Peril

sex

TW:Sexual trauma

A young child stood in a room, the same room she would sit during the day and do school, trying her hardest to write cleanly and make her parents proud of her. In that room she stood doing unspeakable things to herself, her stomach drenched in guilt but sick desire to continue. She looked out the window to the alleyway, zoned out as she thought about her everyday hobbies. She wondered when the new "The Pals" video would come out.

It was all merely for the feeling, and though she knew it was wrong, she knew she wasn't like other kids in this way, and was strange for it, she continued doing it multiple times throughout a single day. She would even do daily activities while pursuing these actions, school, games, youtube.

She was never supposed to do this, she shouldn't have, and it made it all the worse because it became her own self inflicted trauma, a prison she was kept in from the day she thought of it.

It looked like a tooth, a blue one, and it had a soft texture and weird sound it made. She didn't know better. She was watching a christmas movie, behind the scenes in her frozen pajamas, on her own mothers bed for the first time. A memory so haunting that taunts her today.

She did it downstairs in the bathroom, upstairs bathroom, while friends were over, the closet, the office, the classroom.

Quite literally, she made herself a slut from age 7.

"Was I going to get pregnant?" Was something she thought about often and feared. She didn't understand it very well, and began looking at images on google to help her understand. She thought milk came out of boobs when someone climaxed, due to a certain image well etched into her mind today.

During those moments where she did it, she would often imagine having something consensual with a man in his late 60s or 70s. Something so gross, but she was so desperate for it. There was no attraction, and sometimes it wasn't consensual, but it was merely to reach that few seconds of joy, and then repeat a minute later.

Growing up, she understood how she'd had an intense addiction back then, but had recovered.

Now, at 15, she's still haunted by the memories, keeping her awake at nights. She's embarrassed, and hides it, she's never told anyone, and doesn't plan to.

She calls it trauma, but wonders if it really counts as that.

Something self-inflicted, she knew what she was doing...Or did she?

Sometimes, she wishes that it was inflicted by someone else, to ease her of this intense guilt and self disgust, maybe then she could tell someone, because in this case, she's not a victim is she...?

From a young age, she became attention seeking, probably as a result of daddy issues as well as the "Trauma". She would do anything for attention, sexualizing herself, taking photos and videos of herself from age 11, just so she could feel looked at and wanted.

For a while, she was in contact with a man who claimed to be a year older. The two got along well, and the boy would bring up lots of sexual topics, asking to be "sex buddies" with her, and asking what she would do if he raped her. She tried to make herself feel disgusted, but she was intrigued and despite the flags she knew were red, she continued texting him, rejecting his advances, while gaining a small crush on him. He would ask her the color of her underwear, her cup size, or pictures of her naked, but wasn't super pushy. He was charismatic and charming in a way to her. She enjoyed the attention and her friend would ship them together, she would pretend to not like it, but secretly did.

She was only 12.

And yet, she wishes she gave him those photos, even if it was to fulfill some pedofiles desires. Just to be destroyed and get love and attention, to be told she was pretty when she didn't feel pretty at all. She knew she was a bad and horrible person for this, but she couldn't help but feel it.

She didn't and doesn't want to be told "I understand" because nobody does. Nobody is as dirty and unclean as her. Someone who whore'd themselves up multiple times just to get attention, to know even for a moment what it feels like to be pretty.

Now, they're here writing a story about themselves and their sexual trauma for the first time. They aren't crying, and they aren't mad or sad, they're emotionless, their fingers endlessly typing away on a lit up keyboard, hoping to reach some conclusion or anything to help take some guilt and embarrassment off, but in the end, it's impossible.