that wouldn’t be a problem…he just reached down in between my legs, yanked on the string to pull the tampon out of me, and tossed it off to the side. He pushed me down on the mattress, climbed on top of me, nudged my legs apart and tried to insert his stiff penis into me. Without saying a single word, he kept trying to push himself, over and over again, into my dry opening. The only thought I allowed in my mind while all this was happening (I kind of blocked out the “getting deflowered” part on purpose by doing this), was Oh well…I’ll show you, Mommy and Daddy…I’m not your nice little girl anymore.
Perhaps eight hours after I had sex for the very first time, my vaginal area was really sore; in fact, it began to burn painfully. By the time I went back home (on April Fool’s Day, no less), I had a raging case of herpes. So not only did I feel guilt for having hurt my mom and dad so much (along with shame for having filled their eyes with fear and with puzzlement over what they’d done wrong in raising me) but I also had the distinct pleasure of going for the very first time (on an emergency visit at that), to a gynecologist. I was mortified. Back in 1977, herpes was not well understood and treatments were limited. I was only 15 years old and had just gotten the worst possible disease I could ever have imagined. My entire vaginal area was painted with a purple dye and an ultraviolet light on a stand was placed in between my legs, shining on the sores. My mother stood next to me and held my hand the whole time. God, how I cried…on the inside, though, not the outside. I was more than embarrassed, I was more than mortified…as I laid there on that table, the ‘good’ girl died. I became a ‘bad’ girl.
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