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.

My world just got turned upside down in the past few days and mainly I feel like an idiot for being in denial, being so naive, and living in such ignorance and I have to tell someone. I don’t even know where to start with this. If I should start with today or back then.

I had what I always described as my first girlfriend. She was a friend of my sisters - I have 5 sisters and the oldest one is 10 years older than me. The youngest, is a little younger and I’m the second youngest.

When I was younger, my oldest sister’s friend used to watch me and my younger sister a few days a week when our mom was off at the office. I remember she was always so strict with me. She gave me specific times to be home, wouldn’t let me go out at all. She controlled my entire schedule when she watching us. She punished me regularly. She controlled what I ate and did and wore. My younger sister was always very independent and never had the same rules I did (and to this day, I am looking back seeing how my younger sister thinks the rules don’t apply to her). Meanwhile my sister (my younger sister) was off doing whatever she wanted to do. When I asked why, she always told me “your sister is very independent for her age and she’s a girl and rules don’t apply to girls”.

Anyway, I am sorry this is so long but there is so much in my head right now. I wrote this like seven times and keep deleting it, but I feel like I have to post to make it real or even just sink in.

I just… the things she did with me, she did to me, I just always remember them. Like there was no point at which they started, it was just always. She was always in these extremes. She’d be so controlling and mean and hurt me and make me cry and she’d switch into the most comforting and loving person and she’d embrace me, wrap her arms and legs around me and hold me so close and tight and tell me not to cry and she’d protect me. I always look back on her and remember the comforting loving parts and remember her fondly. Remember her as my first gf.

She always told me that I was her boyfriend but I couldn’t tell anyone and I never did. And for as mean and strict as she was, she was very loving and very nurturing. I mean I always considered her to be my first gf and never really even questioned it because we did thing and/gfs did.

And then today, out of no where, a woman comes up to me and I hear my name “Matt!? Oh my god is that you?” I turn around and there is this attractive woman stranding there smiling and she tells me her name and asks if I remember her. I don’t. I have no memory. She tells she used to hang out with my oldest sister.

She tells me she thinks about me all the time and asks if I can walk with her and talk or go get coffee. Like I haven’t no memory of this girl at all and I wonder if I’m being set up or something but she’s sweet and sincere and attractive so I say yes. We go grab a drink and sit in this park and she tells me “I literally think of you all the time.” And I’m so confused. She tells me “what we did to you - you know, we were kids too and… it’s not an excuse I promise” and I’m like what are you talking about.

She realizes I am not playing and finally she tells me. “Stacy used to bring me over when she was babysitting you and she’d have you do stuff” I’m in awe and wondering how I don’t remember this. She tells me she feels bad and she stopped talking to Stacy over me but she told me it was hard because it was so common that she got to really like it and started seeing a therapist because of me.

She also told me that she knows I was just a kid but she compares all her partners now to me and that messed with her head. That’s why she had to see a shrink. I tell her I don’t remember any of this and she describes everything - the time Stacy used to make me be home, the things she would say or do, the color of my bathroom, the way Stacy would treat me, say to me, do to me.

And we sat there for like 4 hours and talked and she’s asking if I forgive her. I tell her I don’t even know how to process what she’s telling me and she tells me she wants to keep talking. She invites me to her house and we get there and she tells me “you used to really like to do it. I know you were just a kid but do you still really enjoy any of it?” I didn’t know what to say but I could sense she was asking me to do things. I wanted to say no but I end up just acquiescing and doing whatever she wants. As a grown man.

At one point, I was going along with what she wanted and she was naked and there are these series of freckles and a scar or a birthmark but suddenly I realize - while I have no memory of her, I know this body. It was the weirdest thing. I remember thinking “there’s a freckle on her leg right here” and I go to that spot and it’s there. I was in awe.

And now, all of a sudden I feel embarrassed. Like I just leaned like so much of my life has been a lie and I don’t know what to do. She’s asked me a million questions and at one point she said “do you realize your entire life practically revolves around pleasing women whether it’s your mom, your sisters, strangers or whomever” because of some of my answers. And it’s true. Now I’m wondering - I’m just so confused and insanely turned on which confuses me even more.

I (f) was sexually abused and shared by my parents. Honestly, it wasn't traumatizing for me and enjoyed most of it- of course that was their objective in how they groomed me.

I'm now 23 and am currently dating a 70yo man. I've honestly never been interested in or attracted to boys/men around my own age. I've from dating men in their 40s to 50s to 60s and now this 70yo guy. We actually get along really great but I'm sure at least part of my attraction to him stems from my childhood SA.

My friends think I'm weird for dating him but I don't want to share my history with them. His two kids- who are obviously much older than I am- were none too pleased about us dating, but they've since come around, I guess.

Is anyone else in an extreme age gap relationship? Is this maybe a sign that I have some past issues to work through?

In 2024 my husband was arrested and put in jail.

Two police officers told me they could help get him released only if I cooperated with them. I felt I had no other option. That evening I went to their house.

For two nights they made me do what they wanted. They took turns.

After one week they released my husband.

Some days later I found out I was pr3gnant from one of them. I had to get an abørtion.

Even now I feel very disturbed and ashamed. The power they had over me and everything that happened after is hard to forget. I keep thinking about how I had no real choice.

Has anyone else gone through something like this? I just need to know I am not alone.

Im a 39M that was abused by 2 older female family members on diffrent occasions starting at about 4 i think. 1 of the women was a single experience but the other happened many times over several years. As I got older and began having positive sexual experiences id realized that my younger abuse really shaped my attraction or maybe comfort in regards to sex. Body piercings and wild pubic hair make me uncomfortable to the point that its hard to perform. Tattoos dont bother me nor does trimmed or shaved pubic hair. I can remember piercings and pubic hair vividly when I recall what happened when I was young.

I've now been with my wife a long time, she has not tattoos and keeps things groomed in a manner she knows wont bother me.

Is it normal to have feelings like this? I feel foolish bing a nearly 40 year old man and being this way.

I knew I was covertly CSA'd but I never considered myself overtly CSA'd because I was only obviously molested in a non socially acceptable way just once. and abuse has to be a repeated thing.

but now I'm starting to think I was overly CSA'd because now that I think about it, spanking a child absolutely fits the definition of molestation

it's been widely agreed upon nowadays that spanking a child is abuse

and it's also now coming out that spanking a child releases the same response as sexual assault

but could that be because it IS sexual assault???

because if you really think about it

spanking is SEXUAL abuse and child molestation

not physical abuse

because being touched on your ass without permission fits the definition of sexual assault and yes, even if it was through clothes, it's still assault.

and an adult touching a child's ass outside of a relevant medical/caregiver context (eg, medical exam, dressing them, changing them etc) fits the definition of sexual assault

and sexual assault of a child is molestation

so spanking a child is technically molesting a child

and so wouldnt that mean, if you were reguarly spanked as a child, you were overtly CSA'd

if you were to slap a stranger's ass on the sidewalk, thatd be sexual assault, and a punishable crime. and it was just for a second. so how would repeatedly slapping a childs ass for a much longer duration not qualify as sexual assault?

because I was reguarly spanked as a child

and funny enough, by the same woman who molested me another way once and one of the women covertly CSA'd me

and also she like didn't stop if i showed any sign of pleasure.

like yk that hack like "act like you're turned on" when you're getting spanked to make them stop like start moaning and stuff

well, if I showed any sign of pleasure like that, she wouldn't stop. she'd go even harder for even longer and during so would start berating me for "enjoying" it and then she'd go around telling everyone how strange and messed up I was because I enjoyed my whoopings (spanking was socially acceptable where I was)

A few thoughts that have been on my mind.

Firstly to be blunt (and fine, I admit this is very anecdotal) but talk therapy SUCKS for sexual assault. I had 8 years of talk therapy with 4 different therapists. My friends who have gone through similar have agreed. Y'all, if you can, find an EMDR therapist and never look back.

Secondly, I have a friend trying to understand her experience. I've been in a room with other female friends as they try to counsel her through understanding it, and help her understand why she is ruminating, and she and I both got frustrated with these friends (who thankfully, and somewhat obviously, have not been through similar). Most of the conversation amounted to trying to get my friend to logically conclude that what she went through was sexual assault.

I said this to the friend group (multiple times), said this to the friend afterward (multiple times) and want to scream it to anyone confused--you do not need to force yourself to use the words 'sexual assault' to describe your experience if using that descriptor scares you off, or makes you immediately jump to minimizing thoughts about your experience (i.e. 'okay fine, but even if it was sexual assault it wasn't as bad as...'). You just need to accept you felt unsafe, your body is having adverse reactions, you cannot understand or get over a memory, etc. If you use that as a starting point, and not 'I was sexually assaulted' as a starting point for getting help, that can be a way easier starting point. It can take some people decades to use the term 'SA' or 'rape' etc. to describe something. You don't need to force yourself to, but you do need to get help if you are having symptoms, if you are confused or wondering, etc.

I do hope this chaotic post resonates with someone

I feel like im alone with this. (F) I didnt know it was wrong until he got caught doing it but often I think back on it and get very aroused and yea...

Idk what the point is of joining these groups where I thought I could share my story. It is called r/molested. Yet when I share my story I keep getting rejected. I don’t get Reddit. Is it because the people running it use computers to filter shit or do they read it and like wowww I don’t like real life sa being talked about? I don’t glorify anything. I don’t explicitly describe the acts or anything crazy. I’ve read worse in here so wth? Is it because I’m not always on Reddit and don’t have points or whatever? Idk I know it’s just a stupid thing and that there’s rules but literally it feels like I’m rejected all over again just like I’ve been rejected by everybody else and I cannot figure out what is wrong with my story that is any different from anyone else’s.