The truth about me is that I was quite insecure growing up. I didn't know what I was good at, I didn't know who I was. But everyone else knew who I was. I was Kirstin, the good girl. It was the thing that attracted people to me. Everyone seemed to admire a young lady, who was well mannered, and wholesome, and a good girl. Sometimes I felt like being a good girl was all I had. It was my identity. I was a good girl. Teachers loved me, my mother was proud of the child she raised. A good girl.

My senior year of high school, I lost my virginity when I was raped at a party.

The popular guy in school, made me feel special. He talked to me at this party he complimented me, he noticed me. Sure people had told me I was pretty before, but when the popular guy says he thinks you're "beautiful" it's so very important.
He led me upstairs. I've since blocked out a lot of the fine details but, I remember the blood afterwards. He used the size of his body to hold me down and force himself into my body.
I was shocked. I couldn't believe it was happening. He stood up and left the room.
Blood. I found blood and a white sticky substance, and bruises. When I tried to stand I collapsed on the ground.
The next thing I knew someone was standing over me. I panicked thinking he or one of his friends had returned to use me again. I was ready to scream when I felt two strong hands on my shoulders. It was Scott Hoying, one of my best friends.
His eyes grew large when he saw me crying and shaking. He saw the stream of blood trickle down my leg. Without another word he rushed me out to his car and drove me straight home. I sobbed uncontrollably as I struggled to explain what happened. This event is the reason Scott and I are so close, he's always trying to protect me and keep me happy, he believes I'm a good girl.

The next day in school my pain suddenly turned into anger and something in me wanted to confront my attacker when I saw him.
Mistake.
Before the school day was over, a rumor had started about me...
I was the slut, who begged the popular guy for sex, and forced myself on him... he apparently slept with me out of pity. And for the rest of that year 'Slut' was my new identity.
The only thing I had, my innocence, the only thing I was loved for, was stolen from me and replaced with a scarlet letter.
I was the Slut.

Please don't think of me as a victim. That was the past, and things did get better.
I told my mother everything that happened to me and she decided to send me to a therapist to help me cope. We eventually left Arlington and joined Pentatonix where we've had nothing but success upon success.
I was able to make a new name for myself and tell the world who I was, or at least who I wanted them to think I was.
Because I was still young, because I still hadn't found out who I really was, I returned to the good girl persona, one that I've found is difficult to get rid of...
It stuck. I was a good girl again. But I was still lost. I was lonely. And in my experience I was never loved, just used. So I didn't know how to date... I didn't know how to make someone love me. But I had figured out how to lure them in. Sex. Sure it was temporary, but it was something. It was all I had.
I could lure men in with sex and pretend for a bit that I was loved...
Eventually, I was able to internalize that love. And the sex became less for other people and more for me.
Sex felt good, and I enjoyed it.
I'm a grown woman after all. I'm allowed to enjoy sex. In fact, my sexual growth inspired a lot of the work I do for others. I learned to live for myself and love myself first and I learned to teach others to do the same.
But I developed a taste for sex, and if you ask other women I'm sure plenty would agree with me.
Still, I enjoyed being a good girl. I loved the secrecy. I loved surprising people, who thought I was a good girl. There's a certain level of excitement to being a bad good girl.

Truthfully: All girls are bad, the good ones don't get caught.

And I'm a good girl.