Let’s start at the beginning…
“Dear (whatever your name is, I forgot),
I was eighteen when we met. I think it was a Thursday night when you approached me on the dancefloor of a nightclub. I was drunk, young, naïve, and flattered that you showed interest – the first one in a while. Everyone before you only ever saw me as a temptation but never went for it.
You were twenty-eight, if I remember correctly. By far the oldest guy I’d ever been interested in – oldest, not most mature. You should be thirty-three now; five years in which I haven’t thought about you much, until today. Only now I realise how wrong it was and that I should have waited. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret what happened but I wish one of us had been the “responsible one” that night.
After dancing and drinking more than I should have, you and your friend took me and my friend back to your flat. You drove – drunk.
Your first mistake.
I should have never gotten in your car.
My first mistake.
Your car was messy; empty bottles, dirty clothes and smelly trainers everywhere. Why did I not run for the hills? Back in your flat you offered us drinks, at three in the morning – I declined.
One thing done right.
From that point on my memory is blurry, all I know is that my friend hooked up with your friend in your bed while we stayed on the sofa, right next to them. Why did they get the bed? We kissed. You touched me. I remember whispering “no.” I was embarrassed because I had never done this before, but either you didn’t hear me or decided to ignore me.
Your second mistake.
I should have been more persistent, should have stopped you, but I didn’t.
My second mistake.
I’m not saying you raped me, because you didn’t. But in the end, I was drunk and eighteen, you were twenty-eight. You should have been mature enough to realise that what you, we were doing was wrong. Nevertheless, you didn’t stop.
Your third mistake.
It didn’t last long and it didn’t hurt – maybe because I was drunk, or because size does matter after all. I honestly don’t know. When everything was over, you and your friend drove us home, at six in the morning – still alcohol in your system.
Another thing you shouldn’t have done.
You didn’t ask for my number.
Something you did right.
I was disappointed and felt used. Your friend messaged me, asked me for my friend’s number. I was jealous and didn’t understand why you didn’t do the same. I was upset and worried. I questioned everything: myself, how I look and if I would ever find someone who would want me.
My third mistake.
Eventually I accepted the fact that you were only the person who took my virginity and that you were never supposed to be anything more. You aren’t anything special to me. You were a one-night stand, a drunk decision. You don’t mean a thing to me and you don’t define me. You were a stop on my journey to figuring out who I am and who I can be one day.
The girl you shouldn’t have slept with.”