I was twelve. I was raped.

Writing about a lifetime of speed bumps brings up so many feelings – lately I am never sure where we will be next. Each story takes me through another slice of my life. The subject of creepy people has been around and I was led down this road. You must know I have been thinking about this story since I got sober in 1998. Before that, I couldn’t even comprehend thinking about it. It started brewing in my mind over the past few days and I knew it had to be written properly today.

I showered and got dressed as I would for any other night I would write – only I took extra special care. I used all of my favorite products, wore clothes that flattered my body and mind, and put pink hair powder on–because I can. All the while my knees were beginning to shake and my mind was beginning to find a dark place. I could feel the core of my body start to tremble. So I took an Ativan and decided to hop on the bus.

I am blessed to have the opportunity for somebody to hear this. I have told three other people – one of them a priest. I said I was a sinner.

I need to define the word sexual abuse to you before I start this.

“Sexual Abuse is any contact or interaction (physical, visual, verbal or psychological) between a child/adolescent and an adult when the child/adolescent is being used for the sexual stimulation of the perpetrator or any other person.”

That is one of the best descriptions I came across. (Encouragement for childhood Sexual Abuse Survivors)

I was sexually abused as an adolescent. Many times. I haven’t told many of the stories. I generally feel shameful about each encounter, knowing full well I did nothing to cause them. That wasn’t true when it was happening, I was too young to understand the power differential that comes between; a teacher, a neighbor, various community members, big teenage and early twenty year old boys and a young girl between the age of 11 and 17.

The story I am sharing took place when I was approximately 12 years old. I really don’t remember the date, it wasn’t the only defining moment of my adolescence; it is only one that disgusts and shames me deeply.

In my mother’s house growing up I would always sit in front of the bay window in the kitchen and look down the hill. I could see a number of recreational outlets, the main one being the projects.  I started hanging around in there by proxy. There was a bowling alley across the street and the boys that we thought were cute and racy were in the projects. There was obviously some sort of male hierarchy and I liked the attention I got from the leader. I will not refer to him as a leader from here on out I will call him SM.

I had very low self-esteem, I had already developed tastes for drugs and alcohol. That’s what we did. We drank around fires. Smoked pot. Took hallucinogens.  I was not the pretty girl, the popular girl, I assume I was the funny girl. I have always been mouthy, throw in some booze – little girl would have a party. I was always the last one to leave. Looking back I wonder why I always got left behind… (one person never let me behind and she knows who she is) She just wasn’t there this day.

SM would do things like pick me up, and be sweet, maybe kiss me on the cheek, he made me feel pretty special. I felt safe, like I’d be okay if I stuck with him. It turned out to be quite the opposite. The addage of keeping the lion close didn’t work here. It was a season other than Winter. I was at SM’s apartment in the projects sitting in the kitchen. Smoking and doing generally nothing. Hanging out, waiting to go hang out somewhere else. SM’s room was downstairs. I remember red linens somewhere that day. Somebody showed up at the door to see him. Another young man. Early 20 ish I assume.

I was never able to say anything for so long and now I cannot even remember his name. Although I have run into him many times. For years I would see him at other places or a red light and he would just stare at me. Never saying a word. I have never said a word either. People have heard things, I don’t know what quite honestly. I know the Virgo was very upset about something he heard almost ten years after the fact. This town I live in is a very small city. The degrees of separation get smaller and smaller over the years.

Both SM and creepy guy talked about whatever and creepy guy went downstairs. Ghetto apartments are small, if you go up or down it’s where people sleep, have sex or do lines in those circumstances. I assumed he was doing something like that. SM started to talk nice to me saying he wanted to be my boyfriend and wasn’t sure if that could happen. He told me I should let that creepy guy have sex with me. That if I did that he would know, he would make me his girl.

I really didn’t want to do this. I just wanted to hang out with the cool guy. The tallest, the loudest, the one with a car, the one people were afraid of. I don’t think I was afraid at this point, I only wanted to make it go away. Best way out.

Why running out the door never occurred to me I know the answer. I had already started building walls and just wanted desperately to be liked. I didn’t know what else to do. I was 12 or 13 – I need to remind myself of that.

What happens next is so deeply based in shame that I am almost speechless. I have been speechless for many years, but I have a voice now and I am only as sick as my secrets. SM took me downstairs where creepy guy was sitting on a chair. SM told me to lie on the bed and he started taking off my clothes. He rushedly putting his hands and mouth on my face and body. He greedily grabbed at my breasts.  He would say my name or good girl, he did not last long and it wasn’t the last time he had sex with me. I did not reciprocate, I didn’t even feel like I was participating. I let him do what he needed to do.

It was then that creepy guy came towards me. I remember saying no. It wasn’t repeatedly, but I said, “No”, at least once. My clothes were already off as SM had just gotten off of me. SM kept telling me it would be all right.  He said to relax and calm down. Creepy guy was on top of me. He was sweaty, I remember him being red in the face as he held his body above mine with one arm; while his fingers were roughly fingering at my thighs and vagina.  He started to penetrate me with his not entirely erect penis.

He breathed into my neck roughly, slobbering on me. He thrust for a bit. He was rushed and frustrated. He was getting angry and sweaty. He pawed at me and didn’t look in my face. He didn’t have a problem looking in my eyes though and that was the creepiest part.

He looked at me like he knew me, he looked straight into my young scared eyes. And did for years later.  Only I was never scared again but continued to pay a price.

He just kept fucking me with his almost by this time, flaccid penis.  He didn’t give up and it was laborious for him to rape me for that half hour or so. He came on me and finished finally.

When,THEY were finished with me when everybody got up and got dressed and pretended nothing ever happened. We pretended in the kitchen that afternoon that SM and creepy guy didn’t coerce a very young girl into the basement to take turns fucking and humiliating her. To tell her she was good because she didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I only flinched. I only hoped it would be over and I would have friends. I  didn’t want anybody to find out because then I would be the dreaded “slut”.

I could take slut now, at this age – slut in adolescence, can break you. Often it does for many years. I don’t think of this incident very often anymore, but it has had an impact on my life and it took twenty years to tell the truth about it. To say that yes – I in my 13-year-old mind and body let both SM and creepy guy rape me. I let those two big guys do whatever they needed to do to me –  to get the fuck off of me. I cried later and I am not crying now. I am just telling you what happened that day.

It would seem after that everybody knew something. Like I said before I don’t know what. I was that girl. Not the girl in Fame that I wanted to be but the girl who SM and creepy guy fucked at the same time.

They said I let them. I didn’t have a choice.

As I was looking at pictures of my city earlier tonight, as it was all those years ago; I came across a link that opened up to immediately show the historical storefront of a local merchant he greedily grabbed between my legs as his wife sat around the corner and he had just eaten a lunch that I served him for a dollar tip. When the picture popped up immediately I knew that I was a survivor of sexual abuse and rape.

These were not incidents of my own doing, they were crimes that happened to me at the hands of adults in my city and my school. The stories are unfortunately many more and the desire to remember them all isn’t there. I don’t have any intention of giving any of the monsters that have come across my path or body – any more power. They don’t deserve names. They know who they are.

I am the woman and person I am today because of everything that I have experienced in my lifetime.  Much of it is not very pretty. Most I can find humor in. Comedy is such an outlet for me and I have found that I can get through anything in a state of humor and detachment. It is the La La land that I so effervesantly bubbled into for so many years; until I couldn’t pretend anymore.

I have accomplished many things over the years. I have gone to college, I have two healthy well taken care of children, a dog and a husband that supports me and his children. Financially and emotionally. It hasn’t been very long since I took the risk and committed to my life as it is now. What I have needed to do for so many years is write it down. I wrote poems in high school, and erotica in my twenties. Now I am writing down what needs to be read by whomever will read it.

If along the way somebody feels with me or identifies with me – in any way,  than I will know that  I have done the right thing in putting it into words.  When left speechless for so long.    It feels good to share with somebody willing to listen…

Copyright © 2011-2012. Eggs.Smoke.Sex. All rights reserved.

Words and images on this blog are copyrighted and not to be reproduced in any way without my express permission in writing. Please contact me with any queries at cognitive-ly@live.com

8 thoughts on “I was twelve. I was raped.

  1. Somehow I escaped this horror….but I look around me and so many of my friends, men and women, have not. Twenty percent of women will have been molested before they reach the age of 18. You are so brave…..warrior-woman for calling out the unspeakable, undeniable elephant in the room.You are so brave! I love your reads. Thank you!

  2. May they die a slow rotting death. Limb by limb falling off until the only remaining thought in their sick fuck minds is how utterly vile they are. I will gladly go rip out their eyes and give them a proper skullfuck to remind them forever more that they are repulsive creatures not needed nor wanted on this planet. I have only respect for you and wish you all the best.

  3. I, too, was molested. It took me 20 years to tell someone. Thanks for speaking out about it. It’s important that people start taking these situations more seriously. I still have PTSD to this day, and it happened when I was 4 years old.

  4. “I am the woman and person I am today because of everything that I have experienced in my lifetime.”

    Beautiful. Courageous. Brave. Well done. Thank you.

  5. fuck shame.

    you’re so badass & brave for writing this, for sharing this, for letting us witness.

    i was also raped at 12. i know how that feels. all of it. but i’ve never written about it publicly.

    as one of my favorite quirky artists says “find your voice & share it”….go, girlfriend. we’re all right here with you.

  6. Very moving. And jarring. I think more of us have stories like this than we’ll ever know bc it is so tremendously hard to admit being taken advantage of. Kudos chickie. Major kudos ❤


  7. You’ve done the right thing. I have tears pricking in my eyes for that brave girl and for the brave grownup woman who has the guts to write it out so others won’t feel so alone.
    There is rape in my family background but quieter, less dramatic maybe. I don’t talk about it much but, when I do, I find that it’s there for a lot of other people too. We just don’t have the guts to come out and say it. Janexxx

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