Sex Object

CW: SA

Top right - me at 8 years old. (In order of age - bottom right 6 years old, bottom left 7 years old, top right 8 years old, top left 9 years old.)

I was 8 years old.

He was 8 years old too.

I was followed home and stalked in third grade by a boy in my class. He and his best friend followed me one day after school. Terrorizing me as they picked up long tree branch sticks to poke and prod me, eventually twisting strands of my long brown hair around them. They kept saying they wanted to rape me. I said that I would scream if they didn’t leave me alone. They laughed. I finally ran, feeling some of my hair tear, some of the stick coming with me. I ran home to an empty house. And collapsed in my bedroom, sobbing while trying to untangle the sticks from my hair.

I never told anyone.

I thought I must have done something wrong.

I eventually confronted the boy on the playground when he wouldn’t leave me alone again. I kicked him in the shin and told him to stay away from me.

He didn’t.

And then one day he was gone.

I counted myself lucky.

How did they know what rape was?

---

11 year old me.

I was 11 years old.

Catcalled in the malls or walking down the street or at the pool or waterpark - 10 and 11 and 12 years old.

Part of me learned to be afraid and to stay small. And to swallow my voice.

Another part of me started harboring anger.

I did not understand what “hey baby” meant. I was still playing with Barbie’s and going to the skating rink. I knew what it was like to have a crush on a boy. But the older boys who saw me and my friends seemed to feel entitled to a response. If we didn’t respond we were called bitches.

We were kids.

I was not someone’s “baby”. I was still just a baby myself.

Part of me wondered why I was seen as something other than who I was.

---

I was 13 years old.

He was 19, then 21. He’d lied about his age.

My best friend was “dating” his best friend, and we were introduced. I was floored that this super cute olderish guy liked me. He had a nice car and motorcycle. He had a lot of money. I became the object of his attention. We kissed a few times, and he professed love at first sight.

Oh, I forgot to mention he was married. With a kid. I know this because his wife called me one day after she found my phone number in their bedroom. She asked me how old I was and if I’d fucked her husband. I told her my age and no, I hadn’t done that with him. She laughed at me, the sound like nails on a chalkboard and then in a dead calm voice said to stay away from him, that he was 21 years old and had a family. If i didn’t he’d go to jail.

I was afraid after that.

In over my head.

I never told anyone.

I stayed away and never heard from him again.

I was lucky again.

I was 14 years old.

He was 18. No really, I checked his id.

He was in a gang and very protective of his property- me. He took me to my first dance. He rented a mustang convertible in teal and white. He brought me a dozen white roses. He dressed in a black and white tux. We went to dinner and the dance, got our pictures taken, danced a slow dance, and he whispered he was falling. I felt like a princess.

The following weekend I spent the night at my best friend’s house. She was dating his best friend. They came over after her mom went to work. Well after midnight. I pulled pillows off her bed and made a comfy spot on the floor so we could snuggle and watch movies. He started to kiss my neck and ear, I giggled and he turned my face to his to kiss me.

The lights went out. The movie off. Oldies started playing through the stereo.

I was on my back, he was next to me. I was tired and wanted to sleep. He didn’t come over to sleep. He turned my head again to kiss me. He put his hands on me. I whispered that we weren’t alone. He said it was ok. My stomach filled with dread.

I kept not responding to his advances. I kept saying I was too tired. He kept stealing kisses. After an hour of this he said he wanted me. I said not here, not now, we weren’t alone, and we were on the floor. He stood up and demanded the bed. I said no. My best friend and his best friend said okay, sure. And he grabbed my arm and dragged me to the bed.

I laid down. Heart pounding. Nausea building.

I was still chewing my gum.

I had shorts and a baggy shirt on.

He climbed on top of me. I closed my legs. He pulled them apart. I said no as he put his mouth over mine. I said no as he shoved his way between my still mostly closed legs.

I said no.

I said no.

He took what wasn’t his.

When he finally left, I collapsed on the floor and cried. My best friend didn’t know. She had been 2 feet away. She had been asleep and I wasn’t loud enough.

I called my mom. She asked if I was ok. She asked me if I wanted to report it. She didn’t think it was a good idea. He was in a gang. He was dangerous.

I wasn’t ok.

I didn’t report it.

I stayed quiet.

I sewed my mouth shut. And learned to be small.

I still hate the taste of cinnamon gum.

I was 15 years old.

So was he.

He wooed me with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and witty conversation. He taught me to play dungeons and dragons.

He made me a mixed tape full of songs that spoke of love.

And then one day he asked me to “finish” him after a night of swimming and watching movies. He put my hand in a place it had never been.

I left my body.

I became

an object.

---

As a teenager, each one had said they loved me. Each one lied. I wasn’t loved. I was only wanted for one thing - to satiate their needs. I wasn’t loved. I was not a person to them or to a host of others after. I wasn’t loved. I was always only ever an object for them to thrust themselves upon.

I wasn’t loved.

But I wanted to be. I was desperate to be.

So many used “I love you” to get me to open.

They used love as a weapon.

I was never loved.

Only ever a

sex object.

---

Megyn Kelly would have you believe that I was not a child. That the things that happened to teenager me weren’t as bad as it is for a five year old. That being used as a teenager wasn’t the same kind of abuse.

As if I didn’t know what a penis or an orgasm was at five years old. I did. But I don’t remember how.

I don’t remember how I knew those things.

There’s a gap in time in my memories..

Sometimes I wish the abhorrent things I remembered would fall into that gap.

Mostly I wish they had never happened to me at all.

---

Don’t let them tell you that 15 isn’t as big of a deal, that it’s complicated, that it’s easier to see why a grown man would be attracted to that.

Don’t let them pretend it’s excusable.

I was just a girl. They were just girls. We were just scared little girls.

---

For so many years I longed to be seen as more than an object. I wanted more than anything to have my mind revered more than my face and body. I wanted someone, anyone to look beneath the surface of me.

I did. I finally did.

Me. I looked beneath my own surface and did the work to address these wounds.

Admittedly though, the scar tissue is thick and sometimes painful. Occasionally my nerves will fire and I disappear inside, only partially in my body. I coax myself out and look again at what happened and where I went and come back to where I am now.

I’m okay. I’m safe.

I’m truly loved.

For my big beautiful mind.

For my magnificent magical heart.

I’m no longer just a sex object. At least not to those who matter most to me.

Instead of wishing to be seen as more. I demanded it from and for myself.

And that’s everything.

---

If you’ve made it through this far, thank you for reading my words. Thank you for listening. Thank you for being here.

I’ve been writing this for weeks and years and days and minutes now. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever tell these pieces of my life. And this is just a handful - unfortunately there’s so much more. And I know I’m not alone. There are millions of us.

I stand with all of us. The survivors of predators.

I hope you will too.