TRIGGER WARNING: This post deals with issues surrounding abuse.
I was sick the day of my wedding and had struggled to make it through the ceremony and the reception. Once in our room, I was struggling to keep from collapsing in a feverish heap under my dress. I always imagined losing my virginity on my wedding night and I wanted the moment to be everything I’d always dreamt it would be. I loved my new husband and I wanted to give him something special, not some half-assed feverish attempt, so I told him I wanted to wait until morning.
That didn’t stop him from peeling off my white dress.
I started crying and said that I was scared, but he told me that everyone was scared on their first time.
I tried to get up, but he held me down, saying that as my husband, I needed to trust that he knew what he was doing.
I told him I wanted to wait until I felt better, but he told me that he had waited long enough.
I don’t even remember much of what happened after the initial struggle, all I know was that one minute I was a virgin, and the next … I wasn’t. I remember sobbing. “That was awful,” he spewed at me. “I can’t believe I waited all this time for that.” As he wrapped his arms around me with a trap-like grip that I couldn’t escape from, his voice went from angry to stern as he said, “I’ll show you what you need to do from now on, and you’ll learn. You’re my wife now; we’re supposed to be having sex.” His words came across as more of a fact than a reassurance.