When I was a child of fifteen years old, you were a worldly man of twenty. To me, you were intrigue and danger–all the things my parents would hate. At the time, I was motivated only by my need to be loved, living in a family where love played second to the almighty dollar, and perhaps getting back at my parents. I guess that’s a typical teen rebellion, but I took it a step further than most.
I thought you loved me. When you touched my fifteen-year-old virgin body, I felt alive in a way I had never experienced in my sheltered existence, and like a drug, I was hooked, addicted, unable to refuse.
So when things became unbearable at home, you offered me a place to run, and I took you up on that offer. Little did I know once I was ‘yours’ that you would treat me like you owned me. There was no love in your touch any longer. Looking back, I wonder if there ever was. I think maybe I only felt what I wanted to feel, thinking the grass would be greener anywhere other than my loveless parents’ home. (more…)