My first experiences with love were a handful of disasters. First, there was a boy who had a crush on me when I was six. He tried to kiss me on the playground and I socked him and gave him a black eye. That was the first and last time I ever got into a fight at school.
Then came my first date, when I was thirteen. It probably couldn't be classified as a "date" per say, because we got his father to drive us to a restaurant and I'm pretty sure he paid with his father's money. It was one of the most awkward experiences of my life. My mother had spent hours dressing me like a china doll and preparing me. "It's your date's job to pay, Alexandra," she told me. "You must keep your legs crossed as a young lady should sit, your back straight, your head up. Be confident, but not arrogant. Be comfortable with yourself. Ask him about himself instead of just talking about you. Don't get into anything contentious." After that, I stopped listening.
I was sixteen when I realized I was gay. I tried to deny my feelings, but there was a girl in my science class named Taryn, and I fell head over heels. She wore her sexuality proudly, coming to school every day with a black triangle plastered onto her uniform. The teachers tried to get her to remove it, citing a million different school rules, but nothing stuck. And for her, I would come out. I would do anything for her.
Surprisingly, she felt something for me too. She was my first kiss, my first sexual encounter. She was my world for nearly a year.
Until she forced me.
My parents were out of town for the weekend and I'd invited Taryn over. I was studying for English mid-terms and she was hanging onto me, kissing my neck, my shoulder blade, trailing her fingertips up my spine.
"Stop it, Tari," I told her, halfway between amusement and irritation. "I'm trying to study."
"Aw, Lex," she whined. "I'm so much more fun, though!"
"I know, but I can't fail this test. It's really important."
"You won't! You never do."
"Taryn, stop. I mean it. I'm busy."
She grabbed my wrists and pulled me to my feet. "Come on, Lex."
"No, Taryn! I don't want to."
She yanked me toward the bed anyway and pulled off my pants. "Shh, Lex. It'll be good. Isn't it always?"
"No! Let go of me, Taryn. I don't want to do this."
I tried to push her away, but she was stronger than me, taking off the remainder of my clothes and touching me anyway, shoving two fingers roughly between my legs. I really didn't want to do this, and it had always been good before, but now it hurt.
"Stop!" I was trying not to beg, still trying to fight, but I couldn't. "Please, Taryn, don't!"
"It's good, though, right? It feels good. All for me, Lex. All for me."
And then I was crying, squeezing my eyes shut as I waited for her to finish. I couldn't handle this. I couldn't!
"Come for me, Lex. Come for me."
"Let me go!" I cried.
"Come for me," she repeated, and I didn't want to – God, I didn't want to! – but my body betrayed me and I did.
I broke it off with her the next day. And from then on, I tried to be straight, because I thought that this was what love between two women was.
But then I met Olivia, and I realized that none of my past experiences had been love. Olivia loved me and she would never hurt me. She never made me do anything I didn't want to do. She held me when I woke up with nightmares and promised me that I was always safe with her. She called me her princess and treated me like one.
This was love, pure and true.
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