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brooklyn-penny-blog · 7 years

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Me too part 2

I was coerced into a sexual relationship to a polyamorous couple when I was 14/15 years old. One of them was 23, the other was 20. The 23 year old, who happened to be male, has since apologized and was polite and understanding when I told him to kindly fuck off. I have not spoken to the other person, who happens to be female since she and he broke up when I was 17, and I entered a loving, consensual relationship with another ex-partner of hers.

I have been doing a lot of meditating on what happened to me when I was a kid and have felt varying degrees of emotions. I've blamed myself, I've blamed him, I've felt shame and anger. These events are not something I have ever dealt with or examined as to how they've affected me in my adult life-- not until I struggled with whether or not it was appropriate for me to show solidarity by posting a "me too" status on Facebook.

Today I found her by accident on Instagram. The more I looked through her pictures, at her face, saw her life now, the more angry I became. On one hand, I can't help but feel compassionate toward her, as she was in a committed relationship with a man who had been grooming me for a sexual relationship since I was 13-- I'm positive that he used similar tactics to manipulate, control, and otherwise emotionally abuse her as well. At the same time, I cannot bring myself to forgive her for being an enthusiastic participant in sexually abusing a freshman in high school, for allowing her predatory boyfriend to rob me of my virginity, to- in a way- use her womanhood to lure me into their fucking sex den. I'm almost... more upset not just that she LET it happen, but that she all but orchestrated it.

I'm not sure if she has ever examined herself and her own behaviors. I'm nearly positive that she was never able to see past her own pain to realize the pain that she was inflicting on others.

I may have been a dumb kid. I may have been too sexual for my age. I may have seemed to be a willing participant, but there were two adults and one child in this relationship and not one of them thought to step up and make the right call.

I refused to use their names in my last post. Not that it even matters. 1) no one reads these and 2) the select few who will more than likely either don't know who I am or don't know who they are. But I wonder if I will feel better by doing so. So:

Bert began to groom me when I was in eighth grade. He first touched me when I was 13. He knew how old I was. He maintained a relationship with me until he took my virginity when I was 15 years old. He used me to get close to other high school girls until I was 18 years old.

Emily's first interaction with me was shortly after I met Bert. I was in the eighth grade. She sent me a threatening instant message. Almost two years later she reached out to me again to apologize and invited me over to her apartment in order to "get to know me better". She lived with Bert. The two of them would get me drunk and play with me. The first time i kissed her, they took me to their bedroom and had sex with each other while I lay there, frozen, still a virgin. The night I lost my virginity, she had gotten jealous and upset with Bert and left me alone with him for hours. By the time she returned, it had been done. She never touched me again after that.

Years later I met her ex boyfriend, Kenneth (who was also too old for me, but he was kind, and refused to touch me until I was 18) and we began dating. Emily would never speak to me again.

I acknowledge that I made bad choices when I was a kid. But I'm also appalled that it happened at all.

If you are an adult and a very young girl is aggressively flirting with you- this is not consent. Say no. Even if it hurts her feelings, tell her she doesn't know any better. Tell her that she'll thank you when she's older. She might get mad, but WHO CARES SHE IS A CHILD WHY ARE YOU HANGING OUT WITH HER ANYWAY JESUS FUCKING CHRIST?

#me too #trigger warning

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brooklyn-penny-blog · 7 years

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Me too.

I was 13 when I met him. I was in the 8th grade, my best friend Jessica was a freshman in high school and was dating a sophomore who sang in a pop punk band called Harper's Drive. He wasn't a good singer, even by pop-punk standards, but the mere fact that he was in a band upped his cool factor to about a 9. Harpers Drive was performing in a benefit concert for the high school's marching band, and Jess had invited me along. The show took place in the high school's performing arts center and while it wasn't the first rock show I'd been to, I was in a position where any band performing live might as well have been Green Day.

I don't remember much of the concert, but I do remember that Jess and I were able to go backstage, a fantasy of just about any young girl. I met a lot of local musicians (who may as well have been rock stars to be honest), but one in particular stood out to me. He was just about my height, had spiked up, faded orange hair and I assumed he was about 16 years old. We were in a high school, after all.

Boys didn't pay too much attention to me. I was thicker and curvier than most of the girls in my grade. I had developed early, and while I wasn't overweight, my body appeared to be more of a full-grown woman than a middle school student. I struggled with body-image issues, was bullied over my weight and the fact that I chose a "goth" or "punk" aesthetic rather than the more American Eagle brand of many of my peers. I chose deliberately to be an outcast, and I liked it that way.

He paid attention to me. He commented on my outfit and accessories. I remember I was wearing dickies brand slacks, a thrift store tee, and a rubber wrist cuff with fake rubber spikes. He ran his fingers over them and referred to them as "safety spikes". I didn't necessarily know what it was like to be flirted with, but it seemed to me that he was coming on to me-- and as sad as it sounds, in that moment I felt alive and valid and mature. It was thrilling.

I found out shortly after that he was the drummer for the headlining act. This sent my heart into a tailspin- because this musician, this rock star, had paid attention to me. I could swear that he was making eyes at me from behind his drum kit. This was also the first time I had ever heard ska music. My life was changing that night-- and the entire evening felt... monumental.

Jess and I had been giggling the entire time and after some convincing and a rather impassioned pep-talk, I worked up the courage to rush the stage with a group of fellow squealing teenagers and at the end of their final song I leaned down and kissed the drummer boy on the cheek.

Before the evening ended we had exchanged AIM screen names and I went home, my heart all a-flutter because I had met a boy who was cool, funny, talented, cute, and totally into me.

The following day, I logged on and he wrote to me. We chatted for a moment before he mentioned he was at work. I was confused because normally, after-school jobs for high schoolers didn't lend themselves to being behind a computer screen. Not in 2003 anyway. And that's when I found out that he was not 16, or even in high school. He was 21, and he was at his regular job where he cared for teenagers with disabilities.

He admitted to me that he thought I was 16 (in hindsight, this doesn't make the tale any less squeamish) and when I told him that I was 13 and in the eighth grade he was disappointed because he thought I was "really sexy". To which I replied that I felt the same, and we decided that it was only appropriate that our friendship remain platonic.

There was not one single part of me at this point in my life that realized that any sort of relationship with a grown man in his twenties who had any sort of sexual desire for me, a thirteen year old girl, was safe or appropriate in any possible way. Before I go further, I feel it is imperative to note that 1) at 21, no one should be attempting to have physical, sexual, relationships with 16 year old children and 2) even if this was the case, the moment he discovered I was 13 years old, he should have blocked my username and pretended he never met me. Whatever heartache I may have felt I could easily overcome.

We agreed to remain platonic friends. The two of us often chatting when I got home from school and logged on. After a few weeks, he invited me to help him flyer for his band's next show the following weekend. I felt very cool, being asked by the drummer of my (now) favorite band, to help him promote his upcoming show. I invited Jess and her boyfriend along (the boyfriend had a car) and we all met at the local mall to hand out flyers to the other "cool" kids. After a few hours of passing out flyers, he invited the three of us back to his house which was nearby. The band had built a recording studio in the living room and he wanted to show us. I can't begin to tell you how much this excited me. I felt like I was getting a glimpse into a world where I didn't belong.

I was teased and bullied and felt like a troll at school, but that day I felt like a fun, fearless, beautiful young woman with an all-access backstage pass. The three of us went over to his house, he showed us around, gave us each a beer and invited me back to his room alone.

Jess and her boyfriend were anxious to be alone. The pair had a vibrant sexual chemistry, the kind that can only occur between two enthusiastically hormonal teenagers in young love. And I do not at all hold either of them at fault for the (however tame) indiscretions that followed.

I went to his room. He kissed me, like I had never been kissed before. He lay me down on the bed, lifted my shirt, fondled and kissed my breasts. He stopped himself, told me that it wasn't right and that if we wanted to fool around we had to wait until I was older. Ashamed and embarrassed, I put my bra back on and went back to my friends.

I didn't see him for a while after that, but we stayed in contact via instant messenger. At some point between this and the second offense, I received threatening IM's from his girlfriend at the time (who I didn't yet know existed. She comes back into this later). He assured me she was his ex and that because he and I were "platonic" friends, I had nothing to worry about.

I spent most of that summer visiting my dad in Oklahoma. At the suggestion of the drummer, I went to check out another ska band at a show in Norman. It was there that I met a trombone player named Thom. With an h. Really that's how he spelled it. I don't know how old Thom was, but he was tall, and classically handsome. We flirted and made plans to go on a date a few days later. My sister agreed to help cover for me. We told our dad that we were seeing a movie with her boyfriend so she could drop me off with Thom, and she would come back to get me a few hours later. I was now 14.

The night before the date I was chatting online with the drummer. I confided in him that I was nervous because I really liked Thom and I had never been on a date before. The drummer asked me if I was going to suck Thom's dick. I admitted that I had never done that before, the drummer offered to teach me how to do it. He then went into graphic detail about how to properly give a blow job, continuously referencing his own cock, mentioning casually how he wished he were there with me so he could teach me in person.

The following night I went out with Thom, we went and got slushes, pulled into a parking lot. I sucked his dick. He brought me back to my sister who took me home and I never heard from Thom again. Which was fine. This story isn't about him.

My first month of my freshman year of high school I caught wind that the band was having another benefit concert, and my drummer's band was once again headlining (it turned out the trombone player for that band had a daughter in my school's marching band). Jess and I once again got dolled up and joined the fun. But this time, rather than rushing the stage to give (what I thought was) a 16 year old boy a kiss on the cheek, I wound up backstage giving a (now) 22 year old man a blow job.

A few months after this incident, I was newly single from my first ever high school "boyfriend" (the term is in quotes because really we never made it official, but i loved him, spent the majority of my time with him, and gave him lots of head-- all of which went unreciprocated-- which is beside the point) I found myself always going back to him for validation. Whenever I felt down or like I was worthless or boys didn't like me and never would, I'd find myself chatting with him online. He'd say something complimentary (predatory) and I'd feel better.

Jess and I kept going to his band's shows. We had both grown to truly love ska music, it both lifted us up and made our young hearts soar. But at nearly every show, I would find a dark corner to lure him to so I could suck his dick.

A few months later I received another IM from the girlfriend who had threatened me a year before. She was apologetic and admitted to feeling "crazy" and jealous. She wanted to make things right and knew that I meant a lot to him, so she wanted to get to know me. I thought she was the epitome of cool. She had funky colored hair and an eccentric, pin-up sense of style that I admired and adored. I wanted to be her. She was younger than him, but still much older than me. She was 19.

She invited me over to the apartment that they shared. I told my mom I was going over to another (age-appropriate) friend's house and she picked me up in her silver Volkswagen bug and took me to their apartment on the Westside. We drank beer and played Nintendo as the two of them told me about their non-traditional relationship. The two of them were "open", a brand new concept to me. I had only known about monogamous relationships and could hardly wrap my head around the idea that two people could be together and also be with other people.

After a few drinks, she kissed me. And the two of us made out for quite some time while he watched. They got riled up and led me to their bedroom where they proceeded to have sex with each other while I lay next to them. Occasionally one of their hands would reach over and touch my breasts, a mouth would meet my mouth. At some point I slipped out and waited on the balcony for them to finish. I was still a virgin.

I was curious, because for the past year he had been the only constant. Something about this man made me feel important, and valuable. I believed that I had genuine feelings for him.

I was informed (not asked) that I was the girlfriend of both of them by her in a text message. I had told her that I was so happy we were friends now, and she responded "we are more than friends, you're a girl I'm seeing". I said "what am I to him?" She said "you're a girl he's seeing". "So I'm dating both of you?" "Yes".

I am, at this point in the story, now 15. I have known this man and been intimate with this man for two years. He is now 22. I have just been told by his girlfriend that, even though I considered myself to be heterosexual and had never touched a woman further than kissing that I am currently in a polyamorous relationship with two adults. And I just... went along with it.

Because I was a deliberate outcast, and I suddenly felt cool and special and different and valid and important. I couldn't see what I see now, that I was a strange pawn in their hebephilic sex games. I don't think I was special- I think I was 15 and willing.

I went back over to their apartment a few more times for a few other parties. Occasionally I'd bring a friend with me so as to not completely lie to my mother. Every time I went there I'd wind up participating in kissing and fondling with either or both of them.

The last time I went over there alone, I told my mother I was sleeping over at a different friend's house. The three of us had some drinks and put a movie on. I made the first move on him, kissing him. She became jealous and left in a huff. He tore my clothes off and lead me to their guest bedroom. He took off his underwear and said "are you sure?" And I said "yep".

It didn't hurt. I don't remember if I liked it. When we were done he tucked me in, kissed me on the forehead and went to his bedroom. She came home later, said goodnight, kissed me on the forehead and went to their bedroom.

The following morning she drove me home. I didn't call, text, or reach out to either of them for two months. She texted me a few weeks later and told me she knew he had taken my virginity and asked me why I didn't tell her. That I should always feel comfortable telling her secrets. I told her that I didn't want to date them anymore.

A few months later, we had all decided just to be friends. Their house became the party house for me and my high school friend group. Me, Jess, and three boys would all go over to their house every Friday. He'd buy us all booze. We'd play drinking games and usually all wind up naked, but we'd always be home by curfew.

I slept with him a few more times. Eventually I'd have other boyfriends, and they eventually broke up. He'd still have us over, I'd bring over new friends, younger friends that he would either sleep with or try to sleep with. I felt possessive of him, and would be angry when he wanted to touch other high school girls who weren't me. He once yelled at me and accused me of not wanting him to fuck anyone but me.

I started college and saw him infrequently. He still had parties, there were still teenage girls all over him. We were in contact until he was about 26/27. Eventually it tapered off. I was busy with my life, a live-in boyfriend, school, work at camp. He wasn't a priority for me anymore.

The last major significant interaction I had with him I was 21 years old and was drinking legally in a bar downtown. We ran into each other. It was like two old friends meeting up after "all this time". He was shocked because he'd known me for so long

"Man this is crazy! You're 21 now!"

"I know, right?"

"I've known you for so long, how long has it been?"

"I was 13 when we met so... 8 years?"

"Damn... damn... hey listen, I am so sorry. For everything. The way I treated you was really shitty."

"You know what, its fine. I forgive you"

But... it wasn't until he apologized that I realized he had something to apologize for. And suddenly it all came rushing back. He picked me up when I was 13 years old, fondled me, groomed me, he owned me. And when I reacted in a negative way, he attempted to gaslight me, called me crazy and hysterical and possessive. He took my virginity over beers when I was 15 years old, in braces, after a rousing session of Mario Kart on his fucking GameCube. And I, in the process, was taught that I was only valuable, cool, important, beautiful, worthy, interesting, special- if I was the object of someone's sexual desire.

This has affected me throughout my twenties. It wasn't until two years ago, at 26 that I experienced sexual desire on my end. I had lots of sex between when I lost my virginity until then, but never because I really, truly wanted to. I had sex because I wanted them to like me. I wanted them to value me. I wanted to be important to them. I thought that if I gave them what they wanted, that they would reciprocate with love and affection. That was not the case, so when I was rejected (which was often) I punished and blamed myself. I did horrible things to my body (mostly restricting and purging my food).

On some level I take responsibility for the role I played in these five years of my life. I kept going back to him, I never told him I was uncomfortable or had any inclination that what was happening was wrong. But, I was a kid. I was young, vulnerable, and he was the adult. He should have stopped it before it even began. He took advantage of my naivety, my innocence, my insecurities and used them to take my virginity and continue to commit statutory rape over and over again until I wasn't an option for him anymore.

I am now 28 years old. I remember when I was 21, 22, 23 thinking if I would ever consider someone as young as 13,14, or 15 an option as a sexual partner. The mere thought of it turned my stomach. It felt icky and wrong. I worked with kids that age at the camp in the summer, I was responsible for their well-being. I wondered what kind of sick and twisted shit would have to go wrong in my life for me to do the kinds of things that he did to me. I cannot even fathom.

In recent years I've been involved on and off with group chats with my old buddies from high school. They've said his name. Most of them are still friends with him and see him from time to time. I've asked that when I come home for visits that he not be invited to hang out with us. None of them (the boys, Jessica gets it) understand why. "He didn't rape you." "We were all there, you wanted it!"

I was hesitant to post "me too" because even now, after writing this- I still feel that it is my fault. I feel like I am somehow to blame and that what happened to me "doesn't count".

Let's assume that it doesn't. Let's also assume that catcalls, or being followed home in the rain from the subway by a guy begging me for my phone number doesn't count. I'll tell a much shorter story:

Two years ago I went on a date with a man who I knew was trouble. He was clearly unstable and had reached out to me after years of radio silence after our first date (we drunkenly made out for hours but didn't sleep together) and left me countless drunken voicemails about how I was the one who got away. I agreed to meet up with him, had one drink and felt drunker than I'd ever felt. The majority of the night I remember in vague, hazy vignettes. I totally blacked out as we got into a cab and I came to in someone's front yard with my tights and panties around my ankles. He was pulling on his pants. I told him I needed to get home. He told me I was home. I told him I lived in Brooklyn. He told me we were in Brooklyn and kept trying to convince me that we were at my house. I finally managed to tell him my address and he helped me get in a cab and take me to my actual home. He helped me up the stairs, kissed me goodnight and left. The next morning he told me that we had sex and it was my idea, he couldn't have said no if he wanted to and that he hopes I remember it next time. I have no evidence of whether or not there was something in the one drink I had before the world started spinning. I know I had at least two more drinks that night. But I do know that I was in no position to consent to any sexual contact that night. I blocked his number and social media channels. I stopped dating.

Whenever I start to think that mine don't count, I have to think seriously-- would it matter if it happened to Jessica? To my sister? My mother? My colleagues or clients? Of course it would. So why should it not matter that it happened to me?

So yeah, I guess, me too.

#me too #trigger warning

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