Names have been changed.

“My boyfriend is coming to pick me up from school—isn’t that sweet?” Eileen said, reading her text message. “Aw! That is too sweet,” I replied with fake enthusiasm, thinking, “No one ever picks me up.” Then I crossed the room and saw my friend Vanessa pressed against the wall with her tongue in Paul’s mouth. I mumbled, “Great, a reminder that I don’t even know how to kiss.”

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Why was having a boyfriend so important? My girlfriends always talked about their boyfriends and I silently envied them. I always felt ugly or like something was wrong with me. Why did no boy like me? What was different about me? What was I not doing?

These questions were especially hard for me because as a little girl I was sexually abused and never felt like a virgin. I never really felt like I learned how to love from my mother because she was mentally ill. My father beat me, but luckily he moved away when I was young. Because I was fatherless, I didn’t know how to talk with or act around men.

The older I got the more confused I was about men. My mother told me they were terrible and not to be trusted, but my friends had boyfriends and they looked happy. I wanted to be happy like them, and my hormones were pulling me toward the cute guys in my class.

I met Sammy through my foster sister. I immediately noticed his figure: not one of these muscle machines nor a twig, but in-between, which I like. He had brown eyes, strong cheekbones, perfect teeth, and full lips. Right away he asked me a whole bunch of long questions. My replies only lasted milliseconds—my name is … I am 16. He told me he was 18.

I was shocked about all the attention he was giving me, and he was shocked at how little I had to say. “So, you’re not much of a talker?” he said. I nodded and said, “It’s a good thing you are.” I could feel my face turn red and butterflies in my stomach.

Lots to Learn

We began to hang out more often. I was clueless that he was hitting on me. But after about a week, Sammy asked me if I liked him and I said I didn’t know. I was hesitant because no one had showed that much interest in me before. I began to think that he really only wanted sex from me, or maybe he’d never been with an Asian girl before.

But I also thought, “Maybe he does really like me for who I am and not what I am.” He didn’t give up and took my answer of “I don’t know” as “yes.”

He took me to an amusement park for our first date. On the roller coaster, I screamed my head off and he laughed. The date was amazing. We had more dates; we played handball. I loved to spend time with him. I finally felt like I could be in a relationship. This was a new feeling because I never thought someone would want to be with me.

Since I had never had a boyfriend I could only wonder about how a kiss would feel or what sex would be like. I was curious and wanted to find out. My image of sex was the Lifetime channel’s mini clips of people kissing as their hands rub each other’s bodies. Then it goes to a commercial and comes back with them on top of each other with the covers over them. I didn’t know what happened in between, during the commercial!
My relationship with Sammy moved pretty quickly. By the first month I had told him about my crazy life and how I ended up in foster care. I had never told anybody so quickly about these sensitive topics.

I was embarrassed that I was 16 and didn’t know how to kiss. For the first couple of weeks, I avoided our tongues clashing together by not spending too much time with him alone. But by the third week I knew I couldn’t stall anymore. I looked up “kissing” on the Internet when no one was home and found very detailed instructions. By the fourth week I was ready.

image by Daniela Castillo

After the nerve-wracking first “real” kiss was over I felt like I had less to hide. I was liberated. Through the kissing our bodies got closer. He began to bring up his past. His previous relationships had lasted from three to seven months and most of them included sex. He told me he believed in protected sex, with condoms.

The Pressure Begins

I stayed quiet. I didn’t have a past. Should I lie or tell him the truth? If I told the truth, I worried that he wouldn’t want to be with me any more. So I said I’d been in a relationship. He asked for how long and I told him when I was 13 years old, and that it lasted for half a year without sex. The truth was my “relationship” happened when I was in 3rd grade and it lasted for a day. The without-sex part was at least true.

I’d always imagined I would wait a year to test the boy’s love for me. If he waits, then he loves me. If he doesn’t, then it’s just sex for him. Also I believe a 16-year-old makes most of her choices impulsively and that you should think over all your decisions for a long time.
As the summer days got hotter, Sammy and I began to see each other every day after his work and my day at the hospital volunteering. We would take the bus together to the park where we’d lie on the grass or played handball.

But one day it was too hot to sit outside, so we went to his house. No one was home, and we were drained from the heat. I fell asleep in his bed with him. I woke up to his whisper, “Just five minutes, then I’ll take you home.” He rubbed his hand slowly up my leg, barely touching my skin but enough to feel the heat from his hand. He moved past my skirt. It felt good to have someone’s touch.

But I knew what was coming. I began to panic. What should I do? I wanted him to like me and if I said no, maybe he wouldn’t like me anymore. But I really didn’t want to have sex. It wasn’t something I felt ready for. Throughout those 30 seconds I went over the list of why I should and why I shouldn’t about 18 times. He kept begging, “Come on, please. I need you.” His begging found the fragile area of my shell that had protected me for so long and began digging through it. I finally cracked.

False Advertising

Afterwards, I wondered why people loved sex so much. It was actually quite painful. I couldn’t find anything enjoyable about it. I wondered why it looked good on television and the movies, and then I came to the conclusion that everything on television is meant to look good. TV and the movies show couples getting closer with sex, but it was the opposite for me. I felt repulsed by him.

On the walk back home, I tried to fight back the tears but I couldn’t. I kept thinking how stupid I was. All my self-respect was lost. The first time I had sex—and I just gave it up? I didn’t feel in love, I just did it. It wasn’t emotionally special, where two people say how much they love one other and then express their appreciation in a physical way.

He was talking during the whole walk, but I just heard blah blah blah. I felt like a disgrace to my family and myself. It took him about 20 minutes, about two-thirds of the walk, to notice I was completely silent with my head bent down.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said, thinking, “You shouldn’t care; you got what you wanted.”

“Why can’t you look at me while you’re speaking to me?” he said, then grabbed my arm and pulled me closer to him. As he looked into my eyes he saw the salty tears running down my face. I was always a silent crier.

image by Daniela Castillo

He didn’t understand my tears at all. He complimented me about my sexual performance.

Regrets

Back home, I looked at myself in the mirror and cried more. It was just a month since I met him and I’d had sex with him. I had broken my own rules—before having sex, get a HIV/STD check from the boy, and know him at least one year first.

At least I wasn’t submissive about my number one rule—using a condom. But I still felt disappointed with myself. I could never tell my sister or my friends because they never talked about sex with me. I felt that if I told them they would look down on me.

Besides the shame was the worry. Even though we used a condom, I couldn’t wait until I got my period. What if he put it on wrong; what if it broke; what if it slipped off and he didn’t know?

I stopped calling him and I let his calls go to voicemail. I didn’t want him anymore; I was always angry when I was with him because I was always replaying the sex scene. The anger was mostly at myself; I thought it was natural for a guy to want sex, but I shouldn’t have been so submissive.

I avoided him for a few weeks, and then I told him, “I am only 16 and can’t handle a relationship. I want my focus just to be on school; I want to end the relationship.” I don’t even remember what he said.

From my mistake, I learned that sex should be carefully thought through and not just done on impulse. What I feel bad about is that I was unable to make a decision based on what I wanted. I also didn’t believe I could do better—I felt that my ex-boyfriend was the best opportunity I would ever have, hence I had sex to keep him as a boyfriend, and not because I wanted to.

New Hope

Now I’m 19 and I know I was wrong—I have done better. My current boyfriend is really patient with me and shows so much affection toward me. Every day I feel closer to him and I’m always happy to see him. He has told me he will wait for me to be fully ready before having sex. He also said he would want me to initiate it.

I’m not ready yet; I’ve been with my boyfriend about five months and am still growing closer to him. But when we do, this time I think I will enjoy sex. I’ve told him everything about my life and the current situation I am in. He knows I will be aging out of care and that to find a job, I need to get into a nursing program.

We both value education, and he understands that my time is limited for him because my dedication is for getting my degree. We also enjoy each other—we tell jokes and laugh, sometimes to the point of tears.

He told me he wants to live with me and marry me, and I told him to slow down. I told him I want to experience living independently before I move in with him. Even though he almost gave me a heart attack, it was a clear sign of the seriousness of this relationship for him. I won’t tell him this, but I would feel comfortable having sex with him because we are committed to each other.

Unfortunately, even feeling this comfortable with my boyfriend, I still become tense when I think of having sex. I am talking to my therapist about this problem and she reminds me that sex can be beautiful and a way to express love. I repeat that to myself a lot.

I no longer believe in making a set time limit for sex. Instead I feel if two responsible people truly love one another, physical love will help reinforce the emotional love. As I learn my boyfriend’s values, likes, dislikes, habits, and steadiness, I am letting go of my past and slowly moving toward a future with him.