I was 14 and completely unexperienced. he was early forties, an italian man (now I can't bring myself to go to Italy and like languages but can't abide Italian). he looked slightly like sean penn (i can't watch things with that actor in it). I was on a school exchange trip driving through Europe, we had stopped at a service station (I now get scared in service stations). He was cleaning the sinks in the ladies toilets. I could speak German and as we were in or near Germany I practiced my German with him while I waited for my friend to come out of the toilet. He was a bit angry, it seemed to me he was angry because he was doing a woman's job (I now feel scared if a man seems impatient and is cleaning). He threw his cloth in a sink and made motions for me to clean it - i thought - huh? I sort of laughed it off. He then took my hand and kissed it (if anyone does this to me i have to repress panic or tell him why he can't kiss my hand). he said "you my friend, you my friend". he walked towards me until I was backed against a wall. he forced his open mouth onto my face and his hard tongue tried to penetrate my clenched-shut mouth. his tongue slipped all over the lower half of my face. His hard body pinned me hard against the wall. I left my body and watched from above, thinking "well, I'm not very attractive, but I'm just young and he is probably sexually frustrated". My friend came out from the toilet and stood open-mouthed watching. I managed to force him off me with the muscles in my arms. I turned to her and said "come on, we have to go now". she stood there, so I repeated it. I floated up the stairs and onto the coach, cold as a robot. I let his saliva dry on my face and did not wipe or wash it off. people came up to me on the coach and asked if I was ok and I said "I'm fine" and did not have any other words to say. One person, Lucie, came up and hinted there had been something willing or sexual about it on my part which made me feel cross with her. When, hours/days later I saw the white cliffs of Dover I cried and cried. I have told not many people, but one or two too many. One person I told, in later conversation, mentioned another victim of abuse, starting with "it was much worse that what happened to you". This experience is incomparable, it's subjective, "what happened to me" is an interaction between him, what he did, his emotion or lack of it, his intention, my feelings, my inexperience, my personality, my age, his age. I'm very glad he did not rape me. but experiences of abuse cannot be compared to eachother
These are the anonymous experiences of women, of men, of people who have lived through the horrifying trauma of sexual assault.
Note: Please be aware that reading this blog may be very triggering.