2000-10-30 - 14:02:07
There was this guy named Phil that I met when I was 14 yrs. of age. He was a dork. To me, anyway. He was from New York, m'kay. Or, maybe it was Philadelphia or New Jersey. He happened to be my boyfriend's best friend at the time. My boyfriend back then was John. I lost my virginity to him.
Back to Phil the loser. Zapata was his last name. So, he had some stupid little sports car. He had a VERY UGLY girlfriend named Tammy that he was constantly in limbo with. They broke up a lot. They were stupid. He was a Metallica fan. He was short and Italian. I thought he was kinda ugly. He had this shitty little efficiency apartment that always had beer and was supposed to have guns and knives, or so he claims.
So, once, I broke up with John, but decided I wanted to get back together with him. For some reason, Phil called me up and asked what I was doing. I told him I really wanted to see John that night or something and he said that he would come and get me and let me hang out at his place and John would be coming over. I asked if John knew this. Phil said yes and that he was definitely coming over. Well, I couldn't get a hold of John. Phil came and got me and took me to his place. He was dumb. We watched Tales from the Crypt. I kept asking when John was going to get there. I kept asking him to please call his house to see if he was home yet. I think he was holding the receiver thing down and faking that John's family wasn't answering. Sigh. So, then, he kept giving me wine coolers. My little body got drunk off three (back in the day). I became sort of paralyzed. I kept thinking about the different times he bragged about his guns and knives and how he kept them in the apartment. I kept recalling how rude he was to Tammy at times. I became afraid. I wanted to go home. I sat real still. He said he didn't think John was going to make it over there anymore. I stared at the TV. I wondered how the fuck I was ever going to get home. He sat down next to me. He leaned over and french kissed me. It was disgusting. He was the worst kisser. He, for some reason, passed a lot of spit off into my mouth. It disgusted me. I grimaced and winced at the TV. When he wasn't looking, I smeared the spit out of my mouth and wiped it between his couch cushions. He never asked me if I liked him. He never asked me if I wanted anything from him. He just grabbed my hand and took me four feet away to where his bed was on the other side of the efficiency which seemed to be getting smaller all the time. I sat down on the bed. I really just wanted to see John and have John take me home. Somehow, I was leaning back and lying/laying(?) down. I looked at the crease where the wall meets the ceiling. He got on top of me and asked me to pull my pants down. I thought about the supposed knives and guns. I laid there. He stuck his really small and flaccid penis inside of me. Without asking. Without warning. I felt nauseated. He moved in and out like a total of three times and then I felt hot juices, everywhere down there, and sticky. I thought of how lucky I was to be on birth control pills. I wondered if John knew about any of this. He got up. He asked me if I had to be home. I told him now. I have to be home now. I also wanted to add, but never did, "Oh and by the way, Fuckface, why the fuck did you just rape me, you asshole?" I never told him how I felt.
But, I know what had happened. I had read my subscription of Teen Magazine. I knew what date rape was and how its statistics were on the rise. I also knew not to fight a situation that I could get killed in. I thought he was capable of killing me. I knew if that happened, my mother would never know where I had really gone. I told her I was going to the movies and other "kids" were going to be meeting us. She never knew that I got into a car alone with a 22 year old that night, let alone had sex with him, for that matter. I was only 14 back then. That was 11 years ago. Phil sucked. He never knew how I felt about the whole event.
And the aftermath? Yes, there was aftermath. That whole night, I threw up, VOMITED, at first, because of the alcohol on my feeble and empty stomach, then, it was because of how gross I had felt with him. He called like the next day to see if I had gotten in trouble for breaking curfew, like he really fucking cared. My exact response was, "I hate you, don't ever fucking call here again." I had John come over the next night or so. I confided in John, scared, and not knowing. I asked him if he would "come back to me" like it was a marriage or something. He kind of chuckled at the story I had told him, not believing that it wasn't my choice. As if, I actually liked Phil the loser. And, no, he didn't want to take me back or anything like that. But, yes, we could be friends. F-R-I-E-N-D-S don't chuckle at stories confided to them. I never saw or spoke to Phil ever again, I don't think. I run into John, maybe like every 5 years. Men, while they are still boys, can be so stupid.
