Why Not to Drink Tequila

He said he was a poet, and I was intrigued. I was wearing my “bad bitch” t-shirt, a crop top with flames on it, that is masculine, sexy, and ironic all at the same time. I felt great. We started to discuss poetry and writing, and walked next to each other as we moved from the pres to the party. When we got there we had lost everyone, but I could tell he was attracted to me, and was enjoying the attention, especially after being so rejected by Ben.

“Do you want a tequila shot?”

I said yes.

Licked the salt and bit the lime,

Moved to dance in the Village Grime.

.

Could not find our friends,

But then I saw Adam –

And dived to hide in the crowds.

We danced just us two – felt the desire,

His hands touching my skin,

Slipping under my crop top

(my favorite one with the fire)

And grazing my nipple.

.

“Let’s go,” he said,

“It will be much more fun in private,”

And we walked out of the club.

I said yes, and brought him back to mine.

“An adventure to Acton?”

He’d never been.

It took over an hour – I don’t remember our conversation on the tube,

A blurred arrival.

.

And then we were kissing in my room

And our clothes were off.

I dived under the bed,

I knew there was a condom there.

.

I reached under and I couldn’t find it.

“I don’t have a condom,” I said

And he stuck it in.

.

In a moment, we’re on my bed and he’s inside me,

And I’m saying, “No.” He doesn’t stop. “No! I’m not on birth control.”

He takes it out, I pass out.

*

When I woke up that morning and I looked at his face, I had never seen anything more hideous. For the first time in my life, I regretted bringing someone home. I went to the bathroom and vomited.

When I got back he was awake. Even though I wanted to tell him to leave, I didn’t. I was too afraid to hurt his feelings. And then he touched his dick, and began to wank off in my bed. I felt  violated, but I was too afraid to upset his feelings, and so I – I hate to admit this, but – I touched his dick and wanked him off. I wanted him to leave, and I was worried that he would tell our friends negative things about me, and so I gave him a hand job and pretended everything was fine even though everything was not fine. I let him brag about his Dad and how he was a famous scientist, and I let him think that we might go to a poetry event together when really all I felt was invaded.

After he left, I vomited some more. But I had to go to work, I was working at Harrods at the time, and couldn’t be late. I showered, drank some coconut water, and got the bus to work. While on the bus, I felt like there could be no lower. I felt nauseous, and tried breathing deeply. The woman next to me looked over, but I couldn’t even pretend to smile. And then, I couldn’t hold it in, I vomited on myself on the bus surrounded by strangers. No one said a thing.

When I got off the bus, I wiped my hands on a tree, buttoned my sweater,  and went to work. The only thing that made me feel better was the fact that my affluent, narcissistic customers had no clue that the person helping them had a vomit stain hidden under her sweater. If they knew, they would not be looking at me like they were. I had never felt so dirty and numb in my whole life. And afraid. We hadn’t used a condom. In high school, they told me that pre-cum can get you pregnant. For all I knew, I could be pregnant. For all I knew, I could have AIDS. I knew something had to change.

When I got home, I curled up into a ball and cried. I felt safe in my tiny space surrounded by all my books. I have never been so thankful to have a room of my own.


Read the next post in the series, “A Bad Sexual Experience”

Check out the rest of the blog posts from how to value your own thoughts.

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