“First, I don’t make love. I fuck…hard.” – Christian Grey

Christian Grey said this to Anastasia Steele after she came to his place with intentions of making love for the first time. I couldn’t believe it, as I’d been told something similar when I too was a virgin, seeking a companion.

“I really want to fuck you,” he said to me. He was the guy that I thought I was in love with in high school. I was a slave to his somewhat coolness, sleek hair and intoxicating scent. We were off to the side in our lunchroom cafeteria, talking in hushed voices.

I don’t know why I liked him. I guess I was blinded by my sickening need to be loved by the opposite sex; my daddy issues manifesting itself during my awkward phase of life.

“I don’t even know why you like him,” said one friend.

“He’s not even that cute…with his freaking sleepy eye,” said another.

“That’s because he has ‘bedroom eyes'” barked one to the other.

“I don’t know, I mean, he likes you and all, but he hasn’t really treated you nice…” said a rational one. And she was right.  By the time this guy decided to show me attention again, he had rejected me based on my physical appearance:

“You don’t give a fuck about your appearance,” he said.

Then, he had an interlude with a couple girls who I’m still friendly with:

“I hope you’re not mad. I don’t know what came over me, it was just hormones,” he said.

THEN he dated several girls, was hanging around a girl I couldn’t stand AND dated another friend of mine:

“Hey, I just wanted to know if it was okay if me and &&& started going out. I know you and him have history,” she said to me in confidence. I pretended to not care, but I felt as though someone dropped a lump of coal into the pit of my stomach. But I had to brush it off. I had also started liking other guys too.

“Sure, go ahead,” I told her.

Unfortunately, by the time he uttered this proposition to me, all my prospects had gone down the drain. And I for once wanted to be one of those high school girls who had an adoring boyfriend.

“I want to tell you something,” he started it. I didn’t know what to think. I couldn’t really read his expression. He looked anxious. I thought he was finally going to ask me to be his girlfriend.

“What?” I asked.

“I want to fuck you, but with no consequences,” he said. Then he went on to tell me that he didn’t want a girlfriend and that he wasn’t looking for love or a relationship.

It registers to me now as I read this book because like Mr. Grey, it was a Dominant thing to say, though Grey  would’ve taken me to his lush palace in the sky, feed me a delicious meal and glass of sparkling wine…not the cafeteria.

“I just want to have sex with you, no strings attached,” he said to me.

What the hell does that mean? All sex comes with strings attached, even if you don’t realize it. And what the fuck did that make me? A teenage blow up doll? What made it worse was that he says this to me after taking back what he said the day before.

“Remember yesterday when we were all hot and heavy making out?” he asked me. How the hell would I forget, it was the day before.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he said. Looking me square in the fucking eye. I wanted to make sure that he wasn’t taking back what I thought he was taking back.

“Didn’t mean what?” I asked him.

“When I said I loved you…it was in the heat of the moment,” he said. Way to fucking go Cassanova.

“Yeah, I know…it was just all the hormones,” I said to him. I felt numb. And when the bell rang for class, I could feel emotions leaving my body, blanching my thoughts and leaving me less than human. Here was this guy that I really wanted; a guy I thought was my only chance at finding happiness through companionship. If this was how he wanted it, then I told myself I would go through with it. I confided in my friend, who is coincidentally one of his bffs.

“I don’t think you’re strong enough to go through with it,”  said his bff. Now that I look on what he said, I can’t believe he was taking his side. I wasn’t strong enough? What person in their right mind should have to muster up strength to be fucked by someone who wanted nothing to do with them after…except a prostitute?

“Are you going to do it?” asked a girlfriend of mine.

“I mean, who knows, it could be really good,” said another.

“I think you should do it. Give up your V-Card before college,” said the tiny one. She was experiencing her sexual awakening with two guys at school and all of a sudden thought she was a sexpert. But she wasn’t that far off – it was the season of ‘deflowering virgins,’ and girls were making their way to going all the way with guys so they wouldn’t be an awkward virgin in college.

“So what are you going to do?” I must’ve heard that question a million times. What was I going to do? I told myself, that if I could numb myself to the situation, I could do it. I could just have meaningless sex and get it over with. But deep down I knew I was lying to myself. Sex can’t be meaningless, not for me. It’s my body for goodness sake.

I didn’t have sex with him.

“I can’t do it,” I told his friend.

“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

“I can’t. He wants no strings attached. I want more.”

The sadist to my masochistic self-abhorrence. My high school Dom. We stopped speaking to one another. I saw him many years later, smitten with some girl. I wanted to be happy for him, but I couldn’t. Not entirely. It wasn’t fair – I wanted love and he wanted a fuck. And in the end, he found love. And I was left with nothing but the scar of that experience.