I remember the first time a guy showed an interest in me. I must have been around 13 or 14; and being on the heavier side was fairly ‘well developed’. As a teenage girl, having boobs was everything, so I was making the most of my new-found ‘assets’ by wearing a push-up bra and low-cut top; how I was allowed to leave the house like that I’ll never know. Anyway, my sexualised ‘jailbait’ body had gained the attention of a young man who was very obviously checking me out; which was weird because no-one ever looked at me, until that moment I’d been somewhat invisible, yet here he was staring in my direction and clearly liking what he was seeing. I remember feeling wanted and desired; something I’d not experienced before.
I come from what you might call a ‘traditional’ or ‘old fashioned’ family. My Dad, being a farmer, showed an interest in my brothers who could potentially take over the farm one day; but as a girl, I was less interesting. My job was to do what I was told, play the ‘little woman’ like my mother, and not cause a scene; women looked after the home and their men, they certainly weren’t meant to have opinions, aspirations or independent thoughts, heaven forbid!
Emotional displays weren’t tolerated, and we all walked on eggshells for fear of upsetting my father; issues were swept under the rug and to the outside world we looked like the perfect family, but behind closed doors we were a mess. If you’ve experienced a similar upbringing then you’ll know it’s impossible to thrive in an environment like this; it’s oppressive and unhealthy, and I really struggled!
I don’t remember a lot about my childhood, it’s a bit of a blur, like something that happened to someone else. I know I was bullied and deeply unhappy as a child, and painfully quiet and shy, but apart from that, I’m not sure who I was before I hit puberty. I guess I was uninteresting and insignificant, or that’s certainly how I felt. However, with my sexy curvaceous body things were different, I was getting attention and was suddenly interesting (to men at least anyway); I started to think that maybe I did have something to offer after all.
For a girl who had been made to feel like she wasn’t good enough by the main masculine figure in her life, you can’t imagine how good it felt to be noticed and desired by men. Of course, what I really wanted was the love and affection of my father, but let’s not get all Freudian here; if I couldn’t be validated and win the approval of my dad, then at least I could be pleasing to other men.
I’d been brought up to believe that men were superior to women; their needs more important. Men were in charge and held all the cards, and that was just the way it was. In my teens I started to realise that this wasn’t quite the case, that not all women feared or felt intimidated by men; there were strong independent women out there who commanded respect and considered themselves equal. I felt excited and inspired by these women and very much wanted to be like them, I just didn’t know how…. So, when I discovered that I could be wanted physically by men, that I could use my body to get their attention and a place at the table (metaphorically speaking), I thought that was the answer. I’d found their weakness, and a way in….
Of course it was a complete disaster, I was too young and fucked up to understand how to embrace my sexuality in a healthy empowering way, which meant that in my early teens I would give myself to any man who so much as glanced in my direction; so fragile my ego and low my self-esteem at the time. I so desperately wanted to please men and feel loved, that even though I knew deep down that none of these men cared and were only after one thing; I let them use me anyway. I would inevitably feel rubbish the next day and regret what I’d done, yet would do it all again at the next opportunity. As a young teenager I simultaneously hated men (especially my father) yet craved male attention; it was a very confusing time. The high I got from messing around with men gave me a temporary break from the depression that hung over me, a fleeting false high, followed by a debilitating crushing low. I let men use me whilst hating myself for allowing them to do so. It was a vicious cycle though; the more I let men use me, the worse I felt about myself and thus the more I needed male attention to make myself feel better; because without it I felt like a failure. It’s safe to say that I was a complete mess, and not surprisingly gained a bit of a reputation for being a bit of a slut.
I had a lot of counselling in my teens for depression and low self-esteem but never discussed my sex life with any of my therapists. Mainly because I knew I wasn’t supposed to have one and didn’t want to get anyone into trouble; but also because I felt ashamed of my behaviour, and didn’t want anyone to know about it, especially my parents. I think they knew anyway, but as with anything of importance in our family it was never discussed. Maybe if I’d been able to talk to someone, things would have been different, and I’d have broken the cycle sooner, who knows.
I had more sex in my teens then I’d care to admit, and most of it was rather shit to be honest; it wasn’t until my first proper boyfriend when I was 16, that I discovered that sex could actually be a pleasant and enjoyable experience. My boyfriends were always much older than me, which contributed greatly to my positive sexual experiences in my mid-teens, as at least one of us knew what we were doing. By the time I met the father of my child, I had a much better idea of who I was sexually, and what I enjoyed. Together we tried different things, made sex fun, and my confidence in the bedroom grew. More importantly though, he taught me how to value myself, and that I wasn’t just an object to be used by men. He taught me what it meant to love and be loved, for which I am eternally grateful.
Thankfully we aren’t teenagers forever (thank God), and now as an independent woman in my 30s I hardly recognize the girl I was back then. That fucked up teenager seems like a lifetime ago, a completely different person. I remember hating and punishing myself for my behaviour, but it wasn’t my fault, I was only a child. If I could go back now, I’d give my younger self a big hug and tell her that she doesn’t need approval from men, that she is worthy of love and deserves better.
I’m happy to say that I have a better relationship with my family now, and don’t hate men anymore (took a lot of therapy, but I think we got there eventually). Having said all that, a lot of the thoughts and feelings that I internalized as a child and a teenager are still there (they never completely leave you), I just wrap it up as feminism now and internally scream ‘down with the patriarchy’ whilst riding cock (joking). Men can still enjoy my body, but it’s on my terms now and they pay for the privilege, along with everything else of course.
Sometimes when things are bad and I’m feeling depressed or lonely, I’ll revert back to old destructive patterns of behaviour and get drunk and fuck some random guy; but most of the time this behaviour is under control. I’m not the person I used to be; I value myself, and don’t need constant validation from men, or anyone else for that matter. I mean, I still get my tits out and use my sexuality to get what I want sometimes (old habits die hard), but I know I’m so much more than that. I’m an intelligent, ambitious and resourceful young woman who’s funny and good company; having great tits and a juicy arse is just a bonus.
Emily-Rose xxx
Sugar and Spice 