To understand what’s to come, I need to fill you in more on my past. A little over ten years ago, I was dating Roid Douche. When I met him, I was lured in by his muscular build, badass demeanor, and found his sarcastic ass remarks comedic. Over time I realized he wasn’t what I painted him to be and he was really just a fucking prick that I was enamored with because of teenage hormones.
Perhaps one day I will tell the full story of how I met him and the ups and downs, but for now, I’m only filling you in on how he has impacted me to this day and how recent events brought memories of Roid Douche back.
We had been dating a few months. We had been saying “I love you.” We spent as much time together as possible. We were inseparable. That’s how it started, but really my perception was skewed by hormones and infatuation. He was the jealous type. He was controlling. He was manipulative. He was a bipolar mess of rage.
Let’s focus on the manipulative and rage aspect for now; I will go in depth another time about the rest. A few months in, a couple weeks of “I love you” later, and still no sex to be had, he started to threaten to break up with me because I was too prude to fuck him. He started to show his true self, but I was in love and didn’t see it. He kept pushing the “I love you” card trying to get me to spread my legs and I kept saying I wasn’t ready and he kept telling me he didn’t know how much longer he could wait.
For my sixteenth birthday, I convinced my mom to let me rent a few hotel rooms in the city for me and my friends with my sister and sister’s boyfriend as the chaperones. The plan was to go shopping with the girls and then meet up with the boyfriends and everyone else at the hotel to drink and party all night. While the girls and I shopped, we each found little black dresses to wear for the hotel party and got all primped and ready for the night.
We made our way back to the hotel, got started on the drinks, and the boyfriends and more followed soon after. We had all the boys drooling over our dolled up looks and little black dresses. Roid Douche couldn’t keep his hands off me. Maybe it was “love,” or maybe it was his possessive nature seeping out as there were other guys giving me hugs to wish me a happy birthday.
A few drinks in, the party hardly started, and Roid Douche was getting anxious. His hormones caused him to become a raging mess and he became frustrated as I kept trying to hang out with everyone. It was my birthday party after all and I was the guest of honor, why would I leave the party early? He kept insisting, “Let’s go back to our hotel room to slip you out of that little black dress…” I kept denying him the pleasure.
He eventually got angry and walked out. I followed him to the hall. He threatened to leave. He said he thought he’d get some alone time with me in our hotel room, but I was too busy with everyone else. Obviously, the right response to this would have been to tell him to fuck off because it was my birthday and he could suck it, but instead, it turned into me tearing up and us fighting, and him apologizing, and then me finally agreeing to go to the room.
I went back into the room and said goodnight and thanks to a few people, then slipped back out to meet up with Roid Douche in our hotel room. It had two queen beds. We were to share it with my friend and her boyfriend but they were still back at the party. We quickly got to making out, feeling up, and stripping down.
He moved his way from my mouth to my neck down to my nipples and trailed his way to eat me. This was a first. We have made out, he has felt me up and fingered me, I have given him hand jobs, but oral wasn’t something we had done before. Even though there was all this begging and pleading for sex, eating me out was never on the table.
Tonight was different. He wanted to warm me up for sex. It was obvious. He was fine. It was nothing spectacular though; we were in high school and although he wasn’t a virgin, his lack of experience showed. Regardless, I was liking it enough. I laid back and closed my eyes and was taking in every lick and kiss, but only a few minutes in and Roid Douche came up from between my legs all huffy, “What’s wrong? Are you even enjoying this? You aren’t cumming yet!” As if I did something wrong. As if I was broken. As if I was incapable of being pleasured by his almighty tongue.
Trying to calm him, I pulled him in to kiss him and tell him I liked it. Instead of him going back down to keep eating me, we began making out and then he pushed to get his dick wet. I denied him. The brief moment of calm was overruled again by anger. I couldn’t win. He threatened to leave again and I cried and we fought. Finally, I convinced him to stay because it was my birthday and it was 3am and there was no way for him to get home. He agreed but said he was having his dad pick him up first thing in the morning. We went to bed with him angry and me upset and hardly spoke the next morning. He left as he said he would.
As he got up and left early the next morning, my friend and her boyfriend (who must have slipped into the room sometime recently) woke up still very drunk. “Why is he leaving?” my girl asked. I told her he had a family emergency and that his dad came to pick him up. She tried to pry because I was obviously upset, but I tried to play it off as a headache from being hungover. We all fell back asleep and nothing more was said.
After a few days of apologies and I love you’s, we made up and were back to normal. And a few more days after that, I caved. I thought I loved him. I thought that maybe all this tension and anger was from us not having sex. I let him take my virginity, on the beige pleather couch, in his garage (aka his man cave), in the dead of winter, freezing cold.
He kissed me briefly, hardly any warming up or foreplay, grabbed a condom, spit on his hand to rub it on his dick, laid on me missionary style, and pushed his cock into my tight vagina. I laid there, staring up at the ceiling over his shoulder, trying to get my mind off the pain and hoping for it to end soon. A few minutes of him gyrating on top of me, he came. After he finished, he pulled his cock out of me and realized among the bloody mess from my torn hymen that the condom broke. Just my luck. First time in and I already have a broken condom story…. two plan B pills and week or so later, sex became more and more regular in our fucked up love story.
A few months later, all the sex, and oral, and exploring of some basic kinks and fetishes, the fighting never stopped and his bipolar roid rage continued. He kept finding things to threaten to leave me over and kept using how much he loved me to get me back. The newest thing he was pushing was anal. He wanted that new tight thing to de-virgin and my ass was calling his name.
He pushed and I told him no. He told me how much he loved me and if I loved him I would give it to him. I still told him no. He continued to push and threatened to leave because I didn’t love him if I didn’t do it. I didn’t want to lose him. We were in love. I was blind. All I could see was the drops of good moments in a vast sea of abusive misconduct.
I caved. I bent over that same beige couch in his garage, presenting him with my ass as he demanded. He spat on his hand, rubbed his cock, and penetrated my ass. Only one thrust in and I was in too much pain to let it keep going. I wailed an ouch in pain pushing him off me. I pissed off the beast, “What? You let me get started and can’t even let me finish?”
I tried to tell him it hurt and I didn’t want to keep going. He was still angry. “Just let me finish, I will do it slowly. It won’t take long, your ass is so tight.” He pushed me back on the couch, spit some more on his dick, pinned me down and shoved his cock in me and pushed in and out slowly like he said he would. That didn’t help ease the pain. Even as I said stop and no, and as tears ran down my face, and tried to push back, he was too strong, he held me down and he continued to fuck my ass until he came in me. He then pulled out and wiped his dick off.
Still crying, hurt, and shaking, I laid there on the couch withdrawn from Roid Douche. He quickly came to my rescue, wiped my tears with his hands, kissed me, held me, and apologized while simultaneously saying it was my fault he got so wound up and that he loved me and didn’t mean to hurt me and that it wouldn’t happen again.
I should have left him long ago. I should have never let it go as long as I did. I should have never dated him in the first place. I wish I would have seen it sooner. I wish my teenage hormones and “love” wouldn’t have blinded me. If only I could go back and undo the day I met him, I could avoid giving the manipulative prick my virginity. I could have avoided him manipulating me into anal and avoided the continued anal rape.
From the outside, it was obvious to many of my friends and family that the relationship wasn’t healthy, but no one knew how extremely fucked up it was. I hid how shitty he truly was. I loved him. I didn’t want to lose him. I stayed with him for way too long, and 13 months in, I finally got the courage to end things.
I’ve only told a few people about what happened behind the scenes of our fucked up relationship, now whoever is reading this is part of that small few who know. At least you get the gist of things based off those few instances of emotional and sexual abuse, now multiply that by 13 months. Maybe I will fill you in more later, but those details are necessary puzzle pieces before I tell you more about recent events.
Now that the seal on all the feels has been unleashed, there will be more to pour out soon. Until next time…