I don’t remember much of what happened that night. I can’t recall what he was wearing or how we got to his room, but I remember feeling his presence over me. I could feel a cold breeze coming through the window and I could feel the goosebumps rising on my skin. I could hear the creaking of his mattress. Its noises lending voice to the words that could not come out of my mouth: stop.
The toughest part of it all was the shame. Knowing full well when I woke up that next morning that I could never tell a soul. They would never believe me. I carried my shame like a bag of bricks. The first time I ever dared myself to say anything was on a drunken camping trip in a game of never have I ever.
”Yes I’ve had anal, but it wasn’t on purpose.”
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