When I Turned Eighteen

When I turned eighteen, I met a guy with beautiful eyes and broad shoulders. I know that calling a man beautiful is a little odd, but gosh he was beautiful. I spent my first semester staring at him in the dining commons and around the gym. I was convinced that he was the most beautiful guy in the entire university, hence I thought I’d never have a chance. Somehow we met by luck and I convinced myself that the stars were aligning for me. That same evening he quickly rendezvoused me to his three bedroom apartment where his friends were smoking pot out of a bong in the living room. He showed me a couple music videos on his laptop as I laid my head upon his shoulder and for a moment I thought that I actually had a chance. Moments later he discreetly and smoothly took off my distressed jeans and my blue laced underwear. We had a one night stand on the top bunk of the bed he shared with his roommate (whom walked in half ways through). The whole time I kept thinking that I had made a horrible mistake while he forced himself onto me with tears running down my cheeks. I walked back alone to my dorm room at six in the morning the next day. He didn’t have anything to offer or give except a sexually transmitted disease and a petty apology. In the end, I learned that I wasn’t invincible and that I couldn’t give my body away to just anyone nor trust them too easily.