I was a prostitute at age 5. I didn't know I was a prostitute. I just knew I was asked for a favor, and I liked to help, and I got a toy if I did it right.
And then, one night, one day, one some exact time I can't remember, because almost everything else about that day is gone, the request was to explore my body.
And.
I was forced the moment I refused. And I knew I had done something terrible, because I couldn't stop it...
...
Fuck.
...
Alright, going on.
Each of these were a kind of rape.
Now, let's look at what isn't.
When I was older, I learned that I knew things, other people didn't, and I could trade what I knew for friendship, and gifts, and sometimes love...the kind of love that isn't allowed to acknowledge you in public. The kind of love that will vanish, when you're no longer a novelty. And it felt like being ripped apart and left hollow, inside.
And I was always scared, because I had been raped, and for some of us, that spills into other things, when we least expect..
But it wasn't rape. The difference was, I made these decisions, limited as my options were, and I got something out of it too...that I actually wanted, at the time. It's not as if all survivors are made of light and spiritual purity.
And I was old enough to know the risks.
Does every terrible thing, need to be rape? You don't help us, by always treating us like victims of rape. Look what's happening to the woman who wrote this essay - do you really think this is healing?
What I did for company, intimate and otherwise, was nothing like when I was on the ground, years later, in a dream state, because it couldn't be happening again, and it's not my mistake, it doesn't matter what I do, I'm in a trap, and my body isn't even mine anymore, because it's helping to rape me.
And fuck...do you know what it feels like, to write all this, and go back in time...to be raped all over again, because some people just can't let our wounds go?
But.
It seems I needed to try to clarify some things...
Because.
We need to talk about actual healing, too. And in a thread where I'm just a "Sex pozzie", who is going to believe I know a thing about how sex can be wonderful, if I don't establish I've been through both heaven and hell, and can recognize the difference?
All of this horror was the exact opposite of what happened when I met a woman who asked if she could take the lead, and offer me a direction to go, when I was too scared to make any kind of move... and if we could roleplay some horror stories together. Because we both like to be scared, sometimes, in the exact same ways, and it doesn't always have to be about sex...
But sometimes, they enhance one another.
I was given a word of power - a magical word...the best in the entire world: "Sanctuary." which would stop it all, at any time. Every time. And we would just talk, then. She would make sure I was safe. No guilt. Not once. We could go as long without any kind of sex as needed.
Even if it took years.
She loved me still.
How many vanilla relationships can boast the same? My mother never knew such comfort.
Maybe, this isn't the kind of utopian ideal I'm told I should wait for. But some of us don't have the luxury of waiting for perfection. We have but one life. My love can make feel wonderful. And I can do the same for her.
And that's more healing than any kind of sexual shaming could ever hope to offer.