My old friend use to tell me about all the guys she fucked. The different positions they would do. How “big” they were. How rough or soft it was. I swear it was a new one each week. She’s an attractive women so I know she had no issue with finding a man. I just wish she would respect her self a little more.

I wouldn’t say I hate her, because she is my friend. But if I didn’t already know her and I just knew what she did, I would hate her. I hate women that sleep around without even knowing the guys last name. I find it very trashy. I was raised to have good morals, have respect for myself. And I do. I’ve still never slept with a man. I’m waiting for the right one. I know good things come to those who wait.

So I’ve been waiting.

Then he came along. Andrew. He was sweet to me. We always had fun together when we hung out. We had deep talks, laughed, shared personal details with one another. I could tell he really liked me, I could tell he cared. I knew I liked him too, but I still wasn’t quite ready to take that step. That step my friend had taken so many times. She loves taking that step, even after the first night of meeting the man. But not me.

When I told him I’d never been with a man, he was shocked. He told me there’s not many women out there like me, who wait for the right man. Then… he asked me if he could be my first. Told me he’d be gentle. That it would be passionate, beautiful. But I didn’t want to. Not yet. He didn’t like that answer. He got mad.

We were alone. Like usual when we spent time together. And he did something I’ll never forgive. He forced himself upon me. Took away my self respect, took away what I’ve been saving for someone special. It hurt. But he didn’t stop, or slow down. Even when I started to cry. I thought he cared about me? This isn’t what friends do, is it?

When he was finished. I never heard from him again. He left me used, and broken. I didn’t know how to process what had just happened. He didn’t rape me. Friends don’t rape each other? Right? Rape is what happens to a women down a dark alleyway. Where she gets beaten up, left all bruised and bloody. At least that what I remember from watching TV. But this wasn’t TV. This was my life. And he took it.

It’s been a few years since he did that to me. I was never the same. I’m still not. In fact, I’m much different than I use to be. I’m more like my friend. I still hang out with her. I’ve never told her about what happened. But now I tell her all the dirty details about my experiences with a man. I’ve been with quite a few now. I tell her about how long it lasts. What positions we do. How “big” they are. Everything she use to tell me. Everything I use to hate hearing.

What she doesn’t know is… most the time I don’t want to do it. But I’m scared to say no. Scared of what they will do to me if I reject them. Most the time it hurts. It’s never really pleasurable. I don’t tell her that though. I’ve become what I use to hate. A slut.

I’ve still never told my friend about what happened. No one knew. Except you, Andrew.

And you… reading this.