Between the ages of 11 and 12, I got into a semi-secret relationship with a guy four years older than me. We went to the same Scout group and so I was rather flattered to have the attention of an older boy.
I didn't question why he shouldn't date girls his age.
My innocence, however, was quickly shattered, torn down by truths of sex and pornography. My eyes were both opened and exploited.
During the summer of 2011, my Scout group organised a coach trip to Austria. Days after his 16th how-to-win-the-younger-vote birthday, we were sat next to each other on a coach. This is where he began to grope me. Concealed under a blanket, he groped my bare breasts; though they were hardly formed at that point. His hands then continued down my body. The assault probably didn't last longer than ten minutes, but I was frozen in time. My upper body was facing away from him as small tears formed in my eyes.
Somehow, my school found out. I was in my second year at secondary school and I could've kicked him out, had I taken the chance. I also could've reported him to the police.
I did neither.
I was confused and ashamed. I didn't blame him; I blamed myself for being too scared to explicitly say 'no'. My school friends still hung out with him, reducing the incident to mere miscommunication and exaggeration on my part. As I grew older, I even questioned whether a 16-year-old boy could have even understood the complexities of consent. But when I turned 16, I certainly knew right from wrong.
Unable to process the trauma, it was only as an adult that I accepted it was not my fault. I have found comfort in knowing that, after seven years, my cells have regenerated, meaning that my body is no longer the one that he touched.
It took me 21 years, but I have found my voice and I am unashamed of my sexuality.
That's not to say that I am over it. I still find myself in public situations that take me back to my 12-year-old self. All the progress I have made is instantaneously undone when a guy cat-calls me, undresses me with his eyes, or leaves his hand lingering for a moment too long.
I am not proud to say that the event still holds power over me, but I find strength in knowing that I still have my whole life ahead of me. A whole life to find myself, and to find the confidence that was taken away from me.
The writer of this piece has chosen to remain anonymous.
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