J.S.
I was eighteen and in community college when I met J.S. in a night class. He was twenty-five, attractive, and most importantly, he was interested in me. I was in a fragile state after a serious relationship ended with a traumatic break up. I craved male attention and J.S. was giving it to me.
I really did think he liked me.
Turns out, he liked my company, my body, and what I could give him. I started going home with him after class, at least once a week. It become a routine for us.
He did care about me. I know he did, because he always made sure I ate, gave me rides when I wrecked my car, and let me talk to him about everything.
But at the end of the day, I wasn't good enough for him. I wasn't "the type of girl" he dated. I wasn't good enough to be his girlfriend, but I was good enough to provide him the pleasure he requested.
That may have been the grossest I had ever felt.
As a young, fragile girl, I was crushed by this. I just wanted to be wanted for who I was, not just what I could offer.
I was just an object to him, and I let myself accept that and continued to allow it. Because being wanted for what I could do for him was better than not being wanted at all.













