When I was barely a teenager and on vacation with my family, a man in his 40s drove his truck alongside our van and stared at me while he masturbated.
When I was in high school boys sexually harassed and grabbed me, putting their hands up my skirts, throwing things between my legs when I began to wear pants and "frumpy" clothing in an effort to keep them away.
When I was in college I was sexually assaulted at a small party after everyone had gone to bed. I was still a virgin. I was a virgin afterwards as I managed to get him off of me before it could go further, but that stuck with me.
A couple of years later I got drunk and lost my virginity. I remember telling him if we had sex I didn't want to remember it. The problem is I did remember it and still do. After him was my first real boyfriend, someone I thought I loved and quickly became engaged to. Sex was okay at first, but it quickly became a selfish act for him—a way for him to seek pleasure, leaving me crying myself to sleep, feeling cheap and cheated. He cheated on me, too.
My body has been degraded and used for decades, since I was a little girl. I don't know why. I will be 30 this year and I am healing, feeling better, but the pain will always stay with me in some way.