I used to be a slut. I was a successful slut throughout most of my twenties and then I met my now husband at age 26. – I attribute most of the success to being such a disastrous loser in high school that boys treated me like I had the plague, to graduating and having my phone suddenly start ringing off the mother fucking hook thus offering up the pick of the litter. – I dated people in a way stereotypically reserved for men. I wasn’t so much sneaky as I was simply in tune with how dating and the words he’s just not that into you worked. I’ve actually purchased that book with absolutely no shame for a girlfriend or two. Just trying to help!
I was also never exclusive with anyone until we’d had the talk and if we hadn’t had the talk then chances were you weren’t the only one I was sleeping with. I was such a slut that one day whilst visiting my parents, when they still lived in Prince George, my mother and I were driving into town and from out of some conversation about men she exclaimed, “oh I thought you slept with all the guys you dated.” No, I didn’t but I could see how she would have thought that, because, well, pretty close.
I always, and I mean ALWAYS, believed that I was in control, I don’t mean of the relationship or the person, I mean of my body. I didn’t give two fucks if I threw myself at you and didn’t respond. I was so insecure I’d just go sleep with whoever drunk called that night. I knew I was being used but at this juncture in my life all I wanted was the attention, the comments on my runners body or on how nice my natural tits were. That sorta thing.
But then there was someone I threw myself at who didn’t respond and I did care and I got myself into some serious trouble, the kind of trouble one is often told that they brought on themselves. I didn’t care that he just wasn’t that into me, or into me at all and I found it fun to try and flirt with him anyway and always make it known – if he was out with that group – that I’d be down for it. I knew he’d never be down for it so I just kept at him. He was a very, very quite person if he ever wanted to tell me to shut it he never did. He never said: “look bitch it just isn’t going to happen, MOVE THE FUCK ON”, and so I didn’t. He was mysterious and hot, kinda dirty looking, exactly what I went for every time, at the time.
At the time his best friend was my best male friend. And by best male friend I mean, dude that I wasn’t going to date but who wanted to date me fucking bad. We’d messed around a bit but that had only shown that although I thought he was hot I just wasn’t that into him. But I sure was into his best friend. It wasn’t like I was some desperate high school loser obsessing over him I was sleeping with at least three other people that I can think of at the time. No, that doesn’t scream desperate at all, Jesus, who WAS that girl.
We were all out at the bar and we were drunk. He looked particularly good that night; he wore a brown leather jacket and I could smell it from where I sat drooling over him. As usual we didn’t speak much if at all that night and it was all me making comments about whatever I made comments about in relation to him and as usual I received zero response. That bar came to a close and myself with his best friend and him in tow moved onto a bar down the street and then we headed back to my place to drink some more. Yes, in fact I could hold a fuck ton of alcohol back in the day, thanks for asking.
I already knew that my best friend, who I had messed around with but that, no, I hadn’t had actual sex with slept naked and was passed out as such in my bed and I felt oddly uncomfortable that I’d soon be sleeping in my bed with him. I was still out in the living room listening to Tool with Him. He was lying full length out on my couch and I was seated up near his chest, literally, out of nowhere he pulled me down towards him and we started to kiss and he was groping me and saying extremely sexual things to and about me, they were flowing out of him like poetry and this was exactly what I thought I had wanted. Almost instantly a red flag rose in my brain and I stopped him, I used the excuse of, our best friend is in the very next room and basically got up off the couch and went into my bed. If only I’d have caught the ridiculously bright shade of red that it was.
We all woke in the morning hungover and hungry and headed to my favourite greasy spoon, our best friend seemed none the wiser that anything had happened between us and I in no way shape or form flirted with Him that morning. I was already in observation mode, trying to figure out what the fuck had happened there and if it meant anything then what did it mean? How could someone who spoke almost zero words to anyone at anytime suddenly turn into a sex crazed dirty talker out of nowhere?
After brunch on May 19, 2002, I returned to my home to nurse my hangover with some playoff hockey. Toronto were playing Carolina so I was obviously watching yet trying to cat nap when I heard pebbles tapping at my window. This was not uncommon, at this time my suite was right off the alley and many friends would toss pebbles and I’d huck them my keys or pop down to the door. I looked out my window to see Him there on his bike, I thought nothing of it, went down to the door and let him in.
When I say I thought nothing of it I mean, I didn’t think he was there to harm me. Having already analyzed the night prior I thought maybe he was into me after all and felt bad that he’d tried to accost me with his best friend in the next room, maybe having spent the night and being rejected by me made him realize he was in fact interested in me. How silly how naive how stupid. I trusted his best friend, my best friend, that’s the main reason I let him in.
He hadn’t showered, I could still smell the beer from the previous night seeping out of him. We sat on my couch and I specifically remember that I tucked my legs up into myself, I didn’t spread them out over him like I wanted to in my head. He started rubbing my legs in a turn this hockey game off sort of way and I sorta play kicked him trying to make it clear that I was watching hockey and that he should too. He did not take any hints and tried to kiss me and I flat out said NO. He persisted, I said NO. And in my opinion, the memory I had in that moment, combined with the recent Jekyll and Hyde switch saved me: I knew he had some sort of seriously high martial arts belt. I knew in my head that he was not leaving, I knew I should not have let him in. I knew that I was fucked. Did I want to be viciously assaulted or could I take some control? I made what I still believe was the correct decision to this day and had sex with him. I took him into my room and the entire act was performed.
After, he sat on my couch and he cried. He told me that he’d lost his virginity to a prostitute, he told me that he’d gone over to our best friends’ place and watched him sleep on the couch and thought to himself, “can I do it? can I go back over there and have sex with that girl?” I asked him to leave and he left.
To be honest at first I was completely fine. It was the long weekend and the next day I had a girlfriend over, I told her that I’d had sex with Him, but I did not tell her exactly how it had happened. I know this is going to sound fucking insane but I didn’t fully grasp just how fucked up everything was until I told my dad over email on the Tuesday morning back at work and you are all WHAT THE FUCK your dad! And this is where I say there are many great things I have taken from my parents and god damnit they will get their own post some day.
It was as quick as flipping a switch I was now a shaking crying mess and the slut shaming started RIGHT THERE. My boss told me that if I’d just hung out with doctors instead of dirty [redacted] it would have never happened. At first I didn’t have to worry about people believing me because He came clean to our best friend. But that doesn’t mean that people didn’t ask me inappropriate question after inappropriate question. The worst of all to this day is why, why did I give in, why didn’t I keep saying no. I should have only had to have said NO once.
I lost a lot of friends, I think most people who’ve been through this know how hard that part is. I felt helpless. I felt so much shame. SO MUCH SHAME. My best friend did not support me for long, very soon after I was expected to have let it go and to be over it and totally able to hang out at parties where He’d be and just be you know, COOL.
That day robbed me of a piece of myself that I have yet to get back. It robbed me of many things I have been able to reattain but one. And that one thing haunts my life every single day.
I still slut shame myself and blame myself and say BUT YOU WERE SUCH A FUCKING SLUT. But no, NO. He did not have the right to even put me in that position.
I tend to be very forgiving and so when I was left with no other choice but to end my friendship with my male best friend I kept the email he sent me, I mean printed it out kept it. I had never and have never again done something like that. I almost never read it, but from time to time I come across it. Recently I figured out that’s why I kept it so that I wouldn’t ever forgive him. It was so unlike me I knew that there had to be a reason. I’ll leave you with his words as just a taste of the slut shaming I faced, I think it says it all.
just know corinna that all this right here, right now stems from you. you’re the one that drooled over the guy and told him you’d fuck him and then when he came for it and you didn’t want it, you let him have it anyways.