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I could also relate. One of my early sexual experiences occurred on a first date in my mid-20s. One minute, I was making out with a guy in his apartment and the next thing I knew, clothes were coming off and he was going to get a condom. In my head, I knew I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t say it. I thought, “Okay, I guess this is happening,” but my body knew I didn’t want it to, and in the end, I was able to keep it from going any further. I was shaken by the experience and a bit overwhelmed. Like Bree, the first thing I did afterwards was go over to a friend’s apartment and talk about it as if it was this big adventure — a sexual milestone I had hit, and, oh, wasn’t that so cool? I didn’t tell them that he barely even touched me, or that I felt deeply ashamed. I was disappointed in myself that I didn’t tell him to stop when I wanted him to. I had previously thought about what I would do in that situation, that I obviously would have the presence of mind to say what I wanted and didn’t want. But when I was living it, it was like my voice just disappeared. I didn’t talk about it with my friends for years, and it’s hard for me to even discuss it with my therapist.
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