From the inbox #639

“Trigger Warnings: references to corrective rape and abusive relationships.

Forgive me, this is sure to be a long post. It’s something I’ve never shared before, so I’m not sure how to say it concisely. It may sound a little childish, at first, that it still bothers me when it happened so long ago.

When I was 12, I met a boy who was sixteen. He was different for me in every way, but we became best friends anyway. I was naive, of course, for not thinking this odd, but I was innocent at 12. I’d never had a crush, never even spared much thought for boys or girls alike. When he said he had a crush on me, it was something entirely new to me. I was 13 then, and he 17.

I said no.

I didn’t think of him that way, and I didn’t want the relationship to ruin our friendship. He didn’t relent; he wanted to ‘win me over’. After two months, it became clear to me that our friendship was over. If I wanted to keep him in my life at all, I had to cave.

So I did.

Everything changed. He became very sexual, as boys that age do, but I wasn’t much interested. He continued, trying to engage me in cybersex, sexting, so on and so forth. When I tried to say I wasn’t interested, he ran over my words. He said he would make me interested in it. That he could change my mind. It escalated for months. I found myself actually loving him, but now I can’t really understand why; there was no love in the relationship, so I don’t know why I felt it like I did.

It progressed to the point where he told me he would come find me and “fuck [me] raw”. It was long distance, you see, so it wasn’t something he could just do. Even when I said I wouldn’t want sex, he’d insist that he’d come do it anyway, and show me how to like it. After all, I was “just a broken sex toy” that he could “fix right up”.

I wish I could say I left him then. But I didn’t. It really messed me up, that idea that I was just a broken sex toy. It didn’t help that all of our mutual friends thought it was cute; that we were the perfect pair, after a year of being best friends; that he was just helping me learn to grow up. We finally broke up after he was grounded for texting me, and we went a month without speaking.

It was years before I learned what asexual was. Years before I understood that it wasn’t normal, that relationship, and that no thirteen year old girl should have to be afraid that the person she loved would just show up one day and violate her against her will. It was years before I understood that he was threatening to come rape me, and that it wasn’t something I was just supposed to tolerate. I still have to fight the words in the back of my head, his voice, telling me that I was just broken. That there weren’t others like me. That I was just…. Invalid. I am twenty now, and have still not recovered the trust and love and confidence that I lost seven years ago. I’m still not even willing to tie my name with this story, because I don’t want my family to see — hence the anonymity. It’s something I have only told people this past year.

He still calls me, sometimes. When he’s drunk or when he just “wants to get back in touch”. And every time, it forces me to reaffirm my sexuality. Every time I answer, I get a little more confident telling him to never call again — even if he won’t listen, it gives me power to say it..

I can’t imagine I’m alone with this, not after seeing so many other people in a community that 13-year-old-me wouldn’t have dreamed of. And so, this is for you, if you are still struggling with threats of corrective rape, of abusive relationships, of being told you’re broken. Because that’s the whole point of LGBTQ, right? A shelter, a community for those who were told they were wrong for how they loved.”

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