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Whenever anyone innocently asks, “When was your first kiss?” I make up a story or deflect and change the subject. I will forever remember my first kiss as being non-consensual, humiliating, and traumatizing. It was an experience that shaped how I would view men and relationships for a long time. I didn't realize what had happened until I graduated high school. I thought it was normal and that it didn't count because I wasn’t raped, no one who watched protested it, he was a friend, and I was wearing a Halloween costume with heels. I was only 14 and it was my first Halloween party at a friend's house. Unknown to me, she invited my recent ex-boyfriend who I had broken up with after he cheated on me because I would not be intimate with him in any way. The night was over and I went into her room to change into comfortable clothes. While changing, he banged on the door commanding it be opened so he can see me while I changed. I locked myself in the closet as my girlfriends held the door closed. He backed off after being unsuccessful and I proceeded to lay on her bed and relax since I was sleeping over. Some people who hadn't left came in, some were older and smoking or drinking. We all just sat around talking and relaxing. My ex came in and decided to sit on the bed next to me. I gave a concerned look at my friend as I moved to the opposite side of the bed and backed myself into the corner against the wall, getting as far away as I could. He moved closer and closer despite me telling him to stay away. He then started touching me and asking for me to kiss him. I denied him verbally and physically pushed him away. He became very aggressive and threw himself on top of me before I could get up and walk out. He pinned me down and started kissing me while ripping my jacket off and touching me all over. I quickly fought him off and got up to leave, but to my surprise some people in the room were just staring and others continued on in their conversations as if nothing happened. I glanced at my friend who was smiling while some even giggled at the incident. I then doubted myself and questioned whether or not this was okay after all. I ended up staying and just moving far away from him. Once again he aggressively pinned me down and did the same thing, successfully tearing my jacket buttons open and grabbing my breasts. I fought harder and ran out angry without my bag or shoes, frantically calling my mom to come pick me up. Of course I did not tell her the truth and just made up a reason for cancelling the sleep over. My friend ran outside after me begging me not to leave. He came after her, I don't remember what he said, only that I instinctively slapped him across the face and then stormed off into the street as I waited for my mom. After getting picked up, that night was never spoken of again with my friend or anyone else. It wasn't rape or a violent assault as I know many girls and women experience. It did however shape my view on what sexuality and intimacy looks like, which led to many relational complications later on in life. It also caused me to mistrust other women as I did not feel they would believe me, stand up for me, or have my back.
When I was 14 years old, a boy I trusted and cared for took advantage of me. We had drinks, then he brought me to his room, before getting touchy with me. He raped me. But because of the fact I was wearing shorts for pyjamas and had drinks with him, people blame me. Because I was able to walk to my best friend's house the next morning, what he did to me wasn't "bad". Because he was "creepy" and "weird", I should've known better. Everyone finds themselves able to blame me before they can even find themselves condemning him. That night, I feel like I lost a part of myself. I isolated myself and some friends dropped me because I was too depressed after what happened. But him? Even after I reported him to school, he's still top of the class, he's still dating girls, he's even assaulted some from what I've heard. He's friends with my ex-friends who know what he did to me. To this day I'm too scared to even speak about what happened because people might not believe me. People have so many misconceptions about rape, about what it's like, that the fact I didn't become pregnant, or that I didn't scream or fight back makes people think I wanted it. No. I said no, I told him no several times and he still forcefully penetrated me. The fact that I dissociated doesn't devalue what he did to me. It sickens me that the only people I can "breathe" around, who believe me and condemn him, are rape victims themselves. If all the stigma about rape and victim-blaming and rape culture was erased from our society, maybe others like me wouldn't go through what I did all those years ago. So god bless this project, society needs this more than it'll ever know.
I remember everything perfectly. It was the beginning of my 6th grade school year. I was getting used to everything, and had moved far away from all my friends - we lost touch easily. At first, it was my classmates in Math. It was a whole group. I remember some names: Dominique, Serenity, Trey, and that's it. I got called skank, whore, slut, but then... he called me fat. I don't know why this one hit me so hard. It may have been from being so self-conscious of my weight. But from that moment on, I began my horrible path down the bulimic road. It's painful, and nobody should have to go through it. My second experience was in 7th grade, I was obsessed with the cello. And when I was practicing in the music room, Dominique walked in. He said he needed to talk to me. I probably looked like a demon, waiting to tear his throat out. At first, I was comfortable, a bit uneasy, but fine really. He said he was sorry for all the shit he did to me, and wanted to be friends. I accepted, because I needed that. I WANTED that. But later on, he attempted to sexually assault me. My parents were very quiet about sex and condoms, and what I should do - or how I would know. I knew a few things, but I hadn't been properly educated. He once pushed me into a stall and put his hands up my shirt and down my pants. From this point on, I was ashamed of myself. I BLAMED myself. I started cutting with my mom's sewing scissors or something - but they were very sharp. I told myself I deserved this and became very depressed. What truly helped me was Carson. (It's a girl.) She became my friend when no one else would be. She supported me, and comforted me. I love her so much :) And I got over my depression and bulimia. Please don't let anyone get you down, you're perfect and amazing in every way.
It started my first year of middle school. I dressed differently than others and I had different interests. People branded me as "emo" and "goth". After that started, people would make fun of me, ask to see my cuts (I wasn't even cutting), told me I was a psycho. It was annoying and aggravating. I was sent to the counselor to 'talk about my problems' because people would say I was suicidal. If it wasn't the counselor it was the principal. I got called to the office once because someone said they saw me with a blade (I didn't have one) and my principal didn't believe me. He let me go though, saying if I got caught with one it'd be considered a weapon. Things lasted all year, then I got a boyfriend. Things dialed down a little bit after that. He later told me he only got with me to see if he could change that way I was, he failed to do so and broke up with me. That summer my parents found a page I had made on suicide and self harm. That was a long talk, then they saw it on my wrist. I said it was the dog and they believed me. Told me that they could send me to a hospital to get help. I didn't wanna go, I answered no to all of their questions. The next year, I started losing everyone. My best friend had a new group of best friends, I felt secluded from my volleyball team (I play a lot of sports at school), my parents started living separately again, I felt alone. I've never been good at telling people my feelings. So, I didn't like to tell my parents what was going on. That same year I would still get called the labels, but they just kept seeming to add up. They'd call me a slut, whore, bitch, asshole, basically every name you can think of. People would carve mean things in the bathroom stalls like "[my name] is a emo fag that should die," "[my name] is a asshole," "[my name] should just kill herself." I would hate it so much. I didn't know what to do, so I reported it cause it was so much, they told my parents. It seemed to never end. After that people would pass rumors about me and guys at school would try to touch me. I gave up on reporting any of it cause it didn't stop anyone. It was here, in middle school when I started self harm and planned an attempt. I felt so lost with no idea what to do. School staff didn't do much, I was always in the counselor office cause people kept saying I was crazy and suicidal. They never found out about my scars or cuts, I hid them or lied. My new friend talked me out of all my bad thoughts. This year I'm in eighth grade. Nothing has changed. I still have the labels and names, and school just barely started a month ago. They never got my name off the bathroom door. I still do what I do even though I shouldn't. I keep everything hidden, I'm my own secret. People need to know, their words can hurt someone. Maybe they don't realize it, but they do. Not everyone survives, not everyone finds a cure. Do not let people label you, you are not defined by what people think you are. Note to the author: Since you submitted this account anonymously, I don't have your contact information. Please reach out to a parent or teacher for help immediately. You are NOT alone, and this is NOT your fault. You can overcome it, just like the women who have shared their stories here before you. Please visit Door of Hope 4 Teens and check out the resources available to you. I am always here to talk, as well. Love, Emily
Yes I trusted the wrong person and I felt guilt when people found out, but I learned to not care.10/28/2019
It all started in middle school. 6 years ago I'll never forget. I was an antisocial nerd that just enjoyed video games and wrestling. I wasn't even sexually active. I only had one boyfriend but that relationship wasn't even serious. I was 13. I was in 7th grade. My story is probably one of the worst, I wouldn't wish this on anyone. So let's start off, shall we? I was bullied in the beginning of my 7th grade year for something completely unrelated to sex. I was bullied in my class because I was different. My uniform was nicely pressed and not trendy like the girls around me. They teased me because of how wide my pant legs were. They said I looked cheap. I was so depressed, everyday I had to brace myself for some more foolishness. Then another girl joined their little group. She went right along with them and she didn't even know me! Why am I saying this you ask? Because those same people "slut" shamed me and got the whole class to do the same. There was a kid in my class named Bobby (not his real name). He was mischievous. He always got in trouble at school. He thought that he was cool. One day I was in class and I bent over to pick up a book. He was gyrating behind me and I had no knowledge of it. The whole class called me a slut because they thought that I wanted him to do it but I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THAT HE WAS DOING IT! So the girl that I talked about earlier in the story, Alexia, was the first to shout out "Hoe" and the rest of the class followed through. It was a ritual for them to tease me daily. I didn't seem bothered but I was. Then my reputation was so tarnished that in April of 2010, a boy forced me to perform oral sex on him. His name was Johnathan. I didn't want to do it so he grabbed my hair and forced me. I struggled. He was then unsuccessful and threatened to tell everyone that I did it just because I didn't want to. On that day my life changed forever. Everybody including my big brother called me a slut. I tried to kill myself twice. Why you may ask? Because I told the guidance counselor and the teachers and they took no action! That was sexual harassment and it happened on school grounds. I was still a virgin. I wasn't promiscuous. I had no one to turn to. I looked in the mirror and said to myself that I can make it through it all. I went to school everyday. Slut was basically stamped on my forehead. So I wrote 4 books. These books were over exaggerated stories of how slutty I was. I made up fake sexual experiences since people wanted to believe it. I said that I fucked this guy and he didn't even exist (joke's on whoever believed it). I was entertaining the rumors basically because they wouldn't believe me if I denied it. In 8th grade those rumors stopped. Almost everyone that bullied me no longer went to that school. It was like a new life. I dated my long time friend (we lasted 3 1/2 years). Life got better. Until high school... In my senior year I broke up with my boyfriend that I dated since 8th grade. It was my choice actually. So since I was single I wanted to mess around so I slept with a long time friend that went to my school. He lied to me and told me that I could've trusted him and he wouldn't expose my business to everyone so I had sex with him. He told all of my ex's friends including my ex. My got into a new relationship and his girlfriend was spreading these rumors too, but she kind of added more to it. She said that I slept with all of his friends but it was only that one guy. I got into a fight with her over the rumors and ever since then, they ceased but I learned to never be ashamed of being sexual. Yes I trusted the wrong person and I felt guilt when people found out, including my ex, but I learned to not care. I am me. I am not really promiscuous but I love sex. We as women shouldn't feel shame for wanting sex. I was even shamed before having sex! When I actually had sex I was in my mid teens (16, 17, 18) and it wasn't with a lot of people and even if it was, I still wouldn't feel shame. I don't feel guilty that I slept with him because it felt great. I just wish that I could've trusted him. Please don't kill yourself. Please don't feel ashamed! Sex is a part of nature and both sexes are welcome to engage in that activity! Unfortunately for me and where I live I couldn't freely fuck guys without being shamed. It's my vagina, I don't need permission from society to use it. I don't need permission from society about how many people I can use it with. As for my ex, I am not sure if he actually "slut" shamed me but he was disrespectful for even telling his new girlfriend about a lie and allowing her to shame me. He changed as a person. He was such a gentleman when we were dating. Now he's just a horrible person. Never allow your ex or anyone to shame you! - Lynn Joseph
The first time I was raped, it was when I lost my virginity. I was coerced into doing it with a guy who I thought was my best friend. He was no friend. He was manipulative and cruel. I was told that your first time always hurts, you always bleed. It did hurt, and I did bleed - for two days in fact. I know now that that is a lie. Your first time doesn't have to hurt. If it does, you are probably not ready and willing. You are scared. And I was scared. I didn't want to do it. Looking back, I so wish I had said no. The second time I was assaulted, a guy at a party pushed me to the ground and forced oral sex on me. My crime? I was wearing a bikini and "let" him forcibly touch me in a hot tub. The third time, I was in college. I needed stitches after this encounter. And that is all I will say. The fourth time, I was drugged and remember none of it. I feel blessed that this time, this time I was at least spared the shame of remembering. Each time it happened, I shut off. I checked out. I day dreamed while it happened and cried in the shower after it was over. I have always repressed these memories. I did anything I could to convince myself this was all my fault. And I punished myself for it. I starved myself. I cut myself. I burned myself. I suffered crippling anxiety, to the point where I would rip out my hair and nails. It was only when I started reading this blog, and taking classes on feminist theory, that I realized it was not me. I was not the problem. We live in a culture where men see us as objects, where they feel entitled to our bodies. I was not assaulted multiple times because I was a slut or a freak or anything else. I have been assaulted multiple times because our culture said that was okay. And it's time for that to end.
I'm from the wonderful state of Wisconsin. I grew up in a town of around 2,000 people, and everybody knew everybody. Secrets were not kept very well here. I grew up around parents that were very accepting, and that was all I knew. Until I hit middle school. I went through puberty at a very early age, and I looked different. I had large breasts and I didn't understand why people would stare. To me they were just normal and nothing to look at. Upon entering 7th grade I began to get harassed and guys would ask me for sexual favors. When I would say no, they would spread rumors about how I was a whore and how I had STDs. This was really hard for me to cope with, so I began to cut myself to try to handle the pain. I would carve words such as 'slut', 'ugly' and 'useless' into my skin to try and survive the bullying. When it was the summer of 8th grade, I had found a boy who seemed interested in me. Much to my dismay, he was only interested in my body. The first day we hung out, he touched me in very inappropriate ways and talked me into having unprotected sex. I was too scared to say no so all I did was let him do what he wanted. The next day he told me I was a useless bitch and how I would never be loved. He then proceeded to tell all his friends what he did and I lost all my friends. His friends would contact me on social media and call me terrible names and tell me to kill myself. I went through a terrible patch of suicidal thought and began wondering what I did to be hated so much. Luckily, my parents found out and helped me pull myself together. Please, if you're ever feeling suicidal remember that somebody always loves you. There's always help and hope. - Liz Noeske
I was never called a slut or anything like that until I was in 6th grade. It all started when the boy I liked asked me out. At recess we would hang out with his friends and my friends. His friends wanted us to break up. They would say mean things to me like "You're such a slut", or "hey bitch", or "go f!ck yourself". Once one of his friends kicked me. My boyfriend would tell them to stop and try and punch them or something, and they would stop temporarily, but would just end up doing it again. My boyfriend stopped hanging out with one of his friends, I appreciated that, as that "friend" was the one who did most of the mean name calling. One day in class I was in a group with a guy I didn't like very much, but was fun to talk to. So when he said "move, girl", I said "move, boy", and he said "move, hot girl" and then started to look at my butt. I told him to stop but he didn't. He then tried to touch my butt, I slapped him on the hand but then he tried again. I again slapped him. When I wasn't looking or paying attention he succeeded in touching my butt. He eventually stopped. I didn't tell my teacher because it was embarrassing. I could barely tell my friends or my boyfriend. They all said it wasn't my fault, but for as some reason I felt bad. I plan on someday telling my parents but not before I enter 7th grade which will be this year. I don't know why I'm scared, I just am. I'm sorry if I wasted your time I just needed to get it out. Slut shaming and bullying is horrible. Don't do it, just be yourself.
I've always been one to stand up for myself. I'm so thankful for a strong, proud, loving mother, who taught me to value myself, that my words and thoughts are valid, and that my body is my own. In elementary school, I first encountered sexual bullying. It wasn't being directed at me, but one of my best friends, who had developed large breasts at an early age (around 5th grade.) Boys and girls called her a "slut," and talked about her body freely. It got to the point that she was afraid to even go swimming with me without wearing a big, opaque t-shirt. I experienced bullying in different forms at the time, so while I identified with the pain bullying caused, I couldn't identify with the type of bullying she was experiencing. It wasn't until I was in 8th grade that I started to, sadly, understand what she'd gone through. Boys began thinking it was funny to "snap" a girl's bra clasps and straps. One boy, who I considered a friend, walked by me in the very crowded hallway one day, and pulled back on my bra, hard. I instantly became enraged, and slugged him in the arm. I felt so violated, not just because of the physical and sexual nature of the act, but because it violated the trust I had in him as a friend. I started to develop a reputation as someone not to be messed with, due to my confidence and ability to stand up for myself and other people. Most people thought I was much tougher than I actually was in school, and it's a little sad to think that the negative side of that kind of reputation may have caused some people not to want to get to know me, because they thought I was a "bitch." In high school, I experienced unwanted touch, like an ambush kiss in the hallway, and the occasional sexually explicit comment. For the most part, the incidents were mild. I think it's probably because I wasn't a very sexual person at a young age, and wasn't necessarily "girly"; I was more focused on school work and art than relationships, and didn't even begin wearing makeup or styling my hair until my junior year in high school. It was that year that I had the most disturbing experience with a classmate, a boy, in one of my classes. He was a goth kid, shy, smart, and nice to me. I wasn't attracted to him, but I enjoyed talking to him, so when he asked me to a dance, I said I'd go with him as a friend. We agreed to meet there, and we just hung out for most of the dance, since he didn't actually have any interest in dancing. After the dance was over, he tried to kiss me, but I moved away. He asked if I wanted to go out on a date with him, and I, politely as I could, said that I wasn't interested. The next week at school, a friend came running up to me saying that he was telling a group of people in the courtyard that I was a bitch for rejecting him, and that he was going to slit my throat. No one, to my knowledge, had ever threatened my life before, and this boy was so angry that I wouldn't kiss him or date him that he was telling everyone who would listen that he was going to kill me, and how. I remember putting on a brave face, and telling my friend that I wasn't afraid, but I was. I believed that this boy would hurt me if he got the chance. I even wished that I had allowed him to kiss me, so that he wouldn't be so angry. I honestly don't remember which adults I decided to tell about his threats, if any, but, thankfully, he never attempted to harm me. It was the first time I'd ever really rejected someone's advances, and I found out instantly how dangerous that can potentially be. It was a turning point for me, knowing how far some people are willing to go when they don't get what, or who, they want. Later in school, I would go on one date with another boy who I liked, but after going out, didn't want to pursue a relationship. I turned him down when he asked me out again, and he told people that I had "led him on," and called me some names. I would think that it was hurtful, but that it could be so much worse. - Chelsea Keesler
I am 55 years old now. This has been in my background forever and I have never shared this with anyone but my son's therapist. I was the baby of my family and the only girl. I grew up with my brothers and their friends talking about "those girls", the "sluts" who were easy and had sex. I was first molested by a friend of my oldest brother when I was 5. He fondled me and performed oral sex on me. I was too ashamed to say anything to anyone as only those "sluts" had sex. It happened again when I was 12 and this time it was by a friend of my middle brother. Again I thought I was to blame as only "sluts" had sex. I became very promiscuous and found out that I actually enjoyed sex. I always felt bad I didn't tell anyone because I worried about others that were molested by these guys. I have two children and when they would speak of young ladies and start to refer to them as sluts, I told them just because someone enjoyed sex and determined when and where they would have it did not make that individual a slut or loose or a whore. Both of them, a girl and a boy, knew it was a woman's right to call the shots in her sexual life.
Everyone believes them and that's it. Period. There's no asking me. My answer doesn't matter.10/23/2019
During my whole high school career I had tried to avoid being "that" girl. The girl who puts out easily,who everyone hates because of how many guys she talks to and for some reason people think she has slept with everyone. Going into my junior year of high school, I started to go out and become more social. The first week of the school year I had gone out and got a little bit drunk for the first time. One of the guys there came up and started talking to me and asked if I wanted to go to his car. At the time I didn't know that that meant he wanted to do other things so I agreed. While sitting in his car I started to get sleepy and close my eyes. All of a sudden I felt him get on top of me and start kissing me and touching me. I remember that I didn't really know what was going on because I wasn't completely sober. Fortunately, he did not force me into sexual intercourse. The Monday back after that weekend, a particular guy in my grade who was there at the party and who I think at the time liked me, told everyone what had happened between me and the other guy. I have never felt so ashamed of myself while walking to my other class while this guy and a group of other guys looked and even pointed at me. It was the worst feeling ever. After that time I had gone out with other guys and it was a one time kind of thing, but they had always encouraged the idea of us having sex. I was still a virgin and they knew that. Of course I would say no, and they wouldn't force me into anything, but after a couple of days, there would be talk that I did have sex with them. To me, it was incredibly unfair. I had tried so hard not to give them what they wanted but in the end it was their word over mine. I also felt slut shamed because I didn't do what they wanted me to do, and for that they said that I did do these things. After a while I finally found a guy that I respected and I felt he respected me. We weren't going out for a long time when I decided, at the age of 18, to have sex with him. It was something I chose to do. I knew we weren't in love but we respected each other and that was more important to me. Before having sex, I knew that he heard the rumours of me sleeping with other guys, but I had told him that I was a virgin because that was the truth. When having sex, I didn't really act like the stereotypical "virgin". I wasn't scared of the act and I felt ready for it. After that we stopped talking to each other and I had found out that he had said that he didn't believe I was a virgin, especially after us having sex. It was another moment where I couldn't believe what was going on. Because these other guys just say that I had sex with them, everyone believes them and that's it. Period. There's no asking me. My answer doesn't matter. I want this to stop because it is very unfair that I get blamed and I even feel bad for things that I didn't do! It is an unjust world where in this specific topic, the girls are to blame. - Daniella
When I was 13 I moved from Massachusetts to New Hampshire and for some reason it was made very clear from day one that I was unwelcome by everyone, especially the girls. Suddenly boys started noticing me and they would ask me out, which had never happened before because I was always known as the "bookworm" and for some reason the term "freak" started circulating the school. I was fighting off girls everyday for no reason and one got pissed when I won the fight and said, "It doesn't matter, everyone knows you are a stupid slut anyway." I never understood why she said that because at that point I had never even been kissed by a boy and she didn't know me anyway. That is when the boys started asking me out and I didn't put two and two together until later. It started getting to the point where I was having to fight off being groped in the hallway and three girls at once (because I had no trouble with two, thanks to my father teaching me how to fight, but that is also when I got myself into martial arts). It got so bad with the slut remarks that I went to my counselor and told her I was very depressed and couldn't take much more. Unbeknownst to me right across the way was another school, but it looked like a house, and it was a boys' school but it did have one other girl in it, and I guess it was supposed to be for the kids who had trouble in school for one reason or another. The other girl and I became best friends on day 1 and still are to this day. Unfortunately we had a few friends die for different reasons and one of them was a suicide. The person who had killed himself actually lived with me for a little while and my parents to help him out, because him and his parents were not getting along. They were like my dad and considered the school a failure and both referred to it as a school for "sweat hogs". A few days after he killed himself and after the funeral a bunch of us got together at his parents house and had a party in his honor. Let's just say his dad didn't care we were underage and we did drink and smoke at the time. There was a boy there I didn't know very well but I always had a crush on, but he was with one of the girls who had bullied me beyond belief when I was at my regular high school. He motioned for me to sit on his lap and before I did I asked him, "What about Ellen?" and he had told me they had broken up and I told him thank goodness and did sit on his lap. That night we all told stories about our friend and try to remember the good times and the whole time he was stroking my hair and a few times when tears came to my eyes he wiped them away so gently and I guess I just got swept up in it all. I hadn't even thought about a ride home and because I had been drinking and smoking I did not want to call my parents and he offered me a ride home. To be honest I wasn't really ready to go home, especially when he offered for us to sit and talk at this very romantic spot that everyone went to when they wanted to chat or do other things. We talked for a little while and he was holding my hand and stroking my face and I guess I got caught up in the attention because things were not great at my home, and anyway we made love in the car. I thought it was special and I waited for him to call me but I knew there would be another party celebrating our friend the next day at his girlfriend's house and I knew he would be there. We were all having fun, there was loud music and we were drinking... again... and I remember looking for him all night waiting for him to show up. All of a sudden the room went quiet because someone had turned off the music. I turned my head like everyone else did to see why and it was Ellen! I just remember my heart sinking because she was the one who had started the "slut" rumor and she had tried to fight me and when she lost she would bring another girl with her and then another girl until I couldn't fight so many. She would trap me in the ladies room and call me a whore when I was at the other high school, amongst other things, and to be honest I only had a few friends at this party and the rest of them I did not know and there must have been at least 50 people there. Suddenly my eyes caught the boy I was with the other night standing on the stairs, but he was looking down at the ground. Then she started talking to me so everyone's heads whipped around and were staring at me. I will never forget what she said to this day. I should probably mention that I made the mistake of telling my best friend's friend what had happened with him and I just had a feeling it was a bad idea. It turns out she was Ellen's best friend. Ellen began with, "I heard you are telling everyone that you fucked my boyfriend." Believe me that is not how I worded it to the girl and my best friend, who had been there, since it was her house, since if you have been paying attention there was a reason why it was very special to me. She continued on with the words, "Why on earth would he waste his time with an ugly, disgusting, repulsive, scumbag tramp and slut like you when he has someone like me?" I remember turning to look over at him my eyes pleading for something to come out of his mouth in my defense, and he was still looking at the floor. My best friend was somewhere else in the house or I know she would have said something, so I was pretty much on my own with all these people staring at me and I felt like I had been used, and with everything she had called me I felt like nothing and a fool. Then my eyes caught the girl who I had told and she had a smirk on her face. I couldn't take it because I was so humiliated in front of so many people. I ran up the stairs into the main level of the house and found the master bathroom. I looked through the cabinet for any kind of pills I could take because I knew this girl's mother was on things and I found a bottle of something that said "Take one each night for sleep." From my estimate the bottle was almost full. I took the bottle and put it in my pocket and went into the kitchen and drank as many beers as I could fit into my stomach as fast as I could. I went looking for my best friend but I could not find her. I then began looking through the kitchen drawers for a sharp knife and I saw the kitchen block and grabbed a big knife from there. I went back into the master bathroom and with the beer that was in my hand I took the bottle of pills and began running the cold water in the sink and a slit both my wrists. I then went through the other door that went straight into the girl who owned the house's parents' bedroom and I crawled under their bed. Darkness came pretty quickly and I do remember thinking, thank goodness this will all be over. When I came to in the hospital the doctor told me he had no idea how I had survived. I guess my friend went looking for me and found one of my feet sticking out from under the bed. When she told someone they all panicked and I guess instead of calling 911 they threw me into the back of someone's truck and dumped me on my parents' lawn and took off. They would not let my friend call 911 so she went into the back of the truck and when they dumped me on the lawn she jumped out and began punching and kicking my parents' door and pointed to me on the lawn. I guess the only thing that really saved me was that I didn't manage to cut into my wrists deep enough, so they bled very slowly, but the doctors still said they did not understand how I lived between the pills and the alcohol and my wrists, because they drove right past the hospital to dump me on my parents' lawn. The doctor told me I must have had a guardian angel and at the time I remember laughing and thinking that if I had I would have died. I was in the hospital for a long time between healing and the psychiatric part of it but to this day it still hurts. No one said anything when I went back to my new school but the people who were there, there was only a few of them at the party and those were the ones that were my friends. I just remember to this day the names she called me and all the things she did to me and more than anything that when I looked over to plead with him to help me, he couldn't even look at me or anyone else in the eye. I am sharing this because I regret not being stronger to this day and I don't want this to ever happen to anyone else. I also hope if anything like this does happen to someone else that they don't make the same mistake I did and they do what I should have done and stand up for themselves right when it all starts like I tried to do when I was at the regular high school. When it became too much I feel a little bit like I ran away from the problem when I switched schools but that did help me because there was only 38 of us in the school and none of them treated me like that. I let them call me names and I let it circulate that I was a slut when I wasn't and now, I would have found a way to be a smart ass and own it even if it wasn't true, just to make them shocked and have to figure out something else to call me or leave me alone. I can't say for sure that would have worked or if anything would have worked, and I can't say I don't feel like I ran away when I changed schools but I can say I gave her too much power by doing what I did that night and I bet to this day she doesn't even remember any of it or even me, but I can say I remember her name and I will never forget it. I let the word "slut" make me do one of the most stupid things in my life and I let that simple little word wreck me for a long time. All it is is a word and even if it had been true I should have never let it have the power that it did and neither should anyone else. Thank you for listening to anyone who has read this to the end. - Calissta
When I came back from being in the hospital to high school, I was not welcomed with opened arms.10/21/2019
It all started when I was 5 years old. I was in kindergarten. Kids would tease me because I was so different, calling me retard, stupid, I would just lash out and hit one of one the bullies because I did not know how to control my anger. So I was put in a private school. The school could not handle bad behavior so I was kicked out. I was a loner and did not have many friends! My dad abused me as a child with a belt at age 5 on up until I was 11, and with no dinner. As I was growing up I was out of the one private school and put back in regular school when I was in 4th grade to 5th grade and I was 11 and 12 yrs old. My next door neighbor molested me at the age of 11 for about 6 months and was never convicted of it. I never told anyone about it until years later. While that was going on I would mutilate myself with a razor blade. When I was 13 years old I was molested by my stepfather from 13 to 16. He never was convicted. While that was going on I tried to kill myself with a knife. I was kicked out of 6th grade because I beat up the bully and I tried to kill myself! When I was 14 years old I was date raped by two guys. One guy I knew of, the other guy I never knew at all. The one guy hit my head in the back seat and knocked me out and that is all I could remember. They both were not convicted! I was 18 years old when my ex boy friend abused me. He was a lot older than me by 13 years. He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me across the floor, and took his head and split my lip, and took out his 37 and put it to my head and said, "You're mine." To this day I have a restraining order on him for life. In the same year I was going back to regular school (when I was 17, that is when I went back). I was doing okay, did not make friends well, I was a loner! I went to my junior prom in 1991. So in 1991 to 1992 as I was in my senior year, I just lost it. I was put in a mental facility for teenagers because I was still going to school. I just one day snapped, as I was out of control of what happened to me in the past and what was current at the time. When I came back from being in the hospital to high school, I was not welcomed with opened arms. I was bullied so badly I came home just in tears. It was so bad, sexually and other things, they called me Hotdog Girl: "I heard when she stuck it up there it broke off and she had to be rushed to the hospital to have it surgically removed," over and over again during my high school senior year in 1992. I had to be home schooled from November to May until I was at my senior prom. After that I went back to high school but that did not last long. Mind you, I was petite. I was skinny with big breasts. I was 109 lbs. On June 18th, 1992 as my name was called as I was getting my high school diploma, some guy called out and said, "Hey Hotdog Girl!" and everyone just clapped and cheered. I was so embarrassed, humiliated, and upset about it that I just decided that I will never go to a high school reunion. And I am now 41 years old! Only 3 people said they were sorry but the rest, no! On July 28th, 2010 I was getting bullied by a 30 year old female. Calling me all kinds of names, she struck me on the side of my neck with a closed fist and damaged my neck (called a brachial plexus injury). I will wear a splint on my left side of my wrist for the rest of my life. All because I was sticking up for myself and I was avoiding a fight to walk away! And justice was never served. - Jen
Let me start by divulging my age. I am 60 soon to be 61. I saw your story on The Doctors and it struck a chord. I suffered from the damages of the "slut" label while growing up in a southern California resort town, with little supervision, really no supervision. I was pinned down on the beach and groped by boys multiple times; I was 12. My crime was developing too fast, and my other crime was befriending a severely psychologically damaged, obviously sexually abused 12 yr old girl who was gang raped by older boys or as it was called pull the train. I was actually on a boat with her and my 12 yr old boyfriend when it happened. I panicked and one of the older boys took the two of us back to shore but left my friend behind. I have know idea how many times this scenario played out but it was many. What a sad creature with the dead look in her eyes. It was rumored she committed suicide. This event as well as the sexual abuse inflicted upon me by my father from age 6 to 9 shaped my self image and my behavior. I've never really recovered and have had many disastrous relationships but now at this age I am finally free, I don't need sex, I don't want sex, I'm free to never tolerate abusive behaviors that I used to tolerate because I was searching for love in all the wrong places. Now after raising five children and just starting grad school in marriage and family counseling, I'm not only taking control of my own life but reaching out in the hopes of making a difference in women's lives who have been there and are struggling to get back into life again. Being labeled a slut in middle school when girls are at their most vulnerable is a devastating thing to happen, even more so in today's digital world. I hope my story puts a different perspective on the topic. This is not a new phenomenon. - Allison Greer
I was slut shamed when I was 13-15 years old. I am now 35. I overcame it. When I was 13, I wanted to be liked because I didn't get the attention from my parents that I needed. A boy acted like he liked me and talked me into meeting him. When I meet him he had his best friend there and talked me into sleeping with both of them. After that the entire group slut shamed me. I was never the same. I became very depressed and lost many friends. Eventually I became very promiscuous, trying to prove to myself that I wasn't a slut but that I could be sexual and it wasn't a bad thing. I love what you are doing! I have 3 daughters and I don't want what happened to me to happen to them. - Regina
It started freshman year of high school. I was fourteen at the time and like most fourteen year olds I was a little bit naive. So when a boy in my class started talking to me and wanted to hang out and maybe fool around a little bit, I thought it seemed like a great idea. In my mind fooling around meant kissing and maybe him going under my shirt. To him it meant something completely different. He also persuaded me to send him nude pictures. We ended up hanging out and it escalated quickly. He told me I should give him oral sex (he didn't call it that), and when I said "no, I've never done that before and I'm not ready to do that" he thought what he wanted was more important than what I wanted. He guided me to the ground (as I was saying no), put me on my knees and pushed my head on to his penis and held it there. I couldn't breathe. I started to cry, he told me I was horrible at it. Then he pushed me against the wall as he fingered me while I cried and said no. It was incredibly painful. A few days later people at my small high school found out we had "hooked up". Overnight I had become the school slut. People were coming up to me in the hallways, freshman through seniors alike, saying how much of a slut I was, or that they heard I had done this, that, and the other thing, and if I could do it for them too. Horrible rumors were spread about me. It wasn't just at school either---it continued online even after the school day was over. Before I knew it kids from other local schools were saying things as well. Guys would start talking to me and I thought they liked me...after a few friendly texts back and forth, they stopped trying and flat out said "so are you gonna send me a picture of your tits now or what?" This happened over and over again. It deflated my self esteem----and fourteen year old girls typically don't have the highest self esteem to begin with. I doubted my own self worth. I blamed myself constantly for what happened. How could I not when every single day I received comment after comment about how much of a slut I was and how no one will ever want me. The only reason guys talked to me was to get pictures. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore and didn't have the energy to fight back or to try to prove any of them wrong. They believed what they wanted to believe anyway, so I didn't see how I could change that. Why would they want to believe what actually happened when the story they heard was way more interesting and scandalous. I started sending guys pictures whenever they asked.
I didn't really hook up with another guy until two years later. I was extremely uncomfortable and didn't have enough self confidence to say no to things that I didn't want to happen. The first guy didn't listen so why would this guy? I wasn't into what we were doing. I wasn't even mentally in the room. My mind was somewhere else. It was an out of body experience. I was watching him hold my head forward as he put his penis in my mouth, and as he fingered me while he had his hand tightly around my throat. The the next time I hung out with a guy, at 16, I thought we were friends. I didn't think he was ONLY after me for sexual things. But once again I was proved wrong. We had texted about some things we wanted to do to each other, but we had also texted a lot about non sexual things. So when we hung out he expected we were going to do what we talked about, and when I said I realized I wasn't comfortable with it and I really did not want to do it, he told me "sluts can't change their minds." He pushed me on the bed, took his pants off and took my clothes off. I kept saying no and trying to change the subject. He put a condom on, told me I would like it. I protested a few more times, started crying and then just laid there like a dead fish staring blankly at the ceiling while he went inside me. I didn't move my body at all. This frustrated him and he put his hand under me and started to move my body into his. He finished and threw my clothes at me. I left as quickly as I could. A year or so later I met a guy and we started dating. It was a real relationship. A month or two in I told him a little about my past and he still wanted to be with me. Eventually I told him everything, and that was the first time I STARTED to see that it wasn't my fault what happened to me. I still was not ready to face it all though. Things were great with him. We fell in love and were in a relationship for three years, mutually ending things when we realized we were on two completely different paths. But there was a major problem in our relationship, although we both tried our best to pretend it wasn't there and that we could overcome it: anything related to sex. Sometimes I was completely okay with things and 100 percent into it. Other times I wasn't but I never said no. I didn't know how to say no. I didn't think I deserved to say no. So it became a constant fight because he could tell when I wasn't into it. He told me I needed to say no if I didn't want to do something. So I started to...and I felt empowered for the first time. So I started saying no more than I was saying yes. At the time I didn't really understand why I was doing that...but upon further self reflection and maturity...I now know that I was so deeply uncomfortable and squeamish about anything related to sex, that it was easier for me to avoid it altogether. I didn't want to pretend that I was enjoying something and I was tired of feeling uncomfortable. It was extremely frustrating for me to be turned on and to want to enjoy being intimate with my boyfriend, but somehow I always ended up going back to being fourteen and being the school slut. Certain things were better than others, and I preferred to do things to him rather than risk having him do something to me and losing any sense of control. It wasn't until shortly before our break up this past year that I started to understand and was emotionally ready to reflect on what happened to me. I realized that I was sexually assaulted, that it was not my fault, and that even though I didn't physically fight them off of me and after a while I stopped saying "no", I never said or SHOWED any signs of saying yes. Crying, turning away, passively lying there, not kissing them back, not looking at them, not helping in any way.....those all say no. They had no right to do the things they did to me. The things they did and the backlash I received all four years of high school and occasionally still today--- it all deeply affected me and my life. I still feel shame talking about or doing anything related to sex. I'm still afraid thats the only reason a guy is talking to me. I'm scared to show that I'm interested in something sexual because I don't want people to think I'm a "slut". My reputation was destroyed because of things I did not even want to happen. I have recently started working through this with a counselor and it has helped immensely. But I'm still constantly afraid I'm going to be uncomfortable in sexual situations for the rest of my life. I am just starting to talk to guys again after my break up, I spent the past 5 months focusing completely on myself and finally confronting the trauma I experienced. And as far as I have come in the past 5 months, I know I still have a great deal of work to do to get to the point where this is truly a part of my past and not a part of my everyday thoughts. To those boys who took my innocence and made my first sexual encounters deeply traumatizing and to the hundreds of people who made comments about how much of a dirty slut I was; I want you to know I forgive you. Even though you probably have no idea what you did wrong (gotta love rape culture), I forgive you. And I want you to know that you didn't BREAK me. You cracked a few pieces of me, but you never broke me. And you never will. I am a million times stronger because of the horrible things you did to me. I am a kind, compassionate, genuine, smart, considerate beautiful person. You can't ever take those things away from me. You never did, and you sure as hell never will. I was a happy 12 year old. I was overweight and I loved myself. I had everything - adoring parents, a great hobby, and a sustainable allowance for everything I could have asked for. He was not a bad person. I knew it. His mother had cancer and passed away, and he didn't have a penny on him to eat. We were friends, we liked teasing one another, we hung out... until one day, he asked me to meet him at the lift lobby. He said something about giving me a gift and wanting to show me something, and I thought nothing of it. What would a twelve year old child do with me anyway? I could take care of myself, or so I thought. I thought nothing of it. I left my classroom curious about what his gift could be. I wish I had suspected something was amiss. The boy who barely had fifty cents for a plate of noodles wanted to buy me a gift. I did meet him, and he said a string of horrible things that all fade into the words "whore" and "prostitute" and then he touched me. My confidence was shattered. I went home and showered until my skin was raw, and I felt dirty. It was as if I got a layer of grime on my skin and a sticker on my forehead that screamed "dirty" or "prostitute". I believed every single one of his words. I told my mother a few days later and I remember her laughing about it with my dad. I did not understand what was going on, and I thought that it was all just a phase I was going through. The next day at school people called me a slut. My friends left. My team turned on me. People said I had sex with him for cash. The teachers who knew warned me against saying anything, intimidating me into silence and hoping that things would blow over, but the scars are still open and have been for a while. I am suicidal. I then got depression, anorexia and insomnia. I left the school for a new one and the lies followed. My relationships with my parents are in the gutter. I've been depressed and anorexic for three years and things are not looking up. I've been touched so many times in my new school I've lost count. This has been going on for three years and I am on my last legs, and it is not going to stop soon. Please share my story so people understand the horrible consequences of slut shaming. - Katrina North Note to the Katrina: You are NOT alone, and this is NOT your fault. You can overcome it, just like the women who have shared their stories here before you. Please call 1-800-273-8255. I am always here to talk, as well. Love, Emily.
My name is Amy. I am a survivor of many forms of sexual assault, but the one I'm going to talk about today involves slut-shaming, and still to this day rattles me whenever I overhear a certain movie. My co-workers at the time, who I'll refer to as J and A, decided to invite me to hang out with them and their good friend, G. We were going to watch movies and relax after a long, busy day at work. I agreed since I'd been stressed out that day. We got to G's house and decided to watch The Crow and The Crow 2 since it was all we could agree on. We started the movie and J realized she needed to go home to feed her animals. A decided to go with her. We were about halfway through the first movie when G decided to move closer to me so we could talk. "So you're a lesbian?" he asked. I nodded and said "My partner C and I have been together for about three years and are pretty happy." He moved closer and asked if I'd ever been with men. I didn't realize it at the time but now know it was a red flag and I should have tried to get away from him. Then he pushed me down into the couch and pinned my wrists over my head. I tried to push him up off of me. He smirked and said "I'm going to make you never want women again, I'm going to turn you straight." Then he pushed up my skirt and pulled my underwear down, and I disassociated, and didn't really remember what happened next until recently. (I knew I'd been raped, just didn't remember details.) I ran outside sobbing, and waited for my friends to return. They showed up within ten minutes, but it felt like I waited forever. A asked if I was alright. I told her I wasn't and whispered "He raped me." She told told me she'd take me to the hospital right away. J looked as if she wanted to laugh. "Oh, like it was rape, you've told us you haven't gotten any from C in ages, I bet you really enjoyed it." I wanted to punch her but I didn't have the strength, instead A and I got in her car, and I decided not to go to the hospital. I got home and immediately hopped in the shower, scrubbing my body so hard that my skin felt almost raw. I knew that now I couldn't report it, but I didn't care. I'd felt so dirty and had to wash any traces of him away. Sometimes I wish I'd reported him, and I know I still can but I most likely never will. Since it was late, I decided I would wait until the next morning to call C since we both had to work the next day. Since I'd decided to take the day off and I knew she went in around noon, I called her. The conversation went like this: "Hey babe I need to talk to you about something important." "Okay, go ahead." "Uhm, I don't really know how to say this, but... uhm I was raped last night." She began to laugh, "Right you were raped, I'm sure of it. Even though you and I haven't had sex in ages, you have a high sex drive, I bet you begged for it." I hung up and immediately felt ashamed and like a slut. It felt like that night all over again. We broke up shortly after that conversation. For a long time after that, I constantly questioned my sexuality. I was a lesbian who liked it when someone used a strap-on, so did that mean I had wanted it that night? Since I'd been denied sex, didn't that mean I had wanted it? I felt like a slut, even though I logically knew I wasn't one. I'd been slut-shamed. I want those reading this to know that your sexual orientation doesn't matter when it comes to sexual assault. Neither does having a partner or being single. Just because someone doesn't believe you, I do, no matter what your story is. These days, I've reclaimed who I am, and no longer question my sexuality. I'm proud to be a lesbian, and proud to be a survivor. It's been a long, hard road but thanks to people like my survivor sister Nicole, good friends, and an amazing former therapist, I feel good about who I am. I'm hoping that by writing this, I can help others and finally put this completely behind me. - Amy M
Once when I was 17, I used to be really into drugs. I would take any offer to do them no matter how sketch the situation seemed. One thing I never did do, nor will ever do, is sexual favors for drugs, but back to my story. I got a call at 3:00 am from one of my guy friends who told me he was at the end of my street and to come down to smoke a bowl of weed. I woke up and went down the street when I got there he handed me a bong and some weed and then I took a couple rips then he took the bong away. He asked if I wanted to have sex. I said no and that I was just here to smoke. He said that the weed wasn't for free and I had to return the favor, and I didn't have a choice. Then proceeded to grab me and push my body over and rip off my dress, literally rip my dress off. I tried to get up and scream for help and he pushed me back down over a brick wall so I hit my head on the bricks. I got scared that I was going to start to bleed out of my head, and because I have a bleeding disorder I could bleed out very quickly if I got too bad of a gash. So I just laid bent over and took it. He anally raped me for what felt like forever. When I felt like his grasp had loosened, I jumped up. It startled him, causing him to push back. I ran as fast as I could back home, leaving my ripped dress behind but pulling the shirt I had over it all the way down. I was in shock for the next too weeks. He had torn my rectum and I bled for three days after the incident. I convinced myself that it was my fault and I had asked for it. It got to the point that I was even trying to convince myself I wanted it. Then one day I learned about a thing called feminism, and that it's not okay to do that to humans. We need to be treated equal and it doesn't matter what I wore or did, if I said, "no," then I meant no. There's no pressuring me into saying yes. There's no threatening or bribing me to say yes. Three no's and one yes doesn't make consent. I've realized that we should teach others not to rape instead of teaching people to not victimize themselves so they get raped. It has been four years since the event. I am in a drug program. I attend NA meetings, I go to college and am studying to be a school psychologist, and I have a job at TERI Inc. which is a center for developmentally disabled adults and children. I go to therapy once a week and work out my sexual assault a little every time. I do suffer from PTSD, but I live a better life now. I don't let my rape hold me back today. Stay strong everyone! - Katie
When I was 8 I was sexually molested by my best friend for over a year and at that time my family wasn't really there for me, or I just didn't want to burden them with something that seemed so confusing and disturbing, so instead I turned to self harm. It wasn't like I woke up one morning and said to myself "let's cut". It was actually an accident: I was washing the dishes when I dropped a glass and when I was cleaning it up, I cut my hand on the sharp part of the broken glass piece, and that numbing feeling that I had had for so long disappeared, but then came back after a while, so I thought that if I cut I don't have to cry, I don't have to tell anyone and everything would be fine. But even though I had gotten over the molesting and even though I had forgiven in my heart my ex-best friend, I still cut. Probably because I reprogrammed my brain so that when I wanted to cry I would feel ashamed for being weak and I would hate myself, so instead I cut. Every time something emotional happened in my life I would turn to cutting. But when I turned 17 I had finally gotten to a point where I couldn't keep it a secret from my mother anymore because she was my everything, my best friend, so I told and I asked her for help. I went to group therapy, which helped a lot, and now I am two years free of cutting so I am really happy to have finally gotten over the past. I hope everyone finds their mother figure and finds the hope and help that they need. But I can tell you this: with belief and love YOU will get through, it just takes time. - Katrina Kiss
I'm depressed. And that's all I ever was before year 7, I was just a tad bit depressed, self conscious, with low self esteem. But then I got my first boyfriend. And I got another. Then the next year, I got a boyfriend every single month - no exceptions. Then some boys decided to ask if we could go further and sext or actually have sex. I was constantly groped by them, they squeezed my ass or boobs against my consent whenever they had the chance. Now, I'm in year 8. I realised I'm bisexual, have a fear of being alone and I was in love with my girl best friend. And due to my fear of being alone, I'm going through boys at an even quicker rate, flirting constantly, because I'm scared it's the only love I'll ever get. My parents know a brief outline of the sexual harassment that's happened (one of my exes decided to spread around school that he only dated me coz I'm "easy" and that I have "big tits") but they, too, think I'm a slut. Constantly telling me over and over again I'm not good enough and that I shouldn't teach my "tricks" to my younger friends. Then everyone in my entire year knows my bra size, which is 34DD. And just from those simple things, everyone believes all the sexual content surrounding me. Now, I've lost 90% of my friends, and trust only 3 people in my entire school. Now I'm depressed, suicidal, a self harmer, and a slut. Note to the author: Since you submitted this account anonymously, I don't have your contact information. Please reach out to a parent or teacher for help immediately. You are NOT alone, and this is NOT your fault. You can overcome it, just like the women who have shared their stories here before you. Judging from your language, I am guessing you're in the UK. Please visit www.samaritans.org and check out the resources available to you. I am always here to talk, as well. Love, Emily
I grew up in a very small town in Arkansas. In high school I was always well liked. I was a cheerleader and a very advanced student. I always did my schoolwork, maintained a near perfect grade point average, participated in cheer, choir, and several other clubs, served on the prom committee, etc. I never got into trouble and I followed my parents' rules. I had a serious boyfriend from age 14 to age 16 and he was my first love. We did a lot of "making out" in those two years, and while some of my friends were already having sex, the Christian based morals and values I'd been raised with kept me from giving into the pressure. After my boyfriend and I broke up I was devastated. I spiraled into a pretty severe depression. I developed an eating disorder and became extremely underweight (72 lbs was my lowest weight at age 16). That's when my next boyfriend entered the picture. He was tall, smart, funny....and he did and said all the right things. Told me I was special and beautiful and bought me flowers and expensive jewelry. One night he picked me up to go watch movies with him at his house. My parents asked if his parents were home and he said they were. When we got to his house, I discovered his parents weren't home and would be gone overnight. I expressed my discomfort with the issue but he convinced me to stay and watch a movie with him. As it tends to do with teenagers, watching a movie led to a heavy make out session. He kept asking me to take my underwear off and was trying to convince me to have sex but I kept telling him no I don't think I'm ready for that. At one point he excused himself to the bathroom (I later discovered this was to put a condom on). When he came back he jumped on top of me, ripped my underwear off, and forced himself inside of me. All the while I kept saying, "Please stop. I'm not sure I'm ready for this!" And his response as he entered me was "Well you're sure now." My self esteem was so low at this point in life that I convinced myself nothing wrong had happened and I stayed with him for several months after this. He became very controlling and abusive...pulling my hair out, burning me with cigarettes, calling me a slut or whore if I dressed nice at school or anytime I wore my cheerleading uniform. I never told anyone about the rape or abuse...I suffered in silence. Somehow, I finally found the courage to leave him but his abuse and the rape left its mark. I went wild partying and dating several boys that summer. The relationships I had with men after that were all centered around sex and by the time I came back from summer break for my senior year of high school, everyone in school was talking about me and what a SLUT I was. In reality, most of them had had many more sexual experiences than I had, but the fact that I had gone wild and partied and started dressing and acting different made them think differently of me. The rape and abuse were bad enough, but now I was being sexually bullied by my classmates. I will never forget what happened to me as a teenager. I worked through it and attended therapy as an adult to keep it from affecting my sexual relationship with my husband once I got married. I feel that it has shaped me into who I am and made me a stronger woman, but if I could spare any girl from going through what I went through, I would. You don't have to suffer in silence. You don't have to be ashamed. My hope is that, someday, women and men will be treated equally when it comes to sex. That we will no longer be shamed for the same things men are glorified for. Sadly, we still have a long way to go. - Erin
I was a cheerleader in 9th grade and that allowed me to mingle with guys that otherwise never would have talked to me. One of the track super stars J.M. asked me out to a party with him. I had never been on a date before so I said yes and we went. He kept giving me drink after drink and eventually took me upstairs. He took off my shirt and started groping my chest. All of sudden his friends burst into the room and I got dressed. I went downstairs and he followed. I was standing outside and then went over to him and said, "What are you going to say about me?" His friends made comments, asking if I blew him, and I said no. I said, "I want to go home now." I started to give him the cold shoulder and his sister even confronted me in front of a bunch of people, saying I was a slut that broke his heart. I still think of him every so often, and wonder if he thinks about what he did that night (or other nights with other girls), and if he has any remorse at all.
I was raped and brutally assaulted the summer going into my senior year of high school. For weeks after the incident I kept it a secret for fear of judgement, but eventually the fear of pregnancy or disease was too great that I told my mother and was taken to the hospital for a rape kit. I chose not to press charges because I didn't want it to get in the way of my senior year and college application process, but more so because in the back of my mind, I thought it was my fault. Society had taught me that no matter how many bruises and cuts I had to prove the assault, that because I was intoxicated it was just as much my fault. For anyone considering pressing charges, please do, it is my biggest regret. Rape is the only crime where the victim can be blamed, don't let this continue. Rape is rape and we need justice. - Megan K.
During the first week of my Freshman year of high school, I got my first boyfriend. We went to the free movie night that the city park held every weekend during the summer, and neither one of us could tell you what the movie even was because we were making out in the grass, a tangle of arms and legs and lips all mashed together. It was terribly romantic. In retrospect, I feel bad for the horde of friends that were sitting near us having to listen to our sloppy make-out session for two hours. After the movie, he and I went off to find somewhere more private because I wanted him to touch my boobs without people looking at us. He told me that his parents were out of town, so we went to his house. When we got there, we were making out some more, and I let him touch my boobs, and then he asked if we could have sex, and I said that I guessed it was okay, as long as we used condoms because I was way too young to be getting pregnant. He didn't have any, and couldn't find where his parents stashed theirs, so I told him no way. That's when things started to go downhill. He held me down and rubbed his crotch on mine and begged me to let him have sex with me. I kept saying no, and asking him to let me up but he wouldn't. After awhile, it became apparent to me that he had no intention of letting me go until we had sex, so I finally gave in. I knew that what he was doing was rape because he didn't stop when I said to stop, and that I hadn't really consented because he forced me, but unfortunately, many high-schoolers are not so enlightened, including him.
After it happened, I asked him to please not tell anyone what we did, and he agreed. The next day at school, I walked into the classroom where we shared a class with a lot of our mutual friends, and he was already there talking to a huge crowd of male friends. They were pressing him to find out how far he'd gone with me, and he said, "She made me promise not to tell." They said, "THAT MEANS YOU DID IT! You had SEX!!!" and then he said, "Yeah, we had sex!" Right then, my fate was sealed, and I'd be known as a slut for the rest of the time I went to that school. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die because now he'd told everyone who saw us sucking face all night that we'd had sex, and there was no chance anyone would believe me if I told them I hadn't wanted it. It was then that I resolved that, since "no" couldn't stop a guy from taking advantage, then I just wouldn't say "no" anymore. You can't rape the willing, right? That philosophy of mine tainted every sexual partner I had from then until I was 18, but I am getting ahead of myself. Our relationship was a rocky one, constantly on and off. When we were "on," he treated me like an afterthought. I was pretty much a warm hole for him to put his dick in. When we were "off," he'd tell all of our friends that I was crazy, slutty, overemotional, and a bitch. Only one or two ever saw through all that bullshit, although they still didn't believe me when I told them that he had raped me. They didn't think that I'd want to get back together with him over and over again if that were true. In reality, his forcibly taking my virginity made me feel like he owned me, or at least a part of me, and I wasn't complete without that part that he had, so I had to be with him so I could be whole. Towards the end of Freshman year, I started dating a senior. Red flag 1: He wanted us to be a "secret." Red flag 2: He didn't like me hanging out with my friends because "they're so immature and I don't like them and you're better than them." Red flag 3: If I got a text message while I was out with him, he would take my cell phone and read it and if it was from someone he didn't like, he'd keep my cell phone until he dropped me back off at my house. A bajillion red flags to top it off: Even though he told me I was "too good" to hang out with MY friends, when we hung out with his friends, I was "the little slut" and the "dick-sucking whore." I laughed along with them when he and they would refer to me as such, and when his friends would ask to touch or see my boobs, HE was the one who gave permission. I wasn't even asked. I went along with it, though, because I thought if I don't say "no" then it's okay, but if I DO say "no" then they'll just ignore me and it will be bad. (Terrible mindset.) After 3 months, he broke it off with me because I was "too clingy." (Of course I was too clingy. He isolated me from all my friends and made it so he was the only person I felt safe around. Ironic, since he was the person who was making me unsafe to begin with.) My sophomore year was marked by another on-off relationship, but that relationship was actually pretty good. While we were together, he always respected my wishes, and while we were apart, he refrained from trash-talking me or trying to turn my friends against me. The REAL problem in my sophomore year was with the on-again-off-again-boyfriend of my friend, let's call her "Trish," who, during what I THOUGHT was one of their "off" phases, (and during one of my off phases with my Sophomore on-off boyfriend) Trish's boyfriend expressed interest in me. It turned out that they were officially "on," but Trish wasn't putting out because every time she did, they broke up, so she was holding out so that he would respect her more. (LOL riiight.) So, he asked me if I wanted to go for a ride in his car, and I agreed. While he was driving, he asked if I would give him road head, and I didn't see the harm in that (MORON! Talk about distracting the driver!!) so I did. When we got out to.... the middle of freaking nowhere... He asked if I'd ever done anal, which I hadn't. He asked if I wanted to, and I said no. Then he asked if I would. That's when my can't-rape-the-willing-so-always-be-willing mindset kicked in, and I said yes. It hurt REALLY BAD because 1) I'd never done it before. 2) His dick was HUGE. 3) Neither one of us knew enough about anal sex to have any LUBE!!! I started crying almost right away, and he asked if I was okay, and I said "It just hurts," and he asked if I wanted him to stop, and I didn't say anything, so he kept going. The next day at school, Trish slapped me across the face and called me a slut, whore, bitch, etc. Every name in the book. She told me that she new I had cheated with her boyfriend and that I'd let him have anal sex with me and that made me a dirty skank. I tried explaining that I'd thought they were broken up. He TOLD me they were broken up! She told me that they weren't broken up, but even if they were, I knew that Trish loved him, so how could I even think of doing anything with him??? Of course, she forgave him, but she never, ever forgave me. I lost a couple of other friends over that, too, because they agreed with her: You DON'T EVER sleep with a friend's ex. Trish's boyfriend still talked to me. But from then on, that's all we did. We actually got to be quite close friends. Whenever Trish was mad at him, we'd talk about what a bitch she was. My junior year of high school, I moved back to my hometown to live with my Dad. My reputation didn't travel that far. I kept a low profile there, and didn't have too many boyfriends. My senior year, I got together with a very kind boy in my own grade. I am ashamed to admit it, but I was pretty cruel to him. I like to blame it on the fact that I was so abused in many of my relationships prior, and that was just how I knew to be IN a relationship, but it's also partly because I just didn't respect him. He was taking 11th grade English in one of his elective slots because he'd failed it the previous year. I was a straight-A student without even trying. I never saw him as my equal, but in kindness, heart, and compassion, he outstripped me BY FAR. Anyway, I spent Spring Break back where all the trouble happened. I texted Trish's boyfriend to see what he was up to, and he told me that he and Trish had broken up again and he thought it was for good that time and all he wanted was to have sex with someone else and forget all about her. He wanted me to have sex with him. I told him that I couldn't because I was in a relationship and wouldn't cheat. He kept on asking and asking over and over, just like my Freshman boyfriend, but this time, it was over text messages. He couldn't hurt me, or so I thought. I believed I had the power. Finally he gave up and asked if I would just come hang out with him. It was around 2 A.M., so I had to sneak out to meet him. I got into his car, he drove out to the middle of nowhere, and he raped me. There wasn't even the illusion of consent that time. Of course, he told me that if I told anyone, he'd tell them I was lying, and nobody would believe me because we'd done it before, I was KNOWN for being a slut, and I snuck out of my house to meet him in the middle of the night of my own free will. I got back to my hometown, and my boyfriend, I couldn't even let him touch me. I felt so awful. I felt used, abused, and I hated what had been done to me, but I also felt GUILTY for letting it happen. What did I expect, sneaking out in the middle of the night to meet someone who I KNEW wanted to have sex with me? I got into his car on my own. I should have known what would happen. My boyfriend found the text messages, which included things from Trish's Boyfriend like, "You liked it last time," and "Come on, we're great together, and nobody has to know." And things from me like, "You know I'm sexually attracted to you, but you also know I have a BOYFRIEND," and "If I were single, it would be different. I would fuck you in a heartbeat." So he drew the only conclusion that made sense to him: I'd cheated. He confronted me. At first, I was just angry that he went through my phone. It was a violation of privacy, and he should have trusted me enough to not do that. When he countered by saying that I wouldn't have a problem with it if I didn't have something to hide, and who was this guy anyway, and was he better than (senior boyfriend) and was that why I hadn't wanted him touching me, because this other guy was so much better than (senior boyfriend)?? That's when I broke down crying and told him the whole story. Before that, he hadn't even known about my freshman year. I never claimed to be a virgin, but I hadn't told him that I wasn't, either. He was SO kind, and SO understanding. He told me OF COURSE a "yes" under coercion didn't count as consent. OF COURSE I had the right to trust a long-time friend, and OF COURSE it was not my fault that my trust, and my body, had been violated. We ended up breaking up after senior year when I went off and joined the military, and he flunked BOTH his English classes, and a history class, and had to repeat senior year. He did help me tremendously, though, in taking back my ability to say "no." Hearing confirmation of what I'd always thought to be true, but still doubted because nobody, not even my own mother, believed me, and FROM a sexual partner, made me realize that I was allowed to say no. And that anyone who ignored the "no" and forced a "yes" was a rapist. I did not deserve to be raped. I did not deserve to be called a slut because I was raped. Nobody deserves to be called a slut. |
