My apologies to anyone who may find this offensive, but this post will be very personal and probably very graphic. If you don’t want to read about sex, then move on. Although given society I seriously doubt many will pass. Sex is the last primitive urge that can drive someone to drastic measures. Everyone is fascinated by sex. From nuns to homemakers to the paperboy. Even if they don’t admit it. I’m fascinated by it, even though I’m terrified of it.
I’ve been avoiding this topic for most of my life, but I believe it’s at the root of my problems/social anxieties. I think some background is in order. I’m a virgin. In the strictly physical sense. As in I’ve never experienced penetration. However, if penetration is not your definition of sex, then I lost my sexual innocence when I was 9.
Sad, I know. Unfortunately, my experience is a far too common experience for young girls.
I was molested repeatedly for when I was 9-10 years old. By my foster brother’s 16 year old best friend. It started on a small scale. The first time I remember him touching me was on the ride back from a ski trip, I was sleeping in the back of the van and I felt someone draw small circles along my side. Then a hand reached up, quickly under my shirt to feel my training bra and quickly pulled away. I didn’t react. I’m not really sure why. I must have thought I was dreaming and I didn’t want to make a scene. So I fell back asleep.
The next time I remember him touching me was in a much more disturbing manner. Since this friend lived a few towns over and couldn’t yet drive, he would stay overnight sometimes. This is when the most damage occurred. I woke up to him over me in the middle of the night, the covers gone. He had pulled my shirt up and was sucking on my breasts (I was well developed for a 9 year old, I’m sure he must have thought I was 13 or 14). He could fit the whole thing in his mouth. I would just lay there, pretending to sleep and hope he would go away. I was so confused the first time it happened. Again I must have thought I was dreaming. I know I should have yelled or pushed him off or REACTED in some way but I was frozen. People always talk about the “fight or flight” response, but there’s another one: freeze.
Even though I didn’t reacted when it happened, I should have told my mother the next morning. I was too scared to though. I was afraid she wouldn’t believe me, and even if she did, I was afraid of the consequences. My mother was already in the middle of a court battle with my father and I didn’t want to add any more stress to her. I didn’t want people to know that I had been touched like that. I felt like I was tainted, that whenever someone saw me that’s what they would think about me. It’s not like he ever threatened me if I told. He never said a word to me.
So I never told anyone about the first incident. I should have, because he would visit me repeatedly in my bed, in the middle of the night. I’m don’t know how it went on for so long without anyone finding out. My mother slept in the next room for god’s sake. hell, he even found a way to touch me when I slept in my mom’s bed. The molestation got progressively worse from the first night. He would still start by sucking my breasts (at least that’s when I woke up). He then began removing my underwear and sucking down there too. He would shove his tongue down my throat and I would try to shrivel my tongue back as much as possible so it wouldn’t touch his. I soon learned that those kinds of touches were not what he really wanted. That he was just doing that so he could guilt me into getting what he wanted. He put his dick up to my mouth and told me to “kiss it”. I tried turning my head but he just followed my mouth. One I night I finally did “kiss it” but he was highly disappointed I didn’t take the whole thing in my mouth (what did he expect, I was 9). He got tired of trying to shove his dick in my mouth and tried to go a different route. He pushed it against my very small, very virgin vagina. The first and only time I ever spoke to him was to say “it hurts”. He responded with “no it doesn’t”. That was the only time I felt truly scared and that he would hurt me if I fought him. He never got in, but I will never forget him trying.
Now I was even more terrified to tell anyone, since I didn’t say anything after the first time, I felt like it was my fault that it kept going on. That I had no right to claim rape since I didn’t the first time. And that I enjoyed it.
On a very physical level I did enjoy it. I mean, the sensations he was giving me felt good and he never hurt me (except the one time mentioned above). A more psychological aspect to this has alot to do with daddy issues. My parents separated when I was 6 and my father never showed any love or affection towards me. On some level I was actually happy to have the attention of a “man”. I enjoyed this and the physical sensations so much that not only did I not fight him, but would willingly go along with the molestation. I would choose to sit next to him in the back seat of the car so he could rub his hand over my pants when no one was looking. I would rub my hands on his back when he was over me in bed. I wanted a man’s approval. I wanted him to feel good too, so he would keep touching me, keep paying attention to me. I knew it was wrong of me to want that, and deep down that’s probably the reason I never told anyone at the time. I didn’t want him telling them that I was “willing”.
My brother moved out a year later and so his friend had no reason to be at the house and the molestation stopped. I’m not sure why he took a liking to me anyway. I never told my mother. She still has no idea and it would crush her if she found out this happened in her house. The damage has been done and there’s no reason to hurt her as well. I’ve only ever told one person in my life (my first and last boyfriend). Until now, where I’m telling the entire internet.
So begins my adolescence and a hateful and fearful attitude towards sex. In the next post…
Insecure Twenty-Something Seeking Validation 