( CW: SA described) It’s been over a decade since it happened, but I think l’m finally able to stop pretending that it didn’t. It happened back in high school, a guy I thought I could trust. We’d been friends since sophomore year and at no point had I thought he would turn around and hurt me, and for quite some time I was in denial that he did. We were at a small get together with mutual friends and eventually one was hammered, so the other called his girlfriend to come pick them up. That left me and him by ourselves. And I was on my way to being trashed. Admittedly, I was a bit of a lightweight because of how scrawny I was, but I was also drinking drinks and he’d had a few beers. I knew he was gay, but I didn’t care because it wasn’t like he ever hit on me, only a few compliments about cleaning up good for an event here and there. Anyway, it’s not like I remember much of the night, but I remember enough (and of course there’s interpretation of certain things and my mind attempting to fill in the gaps). I don’t know what he said but I do know we kissed. After he said some quick praise and it turned me on, if I initiated or he did it’s hard to say I just know how I felt. It was kind of a fuck it attitude, I mean, it’s not like anyone would know, it was just the two of us after all. Plus the first time doesn’t count because you don’t know yet. It started gentle until he thought I could take it I think. At some point he hit my g-spot, and I reacted how you’d imagine a guy would to feeling that for the first time. He wrapped his hand around my throat, not gripping it, just resting it there, but damn I hated it. I tried to pry his fingers off. Maybe I said or did something else that came off more mad than what I actually was, scared. Whatever he thought he saw, he liked it and tightened his grip. He leaned down to say something about me being such a good sl-t or how good of a cocksleeve I would make. I just remember the cold sense of dread that set in my stomach at his words. I tried to speak but he kissed me and pinned my wrists. I started crying at some point, and he was either close to finishing or already had because he stopped shortly after. He must’ve drove me home because the next day I had a friend give me a ride to pick up my truck. I remember my ass hurt like hell and seeing the hickies when I showered. I remembered the kiss so I kinda knew. I just felt ashamed. Gross. Guilty. Then I laid down in bed that night and felt worse. Just filthy, but I couldn’t place it, it kept me up. I started sleeping on the couch to avoid it. Everyone thought my apathy towards certain things was senioritis, I tried to tell myself it was too. The following week during a passing, he put a hand on my shoulder and looked at me. And I felt it again. Wrong in an inexplicable way, I wanted to pull away but it was like his hand was keeping me there. Then I met his eyes and it was like looking at them every time I had before at once. I made some excuse to leave and go to class but I didn’t tell anyone what I felt. And for many reasons. One, it meant admitting I wanted it originally, which basically was telling everyone I was gay, and two, it meant admitting I was weak. I mean sure I was drunk, but I couldn’t push him off? And I wanted to call myself a man? Like hell I was going to tell anyone. I started working out so I could stand to sleep in my own bed. (After two nights of crashing on the couch my parents confronted me, of course I lied, and I started doing whatever while I waited for everyone to fall asleep before I went sleep on the couch. I typically was up before they were.) I didn’t ever fully cut him out of my life, just stopped being around him unless we were with mutual friends. I never really forgot about it either, just suppressed it enough to stop thinking about it constantly unless it was near or on the anniversary. Anyway, recently I heard another survivor’s story and it made me realize most of the things I’d been telling myself weren’t true. He also made me realize I wasn’t alone, that he felt a lot of those things to. Even though it’s been years, I think I’m finally ready to heal from it, and maybe even talk about it, but that might just be pushing it, ha. (and throwaway because if I want the people in my life to know, I‘ll tell them myself)