The first molestation happened when I was 8. It was an older boy, probably 18 at that time. It happened so frequently and continuously, I lost count of the number of times it happened. He would start off by touching my thighs and then move to play with my genitals, for the longest time I didn’t speak about it because I was afraid. Shoved it to the back of my memory and moved on with life. Just last month, an acquaintance came into my home for a “visit” which ended in him raping me, all the while asking if I’m enjoying myself. The screams and the repeated “no’s” did not deter him from his mission. He got dressed afterward and said I should get a life. I don’t want to own this story. I actually should’ve used the third person when retelling it. Anyway, depression and PTSD are a reality of my life.
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