“I tried desperately hard to be the kind of girl he would like…”

cryinggirl

Testimony by Anonymous

His name was Ricky. He was 16, about a year older than me, as his birthday is a month before mine. This also put him 2 school years above me. He went to a school near my Nan’s house. Looking back it’s probably a lie, but he claimed to be leader of some sort of metalhead gang in his school. I think he was just a bully – he once punched his neighbour in the face, a boy my age who went to his school.

I thought he was amazing, with his black clothes, metal CDs and motorbike poster. I thought it was fantastic that he wanted to be my boyfriend, and, like any teen but also due to my failed-girl-feelings, I tried desperately hard to be the kind of girl he would like. I think now he had many girlfriends, and I was more the ‘other girl’ than any of them, but I was the one who met his mum. She was lovely, and fed me a lot. I was as skinny as a stick. Maybe she was just home at the wrong time, maybe she just thought he had lots of short relationships, maybe I was the most presentable girlfriend he had.

He spent most of the relationship trying to pressure me into sex; vaguely suggesting penetrative sex, harassing me for oral sex. He would try to get me alone as often as he could, and regularly got me high, to relax me. He would imply that if I loved him, I would do sexual things. I would tell him that I wasn’t ready. He had already broken up with me, by text, while I was at a school-arranged holiday camp. Being a naive kid, thinking him so amazing, I had gotten back together with him.

This time, I was at his house. His mum was out, and we were in his bedroom. We had shared a small joint, so I was a little high, but not out of it at all. He asked me for a blowjob, and I tried to deflect the conversation. Then, he unzipped his jeans and got his dick out. It was the first dick I had ever seen. He told me to suck it. I was so shocked that I just stared at it, not moving.

He was holding it with one hand, his right hand, and he reached out with his other hand. He grabbed me by the hair, yanking my head towards his dick, and I just collapsed at the knee, my body giving way as if I had fainted, and began to cry. I would say burst into tears, but they were silent, snivelling tears. I was sort of kneeling, sort of lying, my head about level with his knees.

I’m not sure why, as the rest of the incident is burned so clearly in my memory, but I cannot picture his dick at all. I can’t remember whether it was hard or soft, whether my reaction changed that at all.

He stood above me, dick still out, still in his hand, and looked at me with disgust. What he said next stuck with me the clearest, and I can still hear it clear as if he were in the room: “You’re frigid. So ugly when you cry. Get out of my house.”

The word ‘frigid’ still hurts to hear, even completely out of context by anyone, like a slap to the face. The second sentence really got to me, and I still find it hard to believe that I don’t turn into a hideous, snivelling, red-faced monster when I cry. I don’t remember what he did after that, but I got up, went downstairs, got my bag and coat, and went to the park. I didn’t go to my Nan’s house so I wouldn’t have to tell her, or my parents.

For many years, I blamed myself. At no point in our relationship did I ever say no. I said “I’m not ready yet.” I said “Um…” I said “Not now” or “Not here.” I changed the subject. I still wonder if he would have done that if I had said no. I think he would have just broken up with me. I never did anything about it, and I never saw him again.

When I was 16, he did come back into my life. He dated a friend of a friend, and I later found out he pressured her into sex, got her pregnant, and pressured her into an abortion, before breaking up with her over the incident, calling her a baby-killing whore. I feel guilty for feeling that I got off lightly, and I feel guilty because I could have done something about what he did to me, and prevented it; I feel guilty because I could do something now, and prevent him maybe doing something to someone else.

“If anything, I am stronger.”

strong

Testimony by “M”

My name is “M.”. I am 19 years old, and this is my story.

I was 5 years old the first time my cousin molested his little sister and I…I remember he called it “the kissy game”. He would tell us over and over again that it was only a game, but part of the game was that we had to keep it a secret. There were times when he would lock us in a closet if we refused to “play”…this went on for two years until I was 7 years old. I never told my parents, my friends, anyone. It was my secret and I kept it well. When I was 13 I got into what would eventually become my first serious relationship. I remember finally telling my boyfriend everything that had happened. And it wasn’t until I saw his defensive/protective reaction, that the weight of what my cousin had done actually began to set in…for all that time I had felt dirty and damaged and insecure, but I had scolded myself saying “don’t be so stupid it was only a game, get over it.”

By the time I was 17 I came to a full realization/acknowledgement that I had been raped. There was no other way to put it. It was NOT a game. It was NOT okay. And I was NOT stupid for feeling that way. To this day it still hurts to think about the things that happened, but I am learning to cope. I am learning to remind myself that I didn’t do anything wrong. I am not damaged or less of a person because of what he did to me. If anything, I am stronger.