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I don't know if what my brother did to me can be classified as sexual abuse. I was staying over at his house. It was late at night, and we were watching a movie. At some point, he asked if he could initiate some cuddling. I actually agreed, since we are really close and both enjoy physical affection. While we were spooning, he snuck his hand under my shirt. He didn't say anything, and I didn't say anything. As the night went on, he alternated between different caresses, kisses on my head or the side of my face, and words of affection. I idly stroked his arm back because I felt awkward just lying there. He eventually asked "is this okay?" in reference to his hand inching up my stomach. I was giving him the benefit of the doubt and still thought the action was platonic, plus it felt nice, plus I am a timid person and have a hard time with confrontation, so my brain thinks saying "no" to people is provoking them, so I said "yes". I didn't really want to say it I, though. I don't think I wanted to say "no", wither. I don't think I wanted to say anything at all. I was tired. We both were. His caresses smoothly progressed to the point he was caressing the underside of my breasts. That's when I started really questioning his intentions. He asked "is this okay?" again. I said "yes" again. When the movie ended, I got scared. I had been using it to distract myself from what was happening, and I was afraid that now that there was no distraction, he would shift his whole attention to me and try to initiate something; so I sat up. He lightly squeezed the underside of my breast as I did so, maybe on purpose, or maybe as a reflex. When he realized I was genuinely pulling away, he took back his hands, said: "I'm sorry. Your brother's a creep", and got up to take a shower. I think that's the moment I started freaking out. It's what confirmed my suspicions that his touches really had sexual intent behind them. I had been trying to gaslight myself into believing they were innocent affection, but those words were forcing me to face the reality of my situation. I remember running my mouth non-stop about random topics when we were having breakfast because I was afraid he was going to bring up what just happened and would want to have a conversation about it. I didn't want to talk about it. I wanted to pretend it never happened. I still try to. But it haunts me. He and his wife (who had been sleeping peacefully in their bedroom through the whole night) left early in the morning for their honeymoon (I was there to house-sit, and had come the night before to hang out with them before they left). Once I was alone, I quietly went to their bed to sleep (with their permission and insistance, since there were no other beds in the apartment). As I tried to fall asleep, I still could feel his hands on me, like a phantom touch. I broke down right there. I felt guilty, and disgusting, for not having stopped it and for having enjoyed it too. I felt like maybe I was the creep, and maybe I was the one turning this interaction into something inappropriate. The following weeks, I tried to suppress my feelings. Some days before Christmas, I was on a plane with my mother, about to start our holiday vacation. I was close to my period and my breasts felt sensitive. That triggered something in me and I suddenly teared up right there, in public. That vague ache reminded me of the feeling of that one squeeze he gave to my breast. My mother noticed me about to cry, but I lied and said that's just because I'm close to my period and feeling gloomy (I had been struggling with depression for a while, which she knew.) During the trip, I would get random flashbacks to that night, sometimes even accompanied with feelings of nausea. I felt like I was making my brain overreact somehow, since I hadn't been raped and I shouldn't be traumatized for touching that can barely even be considered intimate. When we got back home, I did something I'm not sure whether I regret it: I talked to him about it. I sent him a long text (he lives in another city, which actually made me feel safer about confronting him) which I barely remember anything about, except that it mentioned "that night" and how I had been upset by it. I broke down while typing it, and it probably wasn't very coherent. My brother sent me many short replies in quick bursts when he saw it. He apologized profusely. He said "I don't know what's wrong with me", "I'll get psychological help", alongside many things I don't remember. That had me freaking out a bit. What did he need psychological help for? Was he admitting he's got urges he can't control? But I didn't say anything related to that. I was afraid of accusing him, and I made sure to clarify I was also to blame for not setting down any boundaries. We were both replying to each other without thinking. We were panicking, and full of adrenaline. I was scared of losing him. He was the only connection I had in the city we both lived in (very far from our hometown, where our parents and my friends all live). I didn't want to upset him, because he's a very sensitive person and I already felt guilty for how I was reacting to it. We somewhat resolved the issue over text. Except we didn't. At all. I pretended we did, but I was still plagued by doubts and paranoia. More than the touching, what haunted me were his words: "I'm sorry. Your brother's a creep." They shook me to my core. All I had wanted was to be in denial about what happened, but those words wouldn't let me. The story goes on to this day, but I don't want to write too much about the aftermath of "that night", since I'd be writing for too long and I want to focus on whether it was an instance of abuse. At this point, I feel a little more grounded and able to accept that what happened had sexual undertones. I am still full of shame and guilt. I did consent to some of the touching. I'm not certain I wanted to, but it is something I did. That would usually make me think this is a consensual encounter and that I simply regret it now, but there are many factors that also contribute to my belief that this could potentially be an instance of abuse too. First of all, my brother was 38 at the time. I was 20, which yes, is an adult, but still; he is my much older brother. He was already nearly an adult by the time I was born. He's been a figure of authority my whole life, even though he likes to pretend he's not. He's a little clueless when it comes to what's appropriate or not in social contexts, but I do think someone his age should know better than to sneak his hand under his little sister's shirt and go up her body so much his fingers actually brush against her areola. Secondly, I am neurodivergent, though I hadn't told him at the time. However, when I did tell him, he said he already had suspicions. Regardless of that, I've always been quiet and withdrawn, so it upsets that he initiated touching under the guise of innocent affection and then expected me to be able to express my discomfort when it escalated without him specifying it was going to. I don't think his form of seeking consent was productive at all either. He only asked me if two specific touches were okay, and only after starting to do them. He didn't ask for explicit permission for anything but the cuddling at the start. What I want to say is that I was vulnerable. I am young, inexperienced, autistic, and he has always been an emotional support and almost parental figure to me. I don't know how he can be so naive as to think he doesn't have any power over me. Maybe he does know that, but wasn't thinking at the time. I still don't get why he would touch me like that. I find a little solace in thinking that maybe I didn't have any control over it after all. But I don't know. Maybe I did. I am an adult after all. And I do believe he would have stopped if I had told him to. But I definitely never gave any enthusiastic consent. I feel betrayed. I feel lost. I feel angry. I feel sad. I've been avoiding thinking about it for months. Tonight, it all came back to me once more and I broke down again. I truly don't know what to do. I don't want to tell anyone close to me what happened because I am ashamed. I certainly don't want to tell my parents. I kind of want to cut ties with him, but at the same time I don't because I truly believe he is remorseful about it and I don't want to make him sad. I can't help being naive. I don't know if that's comforting, or embarrassing.

It started as sexual harassment. And I let it happen. Do not let it happen to you! I was a college intern working on my supply-chain management major. In business school you know you don’t just get a degree and POOF! A job is magically waiting for you. Unless you already have connections. I was a single woman on financial aid and had squat for family connections. I needed to make some connections while still in school that I could use to climb the ladder. It is a very competitive world. A time when we don’t care so much where we work as long as it has prospects of advancement and making money. I was interning at the corporate offices for a rental car company. I got my first choice for a class in which we had to intern at a real company. My group of four was in their logistics offices and we had no clear job at the time but my school had sent students for a while so we had a contact person and some loose idea of a project that my group of four had to put together and execute for our grade. Well that was kind of of dud and I went along with the bad idea of planning more efficient distribution routes for their cars entering the fleet. It was naive because the company had real pros who designed the system. But, because of my feminine wiles, I got invited to come in and help in my free time by a top manager. Just me. I jumped at the opportunity and on my available days I showed up early in the morning and tried to be like part of the team. It was a very masculine environment. I tried to hang in spite of the pretenses for my special treatment. “You’re not one of those feminist types who go crying to HR if a man gives you a compliment or a pat on the backside, are you?” The man who first invited me had asked. We’ll call him XX. I assured him I was not, anticipating his expected answer. “Work hard, play hard,” was something I said in my denial of values he was obviously opposed to. So the couple times XX introduced me as his mistress I went along with the joke. Another stupid mistake. As an example of my environment, after a male Y in the department first showed me how to use part of a program that calculates stock outages, he had me sit and try it and gave me a massage I did not ask for early in the morning. Well XX came up and made a joke about Y getting his hands of his girl. They had some bro moment where the male Y asked him if he was serious, saying something about XX’s wife, to which XX backed down and said something like “It’s just a joke. I’d love to in my fantasies, but she’s company property, brother.” Company property??! I was sitting right there! I tensed up but tried to pretend I was so absorbed in the computer training as XX left and male Y went back to massaging me, but this time more boldly. He got down my lower back and upper buttock then went down the arms to my thighs, stopping me from doing any work as he blatantly brushed his forearms and hands against my chest. I felt so weak and almost paralyzed by the time I forced myself to stand up to go use the restroom, stopping it. I could have just done that at the beginning but did not. Later hat same day, XX had me go to lunch with him and have a beer at a bar and grill with a pool table. I was 20 but they did not ask for my ID because I was with XX. I hardly ever played pool and while we waited for our food he “showed” me how to play. He made fun of the cliché on movies and television where a man has a woman bend over the pool table to shoot just so he can push his crotch against her backside in a suggestive manger and lean over her with his arms on each side of her to show her how to slide the stick. But while he joked about it he actually did those things to me! That was a good day for my two main molesters and an awful day for me. XX hugged me as we stood up giggling and apparently his hands now had a license to molest my body whenever he wanted. I got numb to it in some ways, but emotionally more on edge. My butt was grabbed or spanked playfully in the department, even by male Y. A few other men were very flirtatious. My shoulders were rubbed, hugs on even minor greetings with XX and finally I was supposed to get used to little pecks on the lips too. I felt like I was in a constant state of mental anguish and defensiveness. My body could be attacked anytime. But I did not defend myself! I would say clearly to XX and some others that I wanted to be respected and considered one of the guys and have a job there when I graduated and they affirmed it. Both main abusers encouraged me, but still sexually harassed me. With my moronic blessing! The semester ended and I kept going in daily during summer break. It was my only lifeline to a possible job after I graduated in a year. I was so groomed that it was not a big leap at all when XX pressured me to give him head in his office. I refused with a smile and head shake and he came back with some rationalization about how I owed him and he really needed it just then. He would not take no for an answer. The first time I lowered myself to kneeling before his desk and took him in my mouth my hands were shaking and I teared up and had to sniffle snot back up. I was the one who was embarrassed! It was like an out of body experience and my mouth dried up to where I had to ask him to drink some of his energy drink. Internally there was a huge change immediately. I was gutted of all pride and self-worth. I was like a zombie. Hardly eating. Lots of coffee. Showing up and doing the reports that had become my responsibility and mechanically giving XX his daily BJ in the afternoon in his small stale office with a small window. I started to have migraines during that summer. I drove home for 4th of July and got so inebriated I ended up sleeping with my much older sister’s ex-husband in the back of his truck. That was a terrible wake up call. I knew I couldn’t pretend much longer without a breakdown so I put my two week in at the rental car place where I was working for free. To secure my future I made sure to keep it all friendly and “you know I’ll be back working here next year”. The idea of all the time and humiliation I had put in being lost to nothing was a major fear. I put myself through two last weeks of it. I had quickie sex with XX twice on and over his desk. I gave into extreme pressure and gave male Y a BJ too when he explicitly made it about a letter of recommendation. He knew about me doing it for XX. He did not even have his own office and we had to use the stairwell. During my final year of school I became aware that I was too traumatized to ever go back there anyway. The extent to which I had been used and abused became obvious to me, where before it had not. As if I had been living in a denial haze. It was a painful time. I was a bit reckless. I got a C in the high level economics elective I took. I said yes to several dates to avoid being alone and either slept with them or freaked out in anger at them. Seeing that I needed the car rental faux-internship on my resume I did email both abusers for letters of recommendation and got a good one from Male Y, but a very impersonal, generic one from XX. I was so dejected and angry. Finally, I told my sister, the one who confronted me about her ex-husband. I TOLD HER EVERYTHING AND THAT WAS MY FIRST STEP TO RECOVERY. To letting out the pain, screaming at myself in the mirror, punching the heavy bag at a boxing gym I joined, and to seeing my first psychologist and psychiatrist. The therapy helped more than the Celexa and antipsych. The support group helped even more. I met two friends for life who have my back in times of sorrow. I have to repeat that it is not my fault that I was abused, even though it kind of was. Don’t let it happen to you! They will take as much as they can from you. Plan your boundaries now and be assertive! Report harassment immediately. Doing so you are being a hero and protecting other women and yourself. If you have already been abused, GET OUT of the situation and talk to someone about it ASAP. There is nothing to be gained by letting the abuse continue! Talking to someone makes it real and lets you start the process of hating less and starting on the path to learning to love yourself again. You deserve real love.

As an only child, I had no one to look up to really as a kid. But I always looked up to my Dad. Even though he was never really around due to work (although Mam worked more than he did and still found lots of time to spend with me), I still idolised him. He was my hero. He would always say 'Dads know everything - remember that', so lying to my dad (even little white lies) were pointless. Though when I hit 13 I began to realise he actually DID know everything. He knew what myself and my friends would talk about, he would know exactly where I was and who I was with without even needing to ask me, and I would always wonder why. In reality he had my phone tracked and could read all my messages. Now that I have been through the court system and he has been imprisoned for the abuse he inflicted upon me, I can confirm that he was in fact grooming me from the age of 13. About a month after my 18th Birthday, began the horrific 7.5 year abuse that I suffered. My Dad, masked for the first 2 years as a stranger, blackmailed me into performing sexual acts with strange men in our home - the one place I should've felt safe. When I finally realised it was him, I couldn't tell you how it then turned into just open ended abuse and rape from him. He would advertise us as a couple on hook up sites and in order to avoid physical beatings I would go along with it. I feared for my life so much that endless rapes and sexual assaults were easier - imagine that being the easiest choice - until you're in it, you just don't know how you'll react. I stopped going out, I gave up my hobbies, whilst in college I gave up my part time job - he controlled every single part of my life. And if I even let my "everything is rosey' mask slip even for a second, especially in front of my Mam, well it just doesn't bear thinking about. Fortunately for me, once Mam did find out, he was gone out of my life within 30 mins. Unfortunately, he went on to groom and abuse others after that. He was convicted, and is currently serving his prison sentence - but the fear of him stilll remains.

I want to share my experience because I've spent years blaming myself and thinking it was my fault, or downplaying what happened and thinking 'its not that bad, it could have been worse, I'm playing the victim, when there are actual victims/survivors out there that have had it so much worse'. But through therapy I have come to recognise the harm that was done to me. The impact. The trauma and triggers and flashbacks I am living with on a daily basis. I've only just found out that what happened to me has a name. Its called coercion. Or a form of birth control sabotage. We had agreed on the pull out method (not the most reliable, I know, but it had worked for us up until then). We were not in a relationship at the time. He was my ex. I felt silly even reminding him to pull out, to not finish inside me. We were in a position where he had full control, I trusted him, I enjoyed sex with him, he was the first person I could really explore my fantasies with without shame. And despite my protests and reminding him to pull out, he finished inside me without my consent. It could have been accidental. These things happen, I know that. But it wasnt accidental. He meant to do it. He laughed about it. He fully intended to do it. He thought it was funny. I cannot tell you how much I have obsessed about every detail. Studying it from so many different angles. Picking it apart, blaming myself, hating myself even. After it happened I blocked it out. I felt violated. I felt betrayed. I knew I could never trust him again. I shut the door after he left and sat in the bathtub trying to wash him out of me. I didnt go for the morning after pill. I was too embarrassed. I stupidly thought it would be fine. That there would be no way I would get pregnant, that it wouldnt happen to me this way. So I blocked it out. Until weeks later I realised I hadn't had my period in a while, and sure enough, I was pregnant. I couldnt go through with a termination. And my ex wanted nothing to do with me or our child. He threatened to expose some intimate details about me if I went ahead with the pregnancy. I was afraid, he had a tendancy to be violent in the past. But my whole family rallied around me in support. I went ahead with the pregnancy anyway. And my child is the love of my life. Adored by my whole family. But I am still haunted about how my child was conceived. That my ex got to walk away without consequence. That there are so many women who end up having their lives completely turned upside down, and all society can say is 'well you should have closed your legs/you should have known better/you should have been more responsible/its your own fault'. No. He should have pulled out.

Hello! I don't know how to go about this at all, but I know I need to put it out there. I am a lesbian over 21 years of age, and I experienced rape and sexual assault by my last lesbian partner. I apologize if this is long, but if anyone reads this, it's greatly appreciated! I met my ex last January, and we texted for about a month before we had our first date. the first date went well, nothing concerning. The second date, which was 2-3 days after our first one, was where it all started. I didn't mind that she kissed me first, but I got nervous when she told me she wanted to take it to the backseat. She started to grope me and to palm me through my clothing before eventually trying to get her hand in my jeans. I stopped her and told her I wasn't comfortable doing any of that yet. Her response was "Oh, but eventually you will want to, right?" and to that I said "yes, but not right now." She continued anyway. That's the moment I look back on and wish I had left. I stayed. Maybe a date or two pass without her doing anything concerning again before there's another incident. We are in her car outside her workplace for an event we chose to go to. There are people on the street. She starts making out with me, to which I feel icky about bc people can probably see us and it's not appropriate. This time she starts to palm me through my skirt again, and at this point I kind of don't remember much other than me saying that I was scared and nervous, and it doesn't seem safe, and her coercing me. Before I know it, she has her hand down my underwear and is raping me. we didn't go to the event. we left and she told me next time she could find a secluded place. she never did. and that's where it all started. over the next 5 months she would rape me in her car every single chance she could. every single time I told her I wasn't comfortable. I would wear tight underwear, but she would still do everything to do it. if she didn't, she would get mad and stonewall me. but there was never once where it wasn't attempted. the worst night was maybe a month after it all started. again, in her backseat. it was in a fairly public parking lot, she tried to cover the windows with clothes, but it was still obviously visible. she made me lay down and take off all my bottoms and completely spread open. it was so humiliating. she then proceeded to violently rape me so bad and painful I was crying and holding on my screams bc I didn't want to bring attention to the situation or possibly get in trouble. I told her I was comfortable and that I wanted to scream but she just threw a cloth over my face so I wouldn't focus on it. after I had to put my clothes back on and I ruined them. I was in pain for maybe up to a weel after or a bit more. now I wish I had gotten evidence of that night, but I have none. In total I think it happened around 14 times. the same care situations in public that I hated. during the relationship I was blinded to an extent, and I didn't realize it counted as rape until after we broke up. At first, I had accepted what happened but now I have a new partner. my new partner coincidentally works with my rapist ex. ever since finding that out I feel completely distraught and suffocated by what she did to me. Not only that. before finding out they worked together they sat next to each other and were becoming friends. so my ex told my current gf how I am a terrible person and that she's afraid of me. they don't speak anymore. I don't know I just feel suffocated by it all. she also has a new gf. I wish I could tell her new gf to be careful, but I'm scared. in my community there's so much stigma around rape and homosexuality. I don't think I could ever safely publicly come out with my story as much as I want to. she completely changed my life. it's like I don't know how to be myself anymore and I feel like I'm going insane.

Inappropriate touching is how I would refer to what my ex-husband would do. We were together for nearly numberyears. There were countless times that I would wake up with his hands down my pyjamas, him having intercourse with me, him forcing me to do things to him, that this just became normal. I felt that this was part of my marriage. I now know that this should not have been the case and no man should ever treat a woman like this. That consent cannot be taken it must be given. We separated and he was still living in the house. I had a hospital admission. He was helping look after our three children. He would come into my bedroom at nighttime after I came home from hospital and rub my back and belly, even though I had asked him not to. This progressed on two occasions to rape, I had said no, he continued to do it. I did not realize at the time that this is what it was. Even writing this now is difficult. It was only three years later after discussing the inappropriate touching with a therapist that she used that word with me. Deep down I knew how fundamentally wrong this all was but never saw myself as having been sexually assaulted or raped by my husband while we were married or just after we had separated. I still find it extremely difficult to say this word out loud. Most of my friends or family do not know this has happened. It is a very lonely place but speaking to professionals certainly helps with the shame and guilt that I hold myself.

he wouldn’t listen to me when i told him i didn’t want to go to his room. i told him i was too drunk and i didn’t feel well, that i wanted to go back to my room. he took me with him anyway. he stuck his hand in my pants and i told him to stop. he did for a moment, then he tried again. i told him no again, and he did stop. we went to bed. i wish he had done more, because now i’m traumatized and having panic attacks but don’t feel like i should be, because he stopped. i feel even worse for wishing he hadn’t. because then my feelings would be valid.

In my survival story, "Just Words, Dirty Words", I shared so much and I brushed over an experience with a male gynecologist. It was a much bigger deal that I let on because it had triggered my previous abuse as an adolescent on my first job. I wonted other girls and women to understand what is not okay for a gynecologist to do. It was not until after it happened that I realized the full impact. I realized I had let myself be victimized again without trying to stop it. I felt self-loathing and anxiety. I write this letter to that opportunistic predator. You broke your oath. You betrayed the trust. You are terrible! I have done research on what a breast and pelvic exam is supposed be like and understand you used the framework to sexually assault me. I was late for the appointment to get birth control at the university clinic when I had just moved for college. You let me in even though you had no nurse chaperon, it seemed that you might have sent them home after putting me in the room. You are a man and that is against policy. We shared our first eye contact and I ignored your lust and first glance flirtation. You saw I was vulnerable and needed something from you. You told me as a new patient you have to do a full first visit exam. Now I believe you may have lied. I nodded and put down my guard. When you returned I was undressed wearing a paper smock for a false sense of security. I was self conscious even though I had impeccable hygiene and grooming but worried I was not fresh enough so late in the day because you were a man and you made it sexual. You examined my breasts with no gloves. I said nothing. I knew you were massaging them for you pleasure. You went on for five minutes like that. I think five whole minutes while you kept talking. When my boss used to molest me just seconds was plenty to make me feel sick and used. He would sit on my torso, compressing my ribs to the point I could not take a deep breath and have sex with my breasts and he usually took less time than you. do remember you used the words “wonderful” and “amazing” when commenting on by breast health. We could both smell the musk from down below from stimulating me like that. I was embarrassed. You should have been the one ashamed! You mentioned the textures and gave some instructional anatomy to pretend it might be official. You asked random questions and you shared personal stories like it was a date. All the while you were groping my tits like a pervert. Both hands at the same time! I tried to cover for you by pretending like this was not insane and not a sexual assault. You were twice my age and your mustache was ridiculous. You finally moved on to the pelvic exam. You said the words, “Very nice” when you lifted up the paper drape to help my feet into the stirrups. That is not appropriate when viewing a patient’s vagina for the first time. You explained every step from “I’m going to touch your thighs now” to “take a deep breath as I insert the speculum”. That part was quick but then you explained the manual exam that you did for too long. You inserted two fingers to check for cervical motion tenderness but rubbed my clitoris with your lubricated thumb as you did so. That was wrong! You explained that you were going to move your other hand to check for tenderness of my ovaries to check for infection but kept working your other hand on my clit and inside me. You put what felt like three fingers in me! You were sexually assaulting me again. Breaching my trust. Ignoring you oath. As a last indignity you felt for masses in the space between my vagina and rectum. You left your thumb in my vagina while you put a finger in my anus and moved them both back and in and out explaining you thought you felt something for a second but it resolved on massage, meaning it was nothing to worry about. You raped me! That was rape! I looked it up and what you were doing is a real part of an exam but no gynecologist had done that before then or ever since! Instead of leaving the room while I dressed you stayed and helped by holding out my clothes! Totally inappropriate! You should not have a medical license! Sure I let you, and I cooperated, and even tried to endure it and put on a pleasant face. I was a different person then and you just continued my cycle of being abused by men. But the anus part was where I felt true terror and wanted to get out. You gave me a business card with your name on it and told me to call and ask when you were working to schedule next visit. Then you only wrote me for 1 refill on 30 day birth control! Like I would even come back to be assaulted again. You smug abuser of power and trust! I left with you thinking I enjoyed that and would see you again!!! You make me want to scream and pound on things! It was delayed, but my abuse anxiety was triggered that night, and days after. I will never see a male gynecologist again. Your lust and greed is not better than that of a rapist. You broke my trust in the medical system and I still get anxiety at any doctor visit. Just because a girl’s reaction to abuse is not instant, because of some survival mechanism, does not make it any less painful. Sometimes even more, because we feel guilty for not being strong and assertive. You were in a position of authority and abused it so badly. You should be ashamed, doctor! You should be in prison!

I do not entirely understand if this would be considered cocsa or not. Please help me understand. Around the age of 6 i had been exposed to explicit adult content, and further on it had been a daily thing of watching it as to where it became an obsession. So i was aware of what sexual intimacy and how it happens but nothing more than that. When my cousins, and their step siblings came over the older ones would all hang out away from us, while us younger ones played together. somewhere along time us younger ones came up with a “game” in which basically consisted of rubbing against each other while clothed but basically ended up with me being the only one being humped and them taking turns in the act of sexual intimacy which i think we were all sort of aware of what it was. When my cousins would leave, and it was just me and my younger sister alone i would do what they did to me to her. Even though she did come off as uncomfortable now that i remember, which makes me feel even more guilty to this day. Also the same cousin that participated in that “game” had kissed me directly and expressed that she liked me in a not friends type of way when we were out of view that could’ve almost lead to something else but hadn’t due to being caught the second time by my older sibling when we kissed again. it made me more confused growing up knowing someone of the same gender liked me in that type of way not considering that we were family which really messed with my head and i have became hyper-sexual with a bad obsession with porn to this day. Im sorry if this is too graphic i dont know how else to explain. I don’t think this would be considered cocsa but i’d still appreciate knowing if i’m overthinking it all.

Name's Death When I was younger--18,19,20. I babysat your kid. You’d come home super drunk with your wife. I remember my heart beating so fast and my hands sweating right before you’d walk in the front door--afraid for what was to come. You’d greet me with a kiss on the cheek while you took a selfie of us. You’d want a hug when you were in your boxers. You’d walk me home at 2 am with your arm around me, making sure I got home safely, when I really needed protection from you. One time you hugged me and threw me on to your bed, but that was just one time. My mom and others always said it “almost” crossed the line. I still wonder what would it have taken to cross the line--rape? I wanted my parents to protect me but the protection never came. I continued to babysit for your family--for another couple of years.It’s like I needed a blessing from someone to finally get me to stop, Tell me it was enough, He’d crossed your line. It wasn’t your fault. A couple of days ago, you died. The neighborhood praised you--and still does. You were Name--the unofficial mayor of our neighborhood who got so many things done. All I hear is that it’s ok to sexually harass women --it’s okay because you had power and status. I’m mad, confused, frustrated, ashamed, and embarrassed. I can’t out you anymore, can’t write the open letter to the community because you are dead and people become angels when they die. In a community that I loved so much, I love it less now.

One day I decided to go to the shopping centre to finish my essay for college. As I was typing away minding my own business, a man came up to me and grabbed my face and tried to kiss me. I was in shock, I didn't know what to do. I froze. In a busy shopping centre no one batted an eye. No one was helping me. Eventually he was pulled off me. But when I told my parents they just laughed at me as if it was nothing. For years I was convinced that it was nothing, that I was just being dramatic but I wasn't. I know now that what happened was a form of sexual assault. I think because sexual assault or rape is usually perceived through the media as one thing and not another. I always thought nothing happened to me but I was attacked in a public place that I felt safe in. Even before this through the years I have been slapped on the ass for no reason, cat called when I am out walking, sexual remarks made towards me, sexual comments passed my way. Again, to me this was minor but I know now as an adult that this is not just minor. I didn't ask for any of these things to happen to me. These things are not OK and I shouldn't nor should anyone else be normalising them just because its not what is precieved to be sexual assault. It is sexual assault and this needs to be said and reminded to people.

i had/have some healing to do. my worth was tied to my supposed purity, my body was used for male consumption and pleasure, my experience was minimized, my pain was ignored, my human emotions were neglected. so where do i even begin? i needed some honest conversations with god because i was fucking angry-- livid! and i was tired of people telling me some church cliches like that's gonna make me be like, “oh, you right, it was just a lil rape... god is good, all the time!” like, nah bruh, i was hurting and i had every right to be hurt. what happened is trash and someone telling me to find joy in my suffering is not helpful when i'm traumatized. what has helped me, is being able to acknowledge my feelings and write about them. it doesn’t mean the truth of who god is doesn’t exist, but it also doesn’t mean that you won’t feel forgotten, scared, frustrated angry, confused, and it doesn’t mean that as a christian, you’re required to immediately put a positive spin on your suffering. so, with that in heart and mind, i can write a poem about being objectified, about being pissed at the man that raped me, or about being confused about how my relationship with god is supposed to look after such a mess, ‘cause keeping my feelings hidden is not helpful and it does me no good. so, i’m telling you, black woman who is learning to shake off the damaging roles we were forced into: f politeness, you’re not wrong, you’re not being sinful -- kick, and scream and assert your humanity. survivor

I was so shocked. Being a single parent my career and professionalism means everything - including basic financial survival. I work for a small male dominated company. Part of my compensation includes a house on the property. I offered one of the rooms as a temporary conference room - 5 years later I had a growing side business and communicated with the appropriate 30 day notice that at the end of the year I would like to take this space in my home back. That set the owner off. He is emotionally unbalanced but I had no idea he would isolate me - came into the office barking for everyone to leave, he wanted to talk to me. Then he cornered me and after what seemed like very rehearsed rantings he talked about he and his wife’s $10k hobbies and in the same breath leaned forward leering and said “I bet your afraid some man is going to lock you in your basement and rape your ass”. I was speechless, and breathless - thinking he is having knee replacement surgery - if he moved closer I could kick that knee . . When he was done ranting at me - he wanted a hug. I was so throughly disgusted - but afraid - so with tears down my face gave him a hug - I just wanted it to end, for him to leave . . I had my first panic attack as soon as he left, I had my next one the next day. A week later I had stroke level HBP - and made sure to document this with my physician. When I finally told someone, I had such a physical reaction I was admitted to the CCU - Cardiac Care Unit for a few days. While I have not had a similar encounter since, I do have pepper spray and a knife in 6 places in and around where I work and live.

Recently I’ve been dealing with so much guilt and shame and i feel stuck with so much thoughts from sexual experiences i had with family members. From ages 6-14 to when i was younger me and my cousin same age would play dolls my little sister as well around 7-8 me and my little sister she 3 years younger would sometimes play inappropriately with the dolls too we also would hump each other not everyday but blue moon. Around 9 when i moved my brother had introduced me and my cousins to porn and would practiced what we saw one time he performed oral on me and i didn’t think much just that it felt fun but felt secretive which means he abused me also being he was doing stuff even tho i didn’t want to at times. When i was around 10 thats when things ended between me and my brother. When i was around that age me my sister and nephew would play toys all the time and one time me and my nephew and sister would all hump each other we would wrestle or sometimes piggy back rides and one time it led to my nephew licking my bum area and i asked if he wanted me to lick his area he said no so we started playing toys again one day it was me and my sister and nephew they started humping and i was letting it go on and my nephew dad walked in we all hid because he look upset. We wouldn’t see eachother as much then we moved into a house together and we hump eachother still until i was also i was being groomed by an 23 year old man at 12 but the stuff that occurred ended when i turned 14 i stopped because i felt gross and started to develop more compared to them and also around 12 me and my sister would watch porn and sometimes she would ask if i could touch her areas and i would touch and lick her down there . We would also look at my older sister sex toys and would play with them while they were at work . And stopped ofc because it felt wrong now everyday i feel like i cocsa them and i feel sick to the stomach that we did all that i feel like a perpetrator ive talked to my siblings to make sure i didn’t traumatize or hurt them they said we were being nasty and curiosity it was inappropriate and we stopped once we realized that. I feel so sad i feel like i preformed cocsa idk what to do i wish it never happened my sister and nephew and cousin we get along very well. They told me to let go im scared when we get older they will think of me as a molester or abuser i always wanted to become a teacher and help people out i feel like i don’t deserve that.

I know it was his fault Not my 12-year-old self’s fault  We know it but the guilt sticks to us anyway  I have done plenty of things to feel guilty about since.    But then it was not my fault, yet I could have done so much better.  The guilt is there.  Like burn scars.   I did not block out the memory because I participated consciously.    It was my first job.  $6 per hour.  When my uncle started giving me massages in his repair shop, I was already changing. I had urges. New urges and sensations. I had kissed boys at school.  The massages were creepy and felt creepy.  Right after I started working there.  I declined them, but in a token, way. I did not try to move away. Not very hard.  I was a roller blader with my cousins. I took long skates around town. I ached sometimes. That’s how it made a little sense I would need a massage.  I ignored the obvious—that he sent both the man employees away or home for our sessions, and we kept it secret. Even from my friends. I knew it was not on the level.  I knew he was being a perv. My boss. My uncle.  The dragon. I would lay on the massage table in the back and let him touch me.  He bought it a week after he started the touching. I was still awkward about it and the table make it seem legit   It felt good.  My back and shoulders to start, but he spent most of the time on my legs and butt. That’s where most of the muscle is, especially on a skinny in-line skater girl. It was probably the most athletic time of my life. I did not do sports again.  Not eating was my exercise plan eventually.  I was sort of tall then but I stopped growing at fourteen. I would squirm when he would rub my vulva through my clothes while doing my upper thighs and he would tell me to relax. The first time he brought oil I did not take anything off because I was wearing shorts.   He had a plan. He got two bottles of oil so I could take one home and put it on so the smell would not seem weird when I came home smelling like vanilla.   It suddenly became normal that I would sit down, take off my shirt, and shorts or pants, and lay down. He would take off my panties.  No bra then. I never really needed one.    This was my job!   I was getting paid to do what he said.  I still feel shame that I kept quiet as he escalated it. It was such a gradual damn process from the occasional brush through the clothes to my vulva being fully part of the massage on the way down. I breathed hard while he did it. I couldn’t help it.  That was the routine.    It felt so intense.  Of course.   I got used to his hands on my body. I thought about it all the time.  I did not know what my clitoris was. Even though it felt crazy I thought it was less bad when he touched it than when he touched my labia because it was just a low part of my belly, not my privates. I’m crying right now.  To think what I didn’t know and HE DID!  He was a selfish immoral prick. A predator. Probably still is.  He warned me before he used his mouth the first time.  I was on my stomach.  He put his face between my legs.  I couldn’t see him.   I immediately tried to get up and said “No, no, no, no, no, no.” rapid fire.   He apologized. I rolled over. We hugged.  He spent some time rubbing my face, temples, and ears. He knew I liked that.  Then he got real stern. The only time he ever scolded me. Told me not to behave like a baby.  I worked for HIM.  Not the other way around. He was doing this FOR ME.   Used his strength to hold my thighs and went at it with his mouth and tongue until I went still. I stared up at the ceiling tiles. He stopped when he thought I had liked it. I think it was my breathing. I learned to breathe hard and make sounds to make him happy.  Shame. Guilt. I went from dreading that part to looking forward to it.  I felt cooler than other girls at school.  Cooler than my cousin.    Dragon and I were cool with each other, like we had a fun inside secret.    We would kiss sometimes. Make out.  He stopped staying fully dressed. I did not realize what he was doing until he showed me.  The dragon was masturbating.  Seeing it was so insane that it was scary.  I got used to these kinds of freaky adrenaline rushes. Revolting and exciting.   I was just a girl.    Then I wasn’t.  Never again.  He would use fingers in me and I would have something like mini climaxes.    Then he would stand and jerk it right over me at the end and drip it on me.  I thought it was gross.  So gross. We had a roll of paper towels by the table to wipe me off.  While he drove me home it was ALWAYS like it never happened. I did not know at the time that men completely change and lose interest after they purge it.  If he would have tried to have sex with me it probably would have kept going. No more virgin after three months of foreplay. Ignorant bliss that would crash and burn me one day.  BUT he wanted a blowjob one day.  Maybe he thought it was an easier transition.  He was wrong! I was so revolted by it that I vomited, got a headache, and that night told my parents.  Shame on me for waiting so long!  Shame on me for taking pleasure in his predation!  Shame on him for being a HORRIBLE MAN!  Shame on my parents for letting him tell most of the story his way!    Because I was too young to articulate it right.    Shame on me for keeping quiet while he apologized to me in front of them in the kitchen. I was not even sure what he told them before they called me in. My parents both seemed relieved after he cleared it up.  Most of all, shame on me for letting it sit that way.    A cowardly silence and head nod that was my signature on a contract with the devil.    I lost my soul without a fight.  Hating him costs hating myself.  That is my first guilt.

When I was younger, I was sexually abused. Those words still sting. He was a neighbor and family friend who gained my trust at a young age. I felt so alone, ashamed, guilty, dirty. I felt so stuck. It took years for me to open up and start talking about it. But taking that step, and sharing my story, began my healing journey. I was abused for almost 10 years before it stopped. I am here to share my story to say that there is a light. There is hope. Taking that step to share your story is the first step towards healing. Healing is possible. You are not alone 💙

*TRIGGER WARNING IN ADVANCE* So, it all began when I was like 5 or 6 and ended when I was around 10 or 11. I think. My own grandad was sexually abusing me. I couldn’t tell you all the events in chronological order because I can’t remember every single time or what order they went in. I can just share the types of things that would be done. When I would stay at my grandparents house, my grandad would read a bedtime story every night. However, it wasn’t just a bedtime story… no… it would end up with him holding my hand through a hole in his pocket making me touch his penis. Sometimes I’d be asleep and he’d come upstairs and rub his penis on my body and pull up my top and lick my nipples. I used to love insects as a child so his excuse was that his penis was a glow worm called Name and “Name would want a tickle”… he would draw bizarre pictures of different sexual poses and say that those would help with a spell because I was into magic… he would buy me things all the time like a phone, credit for my phone, an Xbox but this wasn’t on birthdays or Christmas this was just random and my brother wouldn’t get anything other than birthday and Christmas presents… I used to do acting and I loved it, he then made a script about a girl called poppy longstockings and bought a whole outfit for me to dress up in and gave me a script and I had to act out and let’s say the costume was certainly not PG… He would always try and do anal on me and I mean always… in his shed, at his work (which he was like a handyman and he’d work on student flats and stuff) I’d go on jobs with him sometimes. Listen. I was young I didn’t understand what was happening was wrong. Anyway… Let’s get to where it all got found out… When I was around 11 I told my friend that I thought what he was doing was wrong and that’s when it all stopped was when I realised or learned that it was wrong. Didn’t tell anybody else. Years later in secondary school me and my friend were in a lesson together and somehow it came up in conversation and someone overheard and then they went and told someone, then that person told someone, then so on… the whole year knew… I didn’t know everyone knew until I was sat next to my other friend who didn’t know and he texted me saying I know what your grandad did and I just bursted out crying… anyway I got taken out and a teacher spoke to me so I told her and that’s when I had to speak to the police… the weekend went by and I had to pretend everything was fine to my mum, dad and brother because they had no clue about anything… Monday came around and I get a knock on my class, it’s my brother asking to see me, we stand in the hall and he just hugs me and starts crying so then I start crying. Anyway, end up going home and my mum gives me a hug and then my dad comes home and gives me a hug and we’ve never been closer as a family…. Then comes court… What a horrible horrible experience…. But it was absolutely worth it! To see him go down for 15 years for what he did to me (wasn’t enough in my opinion but still better than nothing and I’m very grateful for that)… t This is not the end of my story but my entire mood has changed since the beginning of writing so I’m going to take a little break:) lots of love <3 x

Women CANNOT physically harm men to anywhere NEAR the same severity tht men can women. Full stop. Before I experienced abuse, I nvr used to be afraid of men. I used to think I could reasonably defend myself against all but the biggest, most muscular guys, tht I'd be able to put up a good fight if ever necessary. Turns out, I had no fucking idea what I was talking about. YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW EASILY HE CAN KILL YOU, SIS. Or cause a traumatic brain injury or rupture ur spleen or break out ur teeth or... You cannot imagine how quickly & effortlessly he can permanently. change. your. life. Do NOT fuck around, sis. RUN. Get. Out. NOW. .... countless women before you miscalculated their risk & many paid with their lives. Please PLEASE act with the urgency tht your LIFE deserves. I love you.

When I was 13 was sexually assaulted by a person I'd rather not name. I've known him for a while yet never spoke out because I like him. He never saw it as sexual assault because it was "only the fingers" Whenever I think about it, I get sick to my stomach. Knowing I had no strength to stop him. I cry everytime I think about it and I'm too scared to tell anyone. Please anyone, what should I do. What can I do.