Throwback Thursday

I was almost sixteen before I got my first kiss. Since I was a late bloomer, I was pretty conservative with sexual conduct when I was in high school because I was so afraid of getting pregnant. I never once had a boy not respect the fact that I didn't want to have sex. There were so many girls at my Catholic school that had rumored abortions or were visibly pregnant... it was sort of terrifying. Plus there was the religious guilt I guess. Shortly after graduation, I lost my virginity and got pregnant with the very first guy I'd had sex with. That pregnancy ended in an abortion and it made me very cautious about sleeping around.
When I was in my early twenties, I lived in a guest house behind my uncle's house. It was my first time living a way from home. I was in college. I was working at a music store and I was feeling very independent. All of a sudden, I wasn't this awkward teenager and I was getting plenty of attention from guys. It was sort of crazy and new but I didn't have a serious boyfriend so I played the field a bit. Some experiences were fun, some were strange and one was positively gross.
I can remember that instance very clearly. I was in my room with this guy who I thought was so good looking. He had an accent and he was older. I was smitten and he was actually interested in me! We were on my bed under the Antonio Banderas Desperado poster and we were kissing. I wouldn't exactly say things were hot and heavy but all of a sudden he reached down between my legs and grabbed me pretty forcefully.
It was not romantic. It was not consensual. Maybe it was because of past experience or whatever the case but I got so scared. I told him to stop but the words alone were not enough and he was being persistent and sort of argumentative. Very defensive and accusing me of leading him on. I jumped up and told him to leave and I'm sure he muttered how awful I was but he left.
Maybe I was leading him on. Maybe I was a prude. Whatever the case, I was lucky. Now that I know more, it would appear most similar situations don't end that nicely. Ever since I heard Donald Trump and this grab them by the pussy bullshit, I haven't been able to stop flashing back to that night on that bed. When I read Facebook or the news and I hear those words being dismissed as nothing more than locker room talk, I get outraged. When I see the absolute lack of understanding when it comes to consent, I'm petrified.
Republicans that are willing to vote for Trump must not have mothers. Or daughters. Or wives. The women who support him must be brainwashed or abused into some sort of dark submission. To dismiss this sort of behavior and still support such a predator as a presidential nominee... It's disappointing at best. Disgusting may be better. I'm so tempted to tell my story sometimes to put a face or a name to this sort of abuse. To say things about abortions. About birth control. About how badly I would prefer politics not including my vagina. But I won't... or can't... so I leave it here.