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When I was 12 I was raped
The following story was submitted anonymously on Oct. 6, 2009.
The names have been changed to protect the author's privacy.

When I was 12 I was raped and never forgave the man who did it, whom back then was a young boy at only 16 years of age...

I think he knew what he did was wrong but I don't think he cared. I was 12 and it was the summer of my friend, Sammie's, birthday party that was coming up soon and school was about to begin later that august... I remember because it was the day almost all my brothers were home and they wanted to spend time together as a family while both my mother and my father worked that day.

They sat down to watch tv (I think it was Freddy Krueger in the 2nd movie he did) and I remember the taste of bile in my mouth, getting sick watching someone else's sick work on TV. What am I supposed to say? That the movie was enjoyable, it was sick but in a morbidly good way?

Anyway, I remember the rape. My brother, Mick*, who was the youngest of my eight brothers, decided to go out with his friends to play football that day near the middle school I attended. A few minutes after he left I heard a knock at the door. By that time, half my brothers were doing something else besides watching that horrid movie. So, curious, I got up to see who it was and why they had reason to be there. It was one of Mick's many friends at the time, Tom*. He wanted to know where Mick was because he wanted to hang out and the stupid 12 year old girl I was back then told him regretfully 'no, he went out...'

He invited me along with his cousin to go out and play in the woods not that far from where I lived. I agreed, not knowing the deed that was to be done to me or what he had in store, to forever defile me, body and soul. He wanted to play a game which included a plastic wire around my wrists, like capture of the indians or whatnot. I went along and he put them on tight around both my wrists, not to where they cut through my skin but enough to hurt. I started crying, asking him to take them off, because they hurt me. He didn't listen and said that I was going to start running away at the count of 3 before he was done and he wanted me to be near the edge of the woods near where the swamp began. I did as I was told. I didn't expect him to do what he did and the whole time he was ****ing me (which hurt and I can still remember the pain very vividly to this day), he said not to cry, not to be afraid or he would be very angry. Plus, he had a bowie knife he had gotten from his father earlier that year. His cousin laughed and laughed, wanting to join in but was told no repeatedly which made him angry but he obeyed. Blood is always thicker than water, remember the saying?

Well anyway, I finally managed to kick him in the crotch and make my escape but barely. He was far behind me, rocking with pain, and no longer wanted me, having defiled me as he did. I pulled my clothes up as best as I could, considering the condition I was in, and, crying, barged into my house, terrified. My brothers sensed something was wrong but never asked me and for close to 6 years I never told until about a year ago. Ever since then I have ceased to care about what happens to me, what shall become of me down the path I've chosen. I've done many things I regret, made many mistakes because of him. I didn't learn to love until now... not him, but myself.



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