I was fourteen.
Keep this is mind, as you continue to read this post: I was fourteen.
He was twenty-two.
I was easy to manipulate, thanks to a shattered self-esteem due to bullying (which also caused shyness, and lack of social skills).
He was twenty-two, and he knew just what to do.
I didn’t have a clue.
Our story begins on a place called Chatango. It’s a chat site, very basic. It’s got people of all ages, with a focus on fans of anime. I created an account so I could maintain in contact with an online friend of mine, and without even realizing it, unleashed hell upon myself.
I was lonely, and I quickly found a hefty batch of friends on the site. I was suddenly feeling like I was a part of things, and for a girl who had very few social contacts, this was amazing.
I was happy. I was happy….
Of course, if I had remained happy, this post would not exist.
I’m going to call him No, as it really is the only word that leaps to mind to describe him. “No.” “No, I said no.” “No. I’m not ready.” “No, not this way.”
At the beginning of it all, he said he loved me. He, who set his age at seventeen–quite a few years younger than his actual age–loved a fourteen-year-old girl.
I believed him.
When we met, things were innocent….
Or, well, so I thought.
He called me his Queen.
He was kind, and sweet. He told me I was beautiful. He told me he was enchanted with me–and how could he be, when he only knew my first name, age, and a brief description of my looks? How could he love me?
Simple answer: He couldn’t.
I’ll get to that later.
Needless to say, I was enchanted with him. I was desperate for ANY kind of affection. I’d run home after school age day (I was only in grade eight at the time), just so I could be there when he wanted me to be. I told him everything I could–even if he was asking me about things like my bra size.
My opinion on anal.
My opinion on swallowing.
My opinion on kids.
Whether or not I would marry him.
I answered every question.
I spent so long talking to him….
Now, don’t think that I didn’t see at least SOME signs that this was not love. I had NEVER been in this situation before, though, so I discounted the red flags–maybe this was what love was supposed to be like? Maybe it was supposed to involve sex?
(I still haven’t figured out that last question–does love NEED to involve sex?)
Still, that didn’t change what was happening.
That didn’t change the fact that he was getting more sexual with me day by day–and he was getting more and more adamant about me showing him photos of me.
“So the King can see his Queen.”
There are SOME things you can’t forget–and a sentence as horrifying as that one is one of them.
It’s been years, and that sentence will forever send shivers up my spine.
Apologies, my doves. It’s late, and I’m exhausted. I’m going to continue The Story of No tomorrow, when I am actually awake.
The Half-Mad Submissive