All right. Here goes nothing…

He was handsome. Blond hair down to about his chin, around 5′ 7″ or 5′ 8″. He wasn’t my normal type. He wasn’t skinny but he certainly wasn’t fat. Nor was he muscular. Just an average build. He looked good, but not when he smiled. You could see he was missing some of his bottom teeth, and others were rotting. I looked past that though. I found out that he was an ex Meth addict. But I was in too deep to turn around now. He had seduced me. Drawn me in with promises of sex and alcohol. I was only 17 at the time. How did he know I was into older men? He was 37. I look back on it now and wonder what on earth I was thinking?

I know what I was thinking. My parents were fighting, I didn’t know it until later but I could feel it. My mom was getting stricter by the minute and I wanted to wriggle free from her grasp. I had just graduated high school and was ready to move out and be on my own. Experience new things and have fun. So here he was, Pulling me in with his charm. He had charisma. That’s what made me fall for him. His charm and charisma.

He told me he would never do meth again. Why would he? Weed is so wonderful and so is alcohol, he didn’t need the trouble that came with smoking meth. I believed him.

We would sneak around behind my mother’s back for a while. But finally she found out what was going on. She forced me to bring him to our home so she could meet him. Then told him to never talk to me again. That night she stole me away to Iowa, to visit my grandparents and keep me away from him. Little did she know, every time I was on the computer, I was video chatting with him. I truly loved him. One night, while we were secretly chatting, he asked me to marry him. I was overjoyed.

It wasn’t until on our way back to Colorado I was told my parents were getting a divorce. I cried. All these years I heard about my friends’ parents being divorced or getting divorced. I had always thought to myself, “My parents would never do that, they love each other too much”. How naive.

Eventually my mom found out that I was still seeing him, and kicked me out of the house. I ended up going to live with him. He went out and got a ring and everything for me.

The sex was… interesting. He was violent, He slapped me and choked me. He even tried to force me to do anal. He forced it so many times I started to enjoy it.

“I am going to ruin you for other guys,” he told me one night then proceeded to fuck me hard in the ass until we both climaxed, at the same time. He had done just what he said. He ruined me. I had never had a guy get me to climax before, and after that, I don’t think I ever will again without taking it in the ass. The thought of it just sends shivers down my spine.

I lived with him for 6 out of the 9 months that we were together. Towards the end he started telling me about this other woman. About how she was under the impression that they were dating, but it was only because she was dying and he wanted to make her feel good. Oh, how I ate up his filthy lies. I yelled at him. Telling him I knew he was fucking her. He promised he would stop, more lies. More eating.

I went to visit my friend one day. She told me about how she knew he was seeing another woman. I told her that we had talked about it and how he said he wouldn’t see her again.

“Well, did you know he’s still seeing her,” She asked.

I did not. I broke down right there in her back yard and cried. I let out all of the pain I had been holding inside me for the last 9 months. All the things he told me, I realized were all lies. He never loved me, he was using me. And of course he was. How could a 38 year old meth head love a young vulnerable girl? He couldn’t. He could only use her. Use me.

I left him that day. I called my dad and asked for his help to get my things. He left work and met me by the house I had lived in those 6 months. We called for a police assistance, I was scared of him. And I needed him to know I was serious about leaving. So we gathered all my things and piled them into my mine and my dad’s cars, and drove away.

I haven’t seen him since, but the thought of him still haunts me. It’s been just over a year now since I left him. When will these memories fade? When will the images in my mind be less vivid? When will these wounds heal? I don’t know. But what I do know is I have to keep my eyes on the future. I know it will be so much better than the past.

There. I did it. I wrote about him. I got it out of my mind and into the world. I could have written more detail, more about how he put me down and insulted me, yet somehow I stayed. But I’m not ready to go into it that deep yet.



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