Being a Friend with Benefits Broke Me
It's a miracle I survived.
Are you sitting down? Do you have a cup of coffee? Good. Get comfortable because I’m about to tell you a story; one about me. I’m about to take you down a road into my life that not very many people know the path to. Sit back, relax, and delve with me into a deep part of my past; one that gives me nightmares at times, and makes me feel guilty, but also strengthens me and makes me a part of who I am today.
Growing up, I was a quiet child. I was blissfully unaware of what sex was until I hit my teenage years; even then, I didn’t really care. That was until I reached high school. I was a fat, ugly girl who no one noticed. This somehow didn’t bother me. I had music and video games to occupy my time. I loved life.
After graduating from high school, I was lost. I had no idea what I wanted to do, I felt I was too stupid to attend college so I helped various jobs trying to find my niche. Little did I know, that niche would not blossom until I was well into my 30s, but that’s another story entirely. Anyways, so I had the idea drilled into my brain that I was going to die alone. This was the time dating sites were in their infancy and Tinder wasn’t a thing yet. I was naturally on the defense when it came to filling out a dating profile. I felt ugly, knew I was ugly, and no one would find me attractive, so I had small hopes for finding a boyfriend; that is until I met someone who we will call “J.” I and J met offline, with him picking me up and going back to his house. This was a risky move for me. I was stepping out of my comfort zone.
J put a movie on, U-571, and we proceeded to get to know each other a bit more; and when I say, “Get to know each other more,” we had sex. I had never met this guy before, and here I was, sleeping with him. This was the beginning of a six-year, non-romantic relationship known as “Friends with Benefits.” J would message me every now and then, and he would come over after work and we would have sex. I was living with my parents at the time and everyone was at work so I had the house to myself. This occurrence would happen about every week or so, a secret no one except me knew about.
A couple of years down the line, J introduces me to a “friend” he met. At this point, I thought this was the norm, that this was how I get a boyfriend, offer my body so he would like me. I honestly thought that J liked me and that we would eventually be together. I can tell you right now, that didn’t happen. This story has a happy ending, but not without its trials.
Getting back to J and his “friend,” long story short: We had a threesome. It was the most one-sided, half-assed thing I’ve ever done, and this would be the first and last time I would ever have group sex. I felt he was paying more attention to the girl he brought along and got jealous. Naïve me though, stayed, and we “finished” with each other. That is one experience I try to forget.
Everything I’ve ever known about sex and my own body I’ve learned from J. He taught me that sex is good, and that I should offer myself freely to a man. I found out later on down the line this was a complete bullshit lie. Everything he’s ever told me has been one big lie. I was now in a loop that I couldn’t get out of. I found myself offering my body to men, not for money, but for acceptance. Mind you, the sex was consensual, but... I felt hollow inside like something was missing. I knew I had to put a stop to it, that I had to crawl out of this hole that J seemed to have thrown me in.
Everything I have been through, everything that I feel I had put myself through came to a head in 2007. I found myself in Rocky Hill, Connecticut having gotten a ride from a random guy on the internet. We ended up at a party at a hotel with other like-minded big women. (Apparently, this is a thing known as BBW appreciation.) This was the first and last party I would ever attend, as I found myself back in high school, every dance I’ve been to, sitting down on the bleachers, and being ignored like always. Here I was, in a town I’ve never been to; no ride home, I had to ride it out. After the part was over, I just sat down outside and sobbed. Why did no one like me? I felt pretty that night, I had on a nice outfit, so why was I not catching the attention of someone? That’s when I met someone who I will refer to as “J Number 2.” I honestly thought J Number 2 would be the one to save me, to show me that I was beautiful and worth something; boy, was I wrong.
While I was crying, saying how I’m ugly and no one liked me, he talked me down and convinced me that wasn’t the case. He said all the right words. He convinced me to go back to his hotel room, where we proceeded to drink, talk, and eventually, have sex. Turns out, this guy was a meth addict and even offered me some to which I politely declined cause nope. We had sex for a few hours in every position imaginable until the sun came up, to where naïve me at the time asked him if he really wanted to be with me. He eventually got pissed off and said: “Keep asking and I won’t.” Those words didn’t give me much hope and I soon forgot about him when I got home. I also need to add that the morning after this party I ended up sleeping with some random guy I had met in the lobby because, again, he said the right words. I soon forgot about him too, even after he said he would, “Call me.” Don’t bullshit me, we both know you’re not going to call.
When I met my husband in 2007 something clicked. I found a way out of my predicament. I knew I wanted to be with him, as he was the one to save me from myself. I found the strength to grab my life by the balls and pull myself out of this hole I semi-put myself into. I now had control over this situation that I thought I would never get out of. Granted, there are times I still have nightmares and find myself crying because it gave me PTSD. Even to this day, I have a hard time talking about it. Thank the stars for therapy, it’s been amazing in helping me.