“I was scared before I understood that it wasn't normal”

(The names in this story have been changed for anonymity purposes)

It is important for me to stress that this story happened to me when I was only ten (today, I am almost twenty years old), and so my perception of the situation has changed over time. I was scared before I understood, through the reactions of adults I spoke to at the time, that it wasn't normal.

I was in fifth grade, and a boy from my school (we'll call him Louis), who was in the same grade as me, touched me, in a sexual way, several times, without my consent, and despite me saying no and trying to avoid him.

I remember a few moments, some more vividly than others, like the time when, as I was getting to school, he was waiting for me with my friends (not his). He joined us and, while greeting me, ran his hand through my inner thighs, and tried to kiss me.

Another time, when I was the last one leaving class, I remember he was waiting for me in the courtyard. We were the only ones left - him and I, and maybe a few of his friends. He pushed me against the wall and pushed himself against me, hard, to feel my body against his. Once again, his hands wandered around my body - but the memory is a little foggy.

In that very same courtyard, he once took advantage of his height and size to push me down on the floor, then proceeded to tighten and rub his body against me, while miming sexual acts.

I remember other kids being there, a few of them were even friends of mine, and I remember them laughing. However, I am almost certain at those were nervous touches of laughter, and that they were uneasy and uncomfortable.

One day - I believe that was the last time anything happened - he ate at the same table as I did (let me stress that we are not friends). He said he would come and see me, at home, that night, because he knew my parents wouldn’t be home until later, and that I used to walk home with my brother. He knew where I lived because he lived just a few blocks away. I told him I wouldn’t let him in, so he said he would beat up my little brother if necessary (he was joking then, but I was scared), and said that he would rape me. I don’t quite remember if he used the word “rape” or not, but I am sure he at least said he would “fuck” me. I told him I didn’t want to, and he said it didn’t matter, and that he would still do it.

It was that particular moment that encouraged me to tell my parents everything. I vividly recall being scared he would make action out of his threats. When I went home and my parents asked me how my day went, I said I had to tell them something and started crying.

That was when I realized that the whole thing, that his actions, were not normal. It became especially clear to me when my parents talked to the teacher, who then talked to me and Louis, who then proceeded to burst into tears.

The teachers told him that, were it ever to happen again, my parents would file a complaint, that it was a serious and grave matter, and that “it’s her body, it belongs to her, it’s her choice”. After that, he didn’t have the right to approach me anymore, they imposed a sort of “restraining order” on him.

According to what he later told a boy from my class, he was aware that what he was doing was not normal: “Now I can’t have fun anymore, ever since that b*tch told them what I was doing”. I am sure of these words, they stuck with me.

As for me, I only started to fully understand the situation growing up. First, it was when my dad mentioned the story, addressing his actions as “sexual assault”, and it hit me that it was not child’s play. I wasn’t really traumatized by it, having even blocked out the events in my head. But until the age of seventeen, I kept on perceiving sex as a “bad thing” that scared me... maybe that is the reason why.

A little under a year ago, during the summer, I was brutally awakened after having a nightmare, where Louis was forcing himself upon me. It was then that I started to talk about my experience with my friends and my boyfriend. My worst fear was that I wouldn’t be legitimate enough to talk about it, to talk about “aggression”: because it was ten years ago, and we were just kids. But all of my friends, and especially my boyfriend, reassured me that I was right to talk about it, that every story is personal and is experienced differently by each person.

The writer of this piece has chosen to remain anonymous.