When I was 18, I thought I knew who I was going to be and what kind of life I actually wanted to build. I was going to graduate from UNLV in Hotel Management in 3 years and become a hotel manager for Marriott by the time I was 25. I would travel the world for work and eventually marry an extraordinary man that I could not live without by the time I was 30. We would marry on a yacht in the French Riviera, and fly home in first class from our honeymoon in Bali.
Exactly one year after high school graduation, I had been expelled from a community college after an on campus “altercation” that ended with a football player in stitches and my eye black and blue from his fist. A few weeks later I was married to my last high school boyfriend and on my way to boot camp. We met and started dating in high school when I was barely 15. I don’t recall many details of this teenage love but it was definitely one I could have skipped. He was controlling, hypercritical, and sometimes violent. I still have a scar on my back and knees from the time he refused to let go off my arm while he accelerated in his car after I would not agree to go back home with him.
For me, Teenage love was all encompassing, like being dunked in a tank of water and only being let up for air when he came around. My first mistake was making him the center of my world without obligation and allowing him to isolate me from my friends. This tactic worked so well to maintain my blissful ignorance and willful obedience. But eventually the truth came to light and I broke up with him and went away to college. The fact that I FUCKED UP and was kicked out of community college made me more willing to forgive him when he asked. Somehow I convinced myself we could start over somewhere else together so I busied myself making a new plan for us to move.
I guess I thought marriage would change him and make us instant adults. I thought marrying him would prevent him from chasing a criminal life that he was apparently no good at. It didn’t take long for me to understand he did not want to be “saved” he wanted to be taken care of. Maybe I always knew he was the kind of man my father was trying to warn me about. I wanted this boy to be better than my parents said he was, I wanted him to be better than he thought he was, I wanted him to be as awesome as I believed he was. But, he could only manage to disappoint me in more ways than before. The union resulted in a quick divorce upon discovering he had no intentions of remaining employed or faithful.
What I learned from that experience was that you can take a man out of a bad situation but you cannot make him create a better situation for himself. I tried, to be the dutiful wife and “support” and stand by his side. But I did not grow up like that, my father ALWAYS had some type of income coming in the house. I was not going down like that, getting knocked up by an unemployed leach who could never keep his dick to himself. After four months of disappearing funds from our shared checking account due to him entertaining other broke ass men who he befriended, I set some wheels in motion to end the marriage by shipping him back to his mother on Greyhound.
Thinking back on it now, it was the best decision I could have made. That marriage had no chance of success because he had too little ambition for a man who wanted to control me. We met and started dating in high school when I was barely 15. He represented rebellion to me because my parents did not approve of our relationship. I married him as act of independence and out of pettiness to keep him from being with that trashy ho Shameka. He ended up with her anyway.
Erotic Blog, NSFW