Slowly, then all at once

Chelsie, Female, 16, England

Content note: mention of rape/sexual assault

I always had little crushes on boys through middle and high school, but if we were ever to become ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’, things got weird. With the first few boyfriends, I completely avoided them in order to not have to do ‘touchy relationship stuff’. In year 7, I stayed inside the maths room the whole of  break because my ‘boyfriend’ was waiting outside to kiss me. I was frequently called ‘frigid’. I then got a ‘boyfriend’ again in year 7, who I told that I would only date him if we did not have to kiss. Then in year 9 I had another ‘boyfriend’ and for the first time, he meant A LOT to me. We held hands and that was it. We broke up soon after, and I continued to like him for a year when we went out again. This time he kept on trying to kiss me and even though I really liked him, I would turn my head away every time, not through embarrassment, just because I did not want to. We broke up shortly after. I wish we were still friends because he’s pansexual, which is like the opposite to what I am, in a way – but I know he would understand my decisions (we’ve been through similar stuff).
In year 10, I got my last boyfriend, and I say last both because he was the last person i ‘went out with’ and also the last person I ever will. I knew this one would be long term, and it was- 1.5 years. I knew I had to kiss him so I did it and I expected first kisses to feel good but it didn’t, not in the slightest, and I expected it was just because kisses were so hyped up. I thought they might get better but they didn’t. I hated every kiss. It was terribly boring, not in the least fun, more of a chore done only for him. Anything sexual was horrible and boring and he was convinced I had no feelings for him because i never ever wanted to be affectionate. I would avoid kissing at all costs and as the relationship progressed, I realized I could gradually avoid holding his hand and hugging, all those little things i didn’t like.
On March 8th or 9th, i forget which, he basically had sex with me against my consent, in my bedroom after sleeping round (in a different room). It was enough to put me off entirely. I’ve never wanted to have sex, I’ve never wanted to kiss or do sexual things, and the rape strengthened that distaste for it by a whole lot.
I am now able to confidently call myself asexual, borderline aromantic,  I’d say. I have no belief in love now, I find it really, really stupid and fake in a way (I hope this doesn’t offend anyone). ‘Love’ is basically like a lustful friendship, so what is the point? I’m happy just having close guy friends. I find some people attractive, but it doesn’t make me want to be their girlfriend or anything. I don’t feel ‘love’ for anyone and I haven’t in a looong time. I barely did with my ex after the first few months of his controlling behaviour.