When I was sixteen years old, I went to my ex's place for lunch.
He called me & asked if I wanted to hangout & I did.
He took me to his room & then he started kissing me...and touching me...and next thing I know, he's on top of me, his pants are down and my skirt hiked up, and he's driving himself between my legs.
I knew what was happening. I felt the pain inside me as he kept pushing & pushing & I told him it hurt but he didn't stop.
He only did so when a message from his friends came telling him they're coming over.
As fast as he can, he pulled his pants up & told me to get dressed.
My body was numb and my nerved were a wreck I couldn't move. His friends came & saw me and with knowing grins they nodded to him as though he had just won a bet in a computer game.
I left. Alone & still dissociated from what happened until I saw the blood coming out of me when I showered that night.
My mindset changed then.
I thought, I wanted this.
I thought, I wasn't forced.
I thought, I gave my consent.
We didn't really talk about it but I gave my consent.
Of course it wasn't like he asked & I said yes, I just thought that we were going to makeout, simple as that so that means I gave my consent, doesn't it?
Even when all the time, my mind was screaming as I was being *******.
I can't tell anyone the way I felt so horrible, so defiled, so low, and not expect a blow from them saying, "That's what you wanted."
Even though I didn't.

It's like my father always told me,
"Do not play games with boys. You will always lose. Always."
As if romance and love are games and only boys can win and by win, it means they can walk away with a fist high in the air and a flag stating that they broke a girl's heart, she fell in love and that's the worst thing that could happen for her, better for him--but the best thing that could ever really happen is that she slept with him.
She gave him that love she doesn't give to just anyone and what does he do in return?
He appreciates it.
He appreciates it by announcing it to his world, to his friends, that he had conquered another territory and he must be hailed and she, the loser, the giver, she must be shamed.

It was the warning of a man who didn't flinch when he had an affair with other women.
He told me those words, an expert of those games he played even while he's married.
Thus when his daughter fell into the hands of a player, she did not think twice when she put the blame on herself because she has fallen prey to the very predator her father warned her about.
It was her fault.
It was her fault.
It was my fault.
That and every single trial and error I made in trying to find love & acceptance.
It was my fault when it was a mistake that I had loved so fully & still he left because I was too much, too passionate, and he was too loved.
So love was a game, it was nothing but a game and whoever gave and stayed was the loser while the winner walks away with a broken heart in his hands.
It was all my fault.
It was her fault.
And he was just taking what was there on the table, taking advantage.
That's what they do.
That's how they are.
And it's your fault, as a woman, as a girl, as a female, to not protect yourself from that nature of man.
Freedom is hierarchical when it comes to ***, men are the predators, women are the prey.
It's always been that way.