Deflowering Stories

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Deflowering Stories


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This experience is integrated into the fabric of my being, a bend in the road of my sexuality.
I am more than a survivor . I am resilient. I thrive in my life.
This event, being raped at 12 years old, was one turn in the long and winding road back to myself.
This is the story of how I lost my virginity against my will.
I was 12 years old, the summer before I turned 13.
I had recently moved in with my father, after years of conflict with my mother. It was early summer, nice enough to be outside but not oppressively hot. There was no camp or summer vacation for me that year. The summer was spent hanging out in the neighborhood, around the basketball court.
I was not particularly interested in making girlfriends in this new neighborhood. I was looking for thrills, excitement, cigarettes, attention—anything to keep me away from the pain of being me, of being alive. The intoxication of intrigue and sexual desire had already become a drug for me. I hadn’t had sex yet (other than a few kisses and childhood sex play with peers). The euphoria that I felt from obsessing about boys, fantasizing about sex, and being in love was satisfying my need to escape reality.
When this boy/man (let’s call him “Dicky”) talked to me and showed interest in me, the sensations in my body felt good. I felt good about being alive in that moment. He had never really paid attention to me before. He was older and sexy with his beautiful skin, thin, muscular body, and big lips. He had no heart, he was cold as ice, and this may have been the most attractive part of him.
I wanted to be that—cool and hard and invulnerable.
His attention gave me a little cred with the other kids at the basketball court because of his tough-guy reputation and his criminal enterprise. This attention and cred was giving me everything I thought I needed in life: the euphoria of attention and a place to belong.
My father was new to parenting, but he knew enough to give me a curfew (maybe 9 p.m.). As my curfew approached, I knew I wanted more of this good feeling—the perfect weather, the cigarettes and pot, the feeling of belonging and being special. I decided to ask my dad if I could stay out later.
I went in to find my dad and his friends sitting around on the floor playing cards. I asked him if I could go back out, and he said yes. One more hour.
I went back to the basketball court for more Marlboros and more of the good feelings. Too soon, my hour was up and it was time to go home again.
This time, Dicky walked home with me; my house was just a few blocks from the basketball court. My front door was actually a gate to an alleyway that led to a back apartment.
He kissed me at this gate. I woke up inside. I didn’t really like how wet his kisses were, but I liked being physically close to him and feeling his desire for me. I decided to ask for more time so I could get more of this. He waited at the gate for me while I went in to ask.
My dad and his friends were still sitting around on the floor playing cards. The apartment was filled with smoke. There were beer bottles, money, ashtrays, and cards arranged neatly around the circle.
My dad knew what I wanted. He was always seemed to know what was in my head. He said I could have one more hour.
As soon as I came back out, Dicky had his mouth on me. He was more forceful now, pushing me against the wall next to the gate. I felt the bricks pushing into my back.
I started to feel more conflicted now, not liking the way he pushed into me or his wet kisses that now felt almost like he was drooling on me. I was still enjoying the feeling of being touched in a way and feeling his desire for me. (I am not making a euphemism for his erection. I mean I enjoyed the energetic feeling of his desire for me.)
He whispered in my ear, “Do you want to get fucked?”
I liked the feeling of his hot breath in my ear, but I froze with fear, because I did not like the tone of his voice. I thought I liked sex (from my imagination, masturbation, and the games I had played as a little girl with my peers) and looked forward to playing with someone whom I loved.
I was pretty sure that’s not what he meant when he asked if I wanted to get fucked. I was pretty sure he wasn’t asking, either. I couldn’t speak.
He whispered, “Have you ever been fucked? I think you want to get fucked.”
Still I couldn’t answer. I was frozen with fear inside.
I know now that when the nervous system detects a life threat, there are three possible reactions: fight, flight, freeze, or some combination. At 12 years old, my nervous system had been habituated to freeze in the face of danger.
He was not really asking anyway; he didn’t need an answer . He had decided that he was going to fuck me no matter what my response was.
He started to lead me across the street, heading for a patch of grass behind the I-95. Moving my body snapped my mind back, and I knew I did not want to go with him. I turned to walk away from him, back to my apartment.
He grabbed my arm and yanked me back to him. He easily picked me up, holding my arms against my body and carrying me like a baby. I squirmed and kicked. Now my words came back.
The fear and the guilt and confusion set in, the defeat. The certainty that I had made a mistake and now I was going to pay for it. I once again froze.
He carried me to the hill behind the I-95. The highway was across from our house in Queen’s Village. We were literally four lanes away from where my father was winning at poker on our living room floor.
I don’t think I tried to run before he put me down the grass. I had surrendered to the guilt and defeat and was now in freeze-survival mode. He held me down with the weight of his body and his hands.
Then the panic returned, and I struggled to get free. He was crushing me with his body. He pulled my underwear down enough to get access and so that they became a restraint, holding my legs together so that I couldn’t kick him.
As he tried to push inside of me, it hurt and I felt as if I was suffocating from the inside out. I held him away with one hand I had free, but he was stronger than me. He just kept pushing into me.
I wasn’t strong enough to hold him back.
This is the part that remained the clearest in my memory. I have seen this memory from many angles over the last 34 years—sometimes crystal clear, sometimes opaque. The memory of my hand on his hip pushing him away, the feeling that my greatest effort was useless, has always been crystal clear. I prevented him from crushing me and from fully entering me, but not from penetrating me and totally overpowering me.
Eventually, it was over. He came on my belly. It was the most disgusting thing I had ever seen in my life.
I made my way home, stunned, dazed, crushed. Full of guilt, remorse, shame. I walked into my house to find it empty.
This empty house was and has been a defining moment in my life. My father and I were close emotionally. I believe that if he had been home that he would have known something was wrong, and he would have been my father. Dicky would be dead or in jail. Probably dead.
As it was, I was left alone to integrate this experience in such a way that I could survive and go on. I took a shower and went to bed.
By the time I woke up, my guilt, shame, and fear were buried. I convinced myself that I had not been raped , that I had sex willingly, and I now thought of myself as an adult who was going to pursue sex at every opportunity.
I buried the parts where I was afraid and had resisted. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had made a mistake that I had to pay for. That feeling haunted me through a life-threatening drug addiction, into a life of recovery, and sometimes still does. I survived by making sense of this experience in a way that allowed me to feel in control of my life and sexuality and move on.
The twists and turns back to the full experience of that night are another story.
Today, a little over 34 years later, I am thriving.
I have embraced vulnerability, authenticity, and life. I do not live or think of myself as a victim or even a survivor.
I think of myself as a human being living my life.
Blakey Hastings, LMT, C-IAYT has dedicated her career and life to serving the path of human awakening. A lifelong student of yoga and survivor of a life threatening addiction,… Read full bio
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Part of HuffPost Women. ©2022 BuzzFeed, Inc. All rights reserved.
May 14, 2013, 03:18 PM EDT | Updated May 14, 2013
5 1/2 Myths About Female Sexuality See Gallery
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Part of HuffPost Women. ©2022 BuzzFeed, Inc. All rights reserved.
"It's kind of a double-edged sword isn't it? If you say you haven't, you're a prude. If you say you have, you're a slut. It's a trap."
So spoke Ally Sheedy's character in "The Breakfast Club" on a topic that inspires continued fascination: virginity, the v-card every woman is supposed to hold onto at the time in her life when she is often obsessed with turning it in.
Virginity is a tricky concept. As a culture we've explored it in our films , TV shows , books and classrooms , but we still don't have a clear-cut definition of what it entails or why it's important.
To get more answers to those questions, we asked our female readers to send us their virginity stories -- the good, the bad, the simply "meh." We received submissions from women in their teens through their 50s, within the United States and abroad. And even though everyone had a story about their "first time," each of those stories is very different. The diversity of experiences shared with us further underscores the fact that a person's first time can mean a lot of different things. We might be better off if we stopped putting so much emphasis on it.
LOOK: 11 Women Share Their "First Time" Stories
"He was married, 30 years older than me"
He was married, 30 years older than me, and guilty as hell. I kept pushing for it. I wanted it. Until I got it. As soon as I had a naked man writhing on top of me, all I could think was, "God, I hope I never have to do this again!" --32 years old, Toronto
"It didn't hurt at all, but it wasn't good"
I was 15 and he was almost 19. We never talked about if we had "done it" before but I hadn't and I don't think he had either. I had given guys blowjobs and been fingered and made out with people so I thought "no big deal!" Right? Wrong. Making eye contact was embarrassing for me and making out was weird to do while we were "doing it." It didn't hurt at all but it wasn't good. I was not aroused at all anymore and I was seriously wondering if I was asexual or something ... Afterward, [we] talked about [it] for hours and then by that time I was finally turned on enough that we had enjoyable sex. --18 years old, Utah
"I lost my virginity on a trampoline"
All my friends had lost "theirs" earlier than me, but I had told myself I was waiting [until] at least 16. Well 16 rolled around and we went to a gin and juice party. Unfortunately, I laid my eyes on the hottest guy at the party and then laid down with him on a trampoline. It wasn't magical or the special waterfall I imagined. But, saying I lost my virginity on a trampoline has made for some great conversations. --31 years old, Virginia
The first time I had sex with a woman: It was a spring afternoon. We had just gone to the botanic gardens, holding hands the entire time. We made love under a duvet as the sun shone in my bedroom window. It was gentle. It was kind and warm and we are still in love. --30 years old, St. Paul
"He just friend requested me on Facebook"
I was 15. Christmas night. On the basement floor. Partner? 17-year-old steady boyfriend of several months. It was his first time too. He just friend requested me on Facebook. Currently I'm 53, happily married for the second time for 26 years. --53 years old, Illinois
"After we did it, we got out of the car and both went our separate ways"
I lost my virginity with a guy from my class I was in love with. I was 18 years old. I had a crush on him since first grade. He was out of reach until we started joking about it. Then I asked him what if things [went] there and so, the next day we met up. It was also his first time, so it wasn't uncomfortable or anything. It didn't hurt at all. The weirdest part was [after] we did it, we got out of the car and we both went our separate ways. I told him, "See ya on Monday at school!" And that was it. We never dated, but we kept meeting like that for the next three years. I didn't date anyone else. He was my first love and I don't regret one moment of it. The only sad thing is that we weren't even friends. I haven't seen him in ages, but my memories are so great and I love it. --25 years old, Croatia
We were both 17. My mom gave me a ride to his house. His parents were out of town and my mom had no clue of course. Things moved along and all of a sudden there we were in his bedroom with music on. We got to the point of either we do or we don't, so we did. As we developed a rhythm, kind of, the doorbell rings, not once but frantically. My first thought was, "Oh my God, it's my mom!" We start freaking out looking for our clothes. He finds his first and runs down to see who it is. Turns out to be a group of his friends who showed up to invite us bowling. We got back to things, finished and the doorbell rings again. This time it's planned, different friends coming to give me a ride home. These friends turned out to have smoked pot before coming over and proceeded to eat Oreo cookies on white bread dunked in Coke in his kitchen while giggling hysterically. Then they somehow spotted a condom wrapper in the trash. Next of course were high fives and more laughing. Most UN-romantic night imaginable. --Age and location not provided
"I asked what no man ever wants to hear: 'Is it in?'"
My first time is the sort of story that mothers have nightmares about their only daughter having. I was two months shy of my 16th birthday and instead of the sweet seduction of an R. Kelly song in the background, I had [the horror movie] "When A Stranger Calls." It was 2 a.m. and I had snuck over to my "secret-totally-unhealthy-bootycall-who-I-thought-was-a-good-guy-but-actually-a-man-whore" and felt judgement as the guards let me in. (I was a Diplomat's kid and we had security). I remember his body on top of mine asking me "Are you sure?" and my response was "Yes, I'm sure." After a heavy br
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