Seven to Twenty-Five

The sexualization of my body began when I was seven years old.

During second grade recess, three boys used to chase me around the playground until they were able to hold me down under the slide and kiss me as I struggled. I’m sure to 5 adults, it seemed like harmless fun, boys being boys. To me, it was unfair that not only was I overpowered by three dipshits, but no one else saw this behavior as an issue. Finally, I told my brother (who was nine by the way), and one day at recess, it just stopped. They were afraid of me. They began to run from me. A nine-year-old had done more for me in one day than five adults had done for the entirety of the wrestling and unwanted kissing. I was seven.

When I was 11, I’d visit my dad, stepmom, and siblings for a few weeks every summer. One of the things I looked forward to the most was riding the church bus for bible classes and the fantastic food that would always follow. It was my favorite thing to do with my sisters and a bunch of the other children at the apartment complex. There was a young boy there by the name of Charles, who was a year younger than me and boy did he have a crush. I never felt the same, and I’d always been friendly, but friendliness always seems to me something different to boys who want what they are being denied.

One day after bible class, the bus dropped us off at the apartment complex and all of the other children were getting off. The driver stepped out to talk to some of the parents, and I was sitting next to Charles, he wouldn’t move. He kept asking me to kiss him, and I told him no. This was the first time I understood that to some people, no means yes.

He wrapped on hand around my back and used the other to force my face right next to his. Up until then, I thought I was strong, and I’d never felt more powerless or afraid. He managed to kiss everywhere but my lips. I guess pushing and hitting him as hard as I could manage to keep him from obtaining his goal. I screamed for my sister (she’s two years younger), and she came to the van immediately. He let go and took off, running across the lot. Although it was only two minutes of my life, I’ll never forget it because once again, a child was able to do more for me in two minutes than the adult driving the bus.

I never went to bible class after that. I was ten.

The summer I graduated from college, I decided to move home and take some time before continuing my education and starting a career. I was 22, hopeful and relieved that I could finally take a breath and enjoy life without the weight of school. I had more fun in those first two months than I’d had my entire time in school, but it was a different type of fun, unlike college, I felt like I was an adult experiencing life for the first time. Towards the end of summer, I went to Richmond for the weekend with my best friend and a guy I had seen lived there. He wanted to take me out for the night and get dinner, maybe go dancing. We’d had such a great time in the past, and I thought nothing of it. I didn’t feel unsafe, and I didn’t believe I was in danger. I only felt excited.

I arrived at his house, and he wasn’t ready to leave yet. I was annoyed, understandably, but also not to pressed about time because we had daylight to kill before a dinner rush. He had wanted to show me the renovations he’d made to his house and drink a few glasses of wine before we went out. I could tell he was a little annoyed because it seemed that he was expecting me to show up with an overnight bag and stay the night. I laughed that off and agreed to the wine.

We drank wine, talked, and listened to 90’s music for a few hours before I realized the time. I let him know I was ready to eat and dance, but he still wasn’t ready. He poured more wine.

We were making out on the couch, and out of nowhere, he picks me up, takes me to his room, and pushes me on the bed. Everything happened so quickly, my head was ringing. I was spinning. The gentle calm guy I knew turned aggressive in the pursuit of pleasure. I was uncomfortable, and I felt sick.

“Stop, no,” I said

“No, you can take it.” His response

It wasn’t until after he finished that he realized I was crying. I could tell that he was scared and I let him know that I asked him to stop and he didn’t.

“Usually, when girls say stop, they never mean it.” This is what he said to me.

Once he realized the gravity of the situation, he stepped outside and called a friend. When he came back inside, he asked me to leave.

I did. I cried for the rest of the night with my best friend and spent several months drinking heavily afterward. I spiraled, and it lasted for about a year. I was 22. He was 34.

Finally, when I began to feel better, I found out that a guy I had only met once, while I was over at the house of someone I was seeing, took nude pictures and videos of me.

I woke up to a phone call from the guy I was seeing, letting me know that he had just finished speaking with detectives. They’d ask him to identify a young lady in a photo whose pictures were on this creep's phone. The image was me. The pictures and videos had been taken over two years ago, and he still had them stored in his phone. I was shocked, and I was pissed. However, I wasn’t scared until I was told by the detectives that I wasn’t the only one. I had just turned 25.

I was not the only one.

This man has been doing creep shit like this for years. He was caught because he got brave and started to install cameras in people's houses. He violated so many women. And it took him this long to get caught.

Why does it take so long for bad men and boys to get caught, but a span of a few minutes to ruin a life?

Why is it that I am not the only one? As if that’s supposed to make me feel safe. It doesn’t. I don’t feel safe.

Four different occurrences in my life where I wasn’t seen as a person, but an object of someone else’s pleasure. Sexualized before I ever hit puberty. Sexualized even after I owned my sexuality and thought that gave me power over who had access to it.

I am stronger than I was each time before. I know I did not deserve anything above that happened to me. But do you?

Do you still think boys will be boys?

Do you still think no means yes?

Do you still think it mattered that I drank or what I was wearing?

Do you think tanning topples is an invitation to video and picture someone without their consent?

Do you think I am alone?

Because I am not, half of the women I’ve spoken to in my life have had something similar happen, and it should not be this common. It’s so heartbreaking. It is so sad. And it’s a damn scary world that we live in. A world that normalized rape culture to the point that out of a group of five women, three talk about our assaults and our rapes as if we were talking about the stair steps at the gym.

Regardless of age, I was an individual that needed protection; they’re individuals that need repercussions for their actions.

Hold people accountable, don’t look the other way. Don’t rationalize why they did it.

My 25 birthday was two months ago, and I didn’t deserve what happened to me. None of that should have happened.

I promise you,

It Will. Never. Happen. Again.