Wet, slobbery and passionate kisses, we’ve been on the roof top of JEM for the last 15 minutes. It feels like an hour. Straddled on top of you, it was exciting and arousing for you a lot longer than it was for me – I kept going because I loved you.
When you unzipped your pants, I didn’t think much of it, but in a sharp whisper you asked to go to third base. Whether I shook my head or stared blankly at you, I can’t recall.
Hoarse pleas of “we can’t stop here,” whispered repeatedly from the lips I was so passionately kissing moments ago – something about the way you begged made it impossible to say no. But my body reacted before I could consider giving in, erupting into rapid, shallow and irregular breaths as I turned away from you. Shaking like a scared puppy on your lap, you zipped up and held me tight.
Swaying gently, you stroked my hair. You must love me. There’s no doubt about that. I felt your excitement ease but it was my turn to swell – pink and puffy from the friction of my cotton panties against your jeans, my skin burned whenever I used the toilet. Is that normal?
He was the sweet boy that everyone adored for his masculine physique, good nature, and fun-loving personality. I felt small and well protected with him. He understood what it meant to love the invisible man in the sky, what it meant to be ‘touched by the Bible’.
He really wasn’t my type.
I’ve always had a penchant for the bad boys who were good only to me. It wasn’t like I actively sourced them out to change them, they were just somehow drawn to me. Maybe because I had the morals of a conservative Christian but lived within the loopholes of the bible, the grey areas that divide different Christian groups. Safe but still fun.
He broke the streak of bad boy personalities and became my perfect match – His tenderness was best friends with my guilty conscience and his love a dictator of my soul.
I know what you said, you wouldn’t love me any less if we didn’t do these ‘things’, yet when I asked if we could stop, the forlorn look in your eyes said otherwise. It made my heart ache as much as my jaws. I wonder if you knew the contrast of bliss and disappointment on your face was too much for me to bear. It reminded me that I had the power to turn that frown upside down but I chose not to. I am selfish. I am a terrible girlfriend.
You pulled up your pants before lifting me off the ground in one swift motion as I whispered a pathetic trail of apologies. Your embrace, tender kisses and ‘It’s okay’ didn’t offer any comfort. You planted a final peck on my cheek, ready to leave.
“I’ll do it. I want to do it. Just not in my balcony. Even with the curtains, it’s too in the open. My sis might come down and see us. Let’s do it in the toilet instead.” I caved in again and hated myself for it. Back on my knees, I played your disappointment in my head on repeat, willing my tongue and lips to graze all the right spots for just a bit longer. For just a bit longer, I need to ignore the palpitations that made my body shake. I love you, I mustn’t be selfish.
I stood up. Somehow my usual tricks couldn’t convince me to finish the job tonight. My eyes burned as hot as the welt on my knees that sunk between tiles. I looked at you, no longer worthy of your love but hoping you’d give it to me anyway. For the second time tonight, you pulled your pants up and I followed you out of the toilet.
As you packed up your things, I leaned against the wall some distance away. You hugged me, gave me a kiss on the forehead, and wiped my tears away. The gentler you were the louder my guilty conscience – I blew it. I blew my second chance.
When he cheated on me, I didn’t wait for his apology to forgive him. The day I found out, he joined my family for dinner where my dad talked extensively about the hotel we were going to stay at for our getaway in Malacca – Holiday Inn, that’s where he f**ked the girl.
Against my friends’ counsel, I stayed with him because I believed our love was strong enough to overcome his infidelity. I threw myself into the art of forgiveness, always tiptoeing around his crime. I didn’t even stop him from going to the club after that, determined to show him that my trust hasn’t wavered.
I think I fixed us but I forgot about my own broken heart.
Even when he reassured me that his affair wasn’t my fault, I sucked him off anyway to make sure he wouldn’t find solace in another girl. I could never shake off the fear when I had to reject his advances. The certainty of my yeses and noes were marred because my consent and dissent swayed to the rhythm of his persuasion. Just like Ariel, I traded in my voice for a chance at love, except she got Eric and I turned to foam.
I am objective enough to take responsibility for this feeling of violation. I was never clear enough. I only hoped he read my mind or inferred from the few times I broke down in the middle of making out. The relationship was toxic for more reasons than this, but I clung on because there was just enough love and attention to keep me going. When we finally ended things, I was a tragic mess but my friends rejoiced, knowing that I will eventually see what they have been seeing.
I often questioned why I never ventured beyond third base – what stopped me from being that girl who gave sex for love and lost it anyway? You.
We often spoke in revere of chastity and you confessed how my purity was one reason we’re together. I should have known then that your stand on virginity was personal and not religious. You loved me for a lot of things but my abstinence was a big factor – I wanted to keep you interested.
I deal with the wreck of my relationship, knowing I am not the only girl who walks around with a chip on her shoulder. This story is for the girls who will never be able to fully express their feelings of being violated because we enabled it, because there was never verbal or physical abuse, only the silent threat which we convinced ourselves would happen if we didn’t do so – we have no right to feel victimised.