You Lying Cheat

You were my first real boyfriend. I thought you were cute and funny, nerdy and sweet. We liked some of the same kinds of movies, people, animals.

You didn't judge me of tell me to “get over it” when I told you all that had happened between the members of my family when my sister left. You let me cry and kick and scream when the hate and anger would boil over. You didn't get it when I talked about God or why I was so mad at him for everything I had been/was going through, but you listened anyway.

I genuinely thought you were someone that I could learn to love, even with everything I thought about the whole system of relationships. Why did I feel this way? Because you were unlike any guy I'd ever known, you liked me. You didn't think I was ugly or fat, you thought I was cute, adorable, even funny

It was only after the fact that I learned that I would learn that cute and adorable actually meant young and naive. You were three years older than me and you figured you could use my inexperience against me.

First you tried to pressure me into having sex with you. When I told you I wouldn't, because of my religious beliefs, you laughed. And then you found someplace to dip your wick. You didn't even have the decency to break up with me over the sex issue. THAT I would have understood. But no, you knew that it wold hurt me more if you went behind my back to do it.

I was fourteen years old! How dare you treat me, a child, in that manner? You were with me in the park, the day my best friend walked with me to meet you, and then you “had to be somewhere.” That somewhere was right around the corner in HER apartment. You kissed me one minute and turned around and fucked her the next. I hate you. I hate her. And all the girls after her.

You're married now, with two adorable children. But every time I think of your poor wife, I wonder if she knows you're probably out somewhere else with another woman.

Sincerely,

The Kid

P.S. Stop checking in on me. If you taught me anything it was how to take care of myself.