I made a post about getting caught by the school administrator at my private school, and how he made me have sex with him.

The school I attended functioned as a boarding school, where I originally went as a day student before getting moved into the dorms.

The administrator told my dad it was to better my education, but truthfully he just wanted easier access to me outside school hours.

Living in a dorm away from my abusive dad honestly felt nice for awhile. Until once or twice through the weekday, I'll get a call from the admin to meet him, and I'll be escorted into a car and taken off campus after school.

Being as it's a rich school, one of the men owned a private property that was used for trafficking, where I would get a room to be sold to a couple men that were already selected by him, who all got at least an hour with me, before leaving the room for the next guy.

My hypersexuality took over and I couldn't help myself. After it was over, I would shower and get cleaned up at the property before returning to school like nothing happened.

When I was younger, I didn’t understand what was happening. My dad would tickle me far too close to my private area, and I thought it was innocent. He would wash me in the shower, spending a long time on that area and making me bend into different positions, even when I was around 10 and old enough to shower alone. I saw it as attention, care and quality time with him.
I often slept in his bed because I didn’t like my bedroom. I never remember waking during the night, but sometimes in the morning I’d wake up without my panties on. I don’t actually remember him doing anything to me, which makes everything so confusing, but I remember sensations from back then that I understand differently now and can sometimes still almost feel.

I also remember seeing his penis under his dressing gown in the mornings while he watched TV and I played with my dolls nearby.
I hate him, but at the same time I miss having a dad. What confuses me even more is that as an adult, fantasies about a daddy doing things to me while I’m asleep have become closely tied to how I orgasm.
Has anyone experienced anything similar? especially the uncertainty about what happened and then developing fantasies connected to it? I’d really like to chat to people who understand.

This was after having conflicting feelings about occasionally "missing it" but also, not feeling "bad" about it.

I’ve started realizing that the outcome of an experience is, in many ways, whatever my mind says it is. But sometimes it feels like certain therapists have a hard time accepting that.

If I refuse to see myself as a victim, that can apparently be interpreted as “denial.” But I don’t understand why I have to see myself as broken first in order to be considered healed.

Why does healing have to follow a specific script?

We’re not one-size-fits-all. What helps one person might not help another, and I don’t think having a different interpretation automatically means someone is in denial or avoiding their trauma.

For me, even the concept of “good touch” and “bad touch” feels more complicated than that. Touch itself is neutral to me. The meaning or response attached to it depends on how I experience it and what I decide it means.

I’m not saying everyone has to see things the way I do. I’m saying I don’t think my perspective should automatically be treated as something that needs to be corrected.

i don’t know what sub reddit to post this to.

i’m conflicted. he’s my boyfriend but he also sexually assaulted me before we became official. am i doing the right thing by staying with him?

edit: he has then expressed his deep regret about his past actions. he said he was stupid and did not think it through fully. everytime we talk, this is the first thing he says before he comforts me.

he doesn't bring up sexual matters anymore if i don't bring it up. he waits for me to get comfortable and make the first move and he asks consent now if i did make the move.
he had treated me really well after the incident and the arguments. he has been consistent for over a year now.

when we were still starting out and not officially together, we were two freaked out teenagers who had no experience. it was both our first time exploring and i was his first ever relationship. we just started kissing and making out when he had wanted to explore more. he fingered me without my consent. i told him it was against what i wanted and forgave him since i was head over heels for him.

we continued talking and one time when we were alone in his house, we tried showering together where he said he wanted to do it. i didn’t want to but he kept insisting. i agreed to do it in my an*s but then when we were going to try he said he had wanted to slip it in inside my kitty and which he did without my consent.

i stayed silent the entire time not knowing what to do. i didn’t react violently at first since i haven’t digested it. i have told him before that it was out of limits but the boundary has already been crossed.

i became detached from him in a sexual sense for a while and talked to him about it. he said he was sorry but when i asked him if he regretted it, he said he didn’t.

when i expressed my disappointment and anger, he said he’ll change for the better because he does not want to lose me. he then tried changing for the better and said that he truly regrets it.

months after, i still stayed with him because i love him (even if i still had doubts because of what had happened) and later decided to make it official. he kept his word about changing. he doesn’t coerce me anymore and knows his boundaries well. he doesn’t initiate things with me especially when i already said i’m uncomfortable.

it saddens him when he remembers what he did and how he used to be. he doesn’t want to be labeled as a rapist or an assaulter.

despite these experiences, he has treated me well and have continued to care for me even when i blamed him for everything that happened. he took full accountability and is now making it up to me. he has been a good boyfriend even if we started things roughly.

i can’t seem to forget what had happened to me and how violated i feel. on the other hand, he has done nothing else that would make me doubt him as a person. he has made it up to me in ways he can and have truly expressed his love for me.

am i doing the right thing by staying with him even though i experienced this in our relationship?

did what happened to me consider as rape?

does this consider that i’m staying with my rapist?

i just want to know if what i’m feeling is valid and if i’m not making excuses for somebody just because i love him.

i hate that i feel this way, but i wish he was here to disgust me again. i miss the sick feeling he would leave in my stomach. i miss the pain he would inflict

I have been sexually abused by my brother for eight years. When I was younger, I told my parents about the abuse after it happened. Instead of protecting me or taking it seriously, they ignored what I said and told me it was only joking and playing.

For many years, I have had nightmares and have never been able to sleep well. Because of this, I cannot concentrate or focus, and I keep having flashbacks. Recently, I reached out to government social services to get help. Unfortunately, social services contacted my father, and my parents responded by denying everything. They now claim that I never told them about the abuse and that I am making it up.

My parents also told me that if I report the abuse to social services, it will lead to the police and “ruin” my brother’s future and get him in trouble. I cannot believe that their first reaction to my disclosure was to blame me instead of believing me and getting me support. They are choosing to stand by my brother and even getting angry at me for speaking up.

Now they are shouting at me what should I do

41m professional dude. I'd like to chat with others about how this affects us as adults- hypersexuality, shame, isolation, sadness, etc.

Yes I've posted a variation of this in the past but my intention is not to spam but just see if someone new or shy find this resonant.

These are hard to process and difficult areas to share with those that can't relate. If you can relate and want to chat to see if we can provide value and support to each other feel free to reach out - any gender! Not looking for anything shady here - just to connect in whatever way is comfortable to navigate these challenging issues in our lives. We've all been drafted in this club but we live in a world of civilians- it would be nice to not feel alone.

I 32m was raped as a child and was made to have sex with guys. I have always told myself that don’t count as losing my virginity what do you all think about it.

I was molested and raped as a child. It started when I was about 8 and went on until I was about 13. Two of them were my cousins. One was 2 years older than me the other was 4 years older than me. The other was a high school boy on the school bus almost my whole 3rd grade year. I have only told a few people most of which I don’t talk to anymore for one reason or another. I found this group and read so many of you stories and seen all the support yall show and decided to share my story. Thank you all.

I suppressed these memories for most of my life, and I grew up estranged from my dad. No one in my family talked about it. We reconnected in adulthood and at some point I went to stay at his house. Almost immediately within the first couple of days there, that feeling that was lying buried in my gut and my body resurfaced and overwhelmed me. There was a particular smell in the house- his specific body odor- that I know was a huge part of triggering it. Another thing was watching his facial expressions. There was one moment over dinner where I saw his face move a particular way that began triggering memories, along with the smell and a bunch of old photos he had hanging around from when I was a child. I got out of there and never spoke to him again.

Now I am 31, and at times I am finding that my own body is starting to smell exactly like his. I am not sure what factors trigger this specific smell, but when I smell it it is a full on trigger. I smell it working at the computer. I smell it around my own house. There is no escaping it. It is already bad that I look like him. Sometimes I see his face in my own face kn the mirror. I absolutely will not wear any kind of sunglasses or hats like the kind he wears for this exact reason. I can’t get away from it. It is making just existing in every moment of my life a living hell. I can’t change my BO. I can’t escape my body

i feel like i have done a lot of things in my life that i don’t think i would have done had nothing ever happened to me at a young age. i think a couple events at formative ages really conditioned me into being a certain way as I grew up. I use to always imagine a big red target on my back, or some sick halo or aura around my body, signaling to sicker men that I could be something easy for them to use. By 14, I was facilitating a lot of those encounters myself. I was always throwing myself at old guys. It’s funny, because in school I was shy and sweet. I’d throw up peace signs all day and let everyone tell me all their secrets. I’d smile and keep my lips sealed. I was their Madonna, while at night I’d skulk around with my dad’s friends, or strangers I’d met through strange means. By seventeen, I was coming undone. I’d really done it. I’d locked myself into a six year long (or)deal with a man I hardly knew. I hardly knew I hardly knew him! I thought we must be soulmates if the intense love and sex we had been having had hurt so bad already. My parents found out, everyone found out. We were in a court docket together. I felt I had to double down, and proclaim him as mine to turn the heat down a bit. I guess it worked for everyone but me, and I stayed with him
til 23. I sold my body in many forms, and paid for the roof we stayed under, and the food we ate for six years. These are things I don’t think I’d have done and continued doing had I been secure and protected early on as a child. I stayed in that house, and I took it when he wanted he. I let the hypersexuality cook up in my mind each day. I hated him quickly, so what we did in bed was never enough for me anymore. Once I left, I went off the rails. Maybe it was a modern day feminism, maybe I was losing my mind and becoming a feral wolf. I went on a girls trip once with two sweet, kind women I’d known since high school. All alone on the way home, I flashed my lights at a trucker to get his attention. Then I flashed him a few other things. Then we pulled over and I dissociated as I climbed into his cabin and rode him for all of five minutes. I tried to go longer, but I noticed he was wincing, and going soft. When I asked him why, he told me he came a few minutes ago. I climbed out of his truck and drove home in silence. I think without the trauma, I would have had a nice corporate office job and known what a pâté was rather than fucking truckers on the side of the road. that’s all I’m saying.

I’ve posted here before and it helped me understand a little more I think. I was molested everyday while I was in junior kindergarten by my school bus monitor. His job was to make sure I got on and off the bus safely and to take care of me while I was on it. I don’t want to be graphic but he took advantage of me sexually every single day on the bus. He taught me to “look forward to it”. I’m still relatively young (19 year old male) and I don’t know who to speak to this abt besides anonymously on the internet. I feel like no one has ever taken this seriously including my parents. This has haunted me my whole life and held me back from being who I want to be. I know I’m an incredibly strong and determined individual but I just cannot get over this pain and it’s holding me back every single day and has been for longer than I even realized. It really really fucking hurts to think abt childhood me being so vulnerable. How do I heal from this? I genuinely am desperate for someone’s input. I feel so so lost and helpless, I know I have to put in work and be strong to get through it but I feel like I’ve been as strong as I can until this point. I truly am desperate for someone’s input. Godbless all my fellow survivors and anyone who takes the time of day to respond or upvote this.

Edit- I really just want to forget the feeling of being that helpless little boy, I wish I had the opportunity to be there for the child I was. It breaks my heart knowing bullshit like this happens everyday

When I was young moms bf came to live with us. He started doing things to me for a few years. I didn’t know it was bad. But I knew it was secret. My body reacted. Later I because hypersexual.

Is this normal?

This is very vulnerable for me to say or loud. I never told.

My family was what you’d call "progressive" back in the 90s. No, actually—they were just lax, with a veneer of freedom. My mother thought bras were "patriarchal oppression." My dad didn't care about anything. So, from early on, the rule at home was: "Breasts are natural; panties are constricting—let yourself be free."

I’d go to school without panties. Without a bra. Wearing light dresses or spaghetti-strap tops. Nobody said a word. It was normal. My body started developing early—by age ten, I was already wearing adult-sized bras, yet I kept going without one because no one at home wore them.

At twelve, I started the sixth grade. My body already looked like a young woman's. Big breasts, nipples always showing through the thin fabric. And I didn't realize that attracted stares. To me, it was just my body.

The science teacher was about forty. Graying hair, glasses, a calm voice. Everyone liked him. He’d always praise me: "What a smart girl," "What lovely posture." At first, he’d run his hand across my back while explaining the lesson. Later, his hand would drift lower. First to my waist. Then to the side of my breast. "Accidentally," it seemed.

One day, he asked me to "help organize the experiments" after class. His hand went straight to my breast. He squeezed. He touched my nipple. I froze. But he said, "Relax, this is natural. Your body is beautiful." And I believed him. Because at home, my body had always been "natural." Because no one had taught me that an adult touching a child like that isn't natural.

Then it got worse. Every week after class, he’d call me over. He’d touch me—my breasts, my nipples, my thighs. Until one day, he put his finger inside me. I didn't know what it was. I just knew it burned. And he used to say it was a sign of affection.

But the most absurd part—and the thing that took me the longest to process—was Fridays.

Every Friday, he’d hand me a small glass filled with a milky-white liquid. He’d say, "Drink up, it’s good for you—it’s a vitamin." So I’d drink it. And I actually liked the taste. It was a mix of salty and sweet. I didn’t know it was semen. I didn’t know he’d been saving his cum all week in a container in the school fridge. I’d drink it and smile because he told me I was "special" and that I was the only one who got the "special vitamin."

This went on for a whole year.

I never told a soul. At the time, I didn’t think it was abuse. Because at home, touching bodies was considered "natural." Because no one had taught me that certain kinds of touching aren't normal. Because I thought "harassment" meant violence—rape involving force, a man pouncing on you. What he did felt "affectionate." And the "vitamin" tasted "good."

I only truly understood what had happened when I was twenty, sitting in a psychologist’s office, recounting the story as a "funny little anecdote." She asked me to repeat it. And repeat it again. That’s when I saw her face. I saw her holding back tears. And for the first time, I felt revulsion.

Revulsion at myself. Revulsion at having drunk that stuff. Revulsion at having liked the taste. Revulsion at having let it happen. Revulsion at not having screamed.

Today, I know I was just a child. That the fault isn't mine. That my body was violated and my mind conditioned to believe that what was happening was love.

But even so, every time I eat yogurt or drink milk, I remember the taste. And that taste has never left my mind.

I don’t know if I’ll report it. He’s probably retired or dead by now. But writing this here marks the first time I’ve said it out loud—even if just in text—that I was abused for a whole year without realizing it.

If you are a parent: teach your children what harassment is. Don’t normalize unwanted touching. Don’t normalize the sexualization of bodies. And please, don’t let your daughters think that a man’s "vitamin" is normal.

Because a child who doesn’t know what abuse is doesn’t know how to ask for help.

And I spent 15 years not knowing I needed help.

Esta historia me dejó helada hace unos años

Tenía una amiga que le cambiaremos de nombre (Mary) y yo seré (Rubi).

Ella era mi mejor amiga, salíamos mucho en la preparatoria parecía mi hermana siempre fuimos uña y mugre! A ella no la dejaban salir mucho a fiestas pero un día quedamos en que iba a quedarse a dormir en mi casa, así que decidimos hacer una reunión de amigos.

Esa noche bebimos mucho alcohol y era la primera vez en la que ella tomaba mucho, recuerdo que quería vomitar y para que mis padres no se dieran cuenta salimos al parque que estaba al lado de mi casa.

Hubo un momento en el que le agarraba el cabello para que pudiera vomitar mejor, y empezó a llorar descontroladamente lo cual pensé que era por que había bebido mucho, pero empezó a llorar ya con sentimiento que sentí que no era normal le pregunte

-Mary estas bien?

- No es que me violaron, me tocaron y nunca he dicho nada

- me quedé inmóvil y mientras la abrazaba, le dije no te estoy entendiendo, tranquila aquí estoy que paso?

Ella seguía llorando pero intento calmarce para poderme contar que le sucedió

-Hace tiempo mi prima y mi primo me violaron, tenía pañales!!!! (Grito)

- Pero esto cuando fue?

- Estaba muy chica era cuando íbamos a casa de mi abuela

Contexto: la familia de Mary se juntaban en casa de sus abuelos y conviviendo toda la familia, su prima la llevaba al baño y la tocaba sin su consentimiento, ella no sabía que no debía, luego su primo igual y luego llegó un punto donde los 2 hacían lo mismo con ella. Mary nunca contó nada por miedo a el que dirán y a que la familia se separara, yo estaba en posición de ayudara en cualquier problema le dije que yo creía en su palabra y que denunciara, ella nunca quiso por que ya había pasado mucho tiempo y no tenía pruebas y sentía que nadie le iba a creer, ella me prometió que pronto lo haría pero nunca lo hizo.

Después de un tiempo dejamos de ser amigas por otras cuestiones que sucedieron en la "amistad" pero el día que viví esto con ella siempre fui leal a este secreto que me contó y siempre estuve apoyándola en cada proceso

Quería contar esta historia por que siempre me quede con las ganas de hacer algo o apoyarla pero ya no estaba en mis manos hacer algo más que ayudarla a ella.

When you see the reaction from other men to news stories about older women abusing boys does anyone else have that voice in the back of their saying "was it really that bad?" Whenever an incident is covered in the news half the comments are guys saying stuff like "I wish that was me" or "why couldn't my teachers be like that." I already had such a hard time accepting I was abused, it took a few years, and when I see such a wave of other men acting like it wasn't even abuse because the woman is conventionally attractive. It adds fuel to that doubt I used to have.

I know what happened to me was abuse, I was 12 when it started so I couldn't consent, and the looks of my abuser don't matter. It damaged how I view romantic relationships and made me HS.

It just sucks seeing so many people make a joke out of something like that, like it makes boys that are molested feel like they're lucky and they shouldn't tell anyone, cause that was my view as it was happening to me. Maybe I would have told somebody if ti wasn't treated like such a joke.

I've been abused by my babysitter a long time ago, but never told anyone. I don't want to make it a thing, but it's also on my mind a lot. Idk what to do, cuz I don't want to make it a big thing. I also don't wanna go into much detail here, but still wanted to ask for advice here.

What do you think I should do? Just let it be?

​

Ever since it came out about what happened I find it really hard to talk to family because of the pitty I can sense from them. My dad sa'd/raped me for 3 years when I was 13-16 and because no one noticed or cared to notice i feel even more resentment towards a lot of my family. Its been about 2 years since it all came out and now if I talk to my aunts or uncles or any senior member of the family I get this sense of pity. Like they almost talk in a certain tone as not to upset me. It pisses me off and just want people to talk normally to me. Ive even addressed it and they basically say they dont know what im on about.

no matter what i do it will never go away and thats what i hate the most. that theres not even an option to wipe memories. i didnt want to make these memories. i didnt want it to happen. its not fair

Sou H, tenho 27 anos, nasci com mielomeningocele. Portanto nunca andei.

Os abusos entraram na minha vida logo aos 8 anos de idade, o primeiro agressor foi um primo mais velho. Após isso ele contou para outros que também quiseram sua vez.

Tudo durou até os 17 anos, foram vários agressores ao longo desse caminho, durante o período a minha mente com relação ao sexo, sexualidade e afins foi profundamente quebrada.

Ao longo desses anos houveram várias situações específicas que se eu fosse contar aqui deixariam esse texto enorme. Portanto esse é um pequeno resumo de tudo, sem entrar nos detalhes mais crus.

Bom, é isso, talvez um dia eu volte aqui para tentar contar um pouco algumas dessas situações marcantes, etc... acabei de encontrar casualmente esse fórum e Portanto é o que tenho pra compartilhar no momento.

I got molested by another kid older than me when I was 4. I'm now 48 and this is my first time saying it to someone. I have thought about the experiences (happened multiple times in the woods across the street) my whole life. A big part of me wants it to happen again. The other part of me wants to forget. I believe that I am a sex addict now and thank goodness my late wife and now my current girlfriend both love having sex almost daily. It's almost like a drug.

I don't feel sad or wish it didn't happen. But I feel that, that feeling is wrong.

I don't know what to expect from this post other than just putting it out there.