< Translator’s note: The original formatting of the stories has been preserved. The translations aim to remain as close as possible to each author's original wording and expression.
Every summer, for 7 years in a row, I was raped by a man 40 years older than me. He hid behind words about love that knows no age.
Every summer, my parents sent me abroad for health reasons. I lived with a family — a man and a woman. They were foreigners, but I knew the language and could communicate. The wife worked during the day, so at home it was just the man and me. He was quite friendly toward me — he liked watching cartoons together, joking around, and taking me on walks. He often bought me toys and whatever I wanted. But one day he led me to the bedroom and put me on the bed.
I don't remember what he said, but the interior of the room is burned clearly into my memory. Outside, it was hot and sunny. To keep the room cool, the curtains were drawn tight. The man playfully removed my underwear and touched me with his fingers in my intimate area. I think he even showed me his penis. In the end, he said it was normal and that I shouldn't tell anyone.
It seemed strange to me, but I felt trust toward this man: I was in a foreign country, and he was essentially the one person who treated me well. Later, he would allow himself to do more. I remember he even turned on pornography, saying it was normal when a man and a woman had sex. But at 8, 9, and even 10 years old, I found it disgusting to watch. I couldn't understand how it could be normal. And he kept raping me every summer. He performed oral sex on me (I didn't know what that was at the time), saying it was supposed to feel good, but I found it disgusting and foul. I would run to the bathroom and wash all that filth off myself. He told me to take his penis in my hands and showed me what I was supposed to do. I found it so disgusting. I remember that repulsive smell of sweat, his stomach, and his expression. I feel sick.
People might ask, why was I so stupid and put up with all of it? At 7, 8, and 9 years old, I didn't understand what he was doing. Then he talked to me about sex, about relationships between a man and a woman. He said that when I found a boyfriend, he would stop coming after me, but for now, he loved me. And when I said I was against it, he wouldn't speak to me. And I was alone in a foreign country…
Before every trip, I cried and begged my parents not to send me. And every time they told me I had to go, because there would be no other chance for me to travel abroad. (My parents didn't know about the rapes, because I didn't even know how to explain it to them, and whether anyone would believe me.) When I turned 14, the nightmare stopped. I stopped going abroad in the summer. But that man kept sending me messages saying how much he loved me.
At the time, I hadn't yet fully come to understand what had happened to me. Perhaps because he talked to me about love. But now I understand that he was a sick person who should be punished by the law.
For a long time, I couldn't understand why I found it so utterly repulsive to watch sex scenes in films. Somehow, I even became afraid of boys and avoided relationships. I found male genitalia repulsive. But at a feminist camp, I heard a girl's story similar to mine. And at that moment, I finally understood that I had experienced violence. I understood the reason for my revulsion toward sex.
When I met the boy with whom my first romantic relationship began, I found closeness difficult. But thankfully, he is patient with me. He was the first person I was able to trust with the secret of my childhood. The next person was my psychotherapist.
Anonymous author; story told in 2021 as part of the "16 Days of Activism Against Gender-Based Violence" campaign