The Day I Lost Respect

*Sigh* It has taken my mind and heart so long to finally come to the world and share this story. Before I start I do want to state one very important thing. I still love my stepmom, but I do not agree with how she spoke and handled this situation, even though my dumb self put myself there. However, the word no. STILL. MEANS. NO!

Okay, now that, that, is out of the way I can share this very hard story to tell. Here it goes.

It was the summer of 2014, because it was before my senior year. I had met this guy at a church function among the churches in our region. Perfectly innocent right? And it was. I met this pretty cool guy and we exchanged facebook names because he did not have a phone. I did not think anything of it. Some teens just don't have a phone. No big deal.

So over the next two or so weeks we just talked back and forth. He was much more interesting than I thought. We became pretty good friends and like most friends wanted to hang out. Granted, here is where I was stupid for agreeing to meet with him at my house. I can't blame my age cause I was seventeen. I knew what I was doing, but also didn't think anything of it. We won't go inside just sit on the porch. Not a problem right? Well, it didn't start out that way.

We were sitting on the porch when my stepmom and adopted aunt came home from I don't even remember where. She said him and I should go for a walk. We did and it wasn't odd or uncomfortable until he pulled out this really small knife he "found." I stayed calm as we kept walking. We got back to the house and I said we could talk in the back yard since I still didn't want him in my house.

I never knew that was going to be my biggest mistake.

He and I are sitting on the long cast ion table facing the house. As he is talking I don't really catch anything. Maybe it was from the heat or the fact I knew he still had the very small yet very sharp knife in his pocket. He kept scooting closer and closer until our knees touched. (Now at this point, I should mention I have a six-foot boyfriend at the time, of about a year or so.) He placed his white hand onto my knee just below the end of the basketball shorts I wore. I pushed it away. He knew I had a boyfriend, I made that very clear. He kept putting it back more and more up my shorts. He ended up getting his hand into my underwear through under my shorts. At this point, I'm almost in tears.

"No, please stop. I should really go in and help my momma."

"I have a boyfriend"

"Please, stop, please."

No matter what I pleaded he kept touching me with his fingers. I felt eyes on me as I heard the door open. "Thank you, God," I thought, as he yanked his hand away, as my mom said it was time for him to leave. I sighed in relief wiping my face of a stray tear from the ordeal. I walked him to his bike still shaking. He leaned in to kiss me and I slapped him as hard as I could and told him to never contact or find me again.

I walked back in through the back door and my mom cornered me. "Did you kiss him?"

I wanted to say he forced his lips on mine, that I was just attacked in our back yard, that I was scared so much at that moment. All that came out was a forced no.

"I bet you did."

I felt my heart sink below my chest. She didn't believe I didn't want him to kiss me. Did she miss what happened?

The next words she said to me have haunted me. It's 2019 now so five years.

"Do you think Austin will want a whore like you?"

She saw all of what happened. Yet, did she miss me pushing his hand away? My pleas to stop? Nothing at all? The only thing you can say is if he will still want me.

For those of you wondering: I still live in that house currently, but am making arrangements to move as soon as I can afford it. Not cheap moving from parents to my own place. The man I called my boyfriend, he and I are still good friends just not together.

I'll post another trauma story when I have the downtime to.

XOXO

Crazy Beautiful