Trigger warnings for sexual assault and Too Much Information – like, if you’re a member of my family, you probably don’t want to read this.
Five minutes after my first kiss I was hiding in the toilets. “It seemed less awkward to make out with him than tell him I didn’t want to,” I told my friend. “Kate,” she said. “You are the only person who would think that.”
At the time, I believed her. What’s wrong with me? I told myself again and again. I was unaware that my crippling social anxiety was far from unique. At the time, it seemed something to be ashamed of, to hide away from the world at all costs while I pretended to be a happy go lucky teenage girl.
Which is why, a few months later, I found myself in the back of a car with the same boy, trying to remove his hands from my underwear whilst trying to look after a friend on the other side of me, who was throwing up the evening’s vodka onto her lap. With hindsight, I should have turned round and punched him. But I was worried about being impolite.
Trying to do what I was supposed to do, and fear of being judged, has defined most of my sexual experiences.