I know a lot of women. A LOT. And I can count on one hand the number of them who lost their virginity under fully consensual circumstances. I don’t know a single woman who has not been the victim of rape, in one form or another.
Now I have two daughters, and I literally vomit sometimes, thinking about the world they’re growing into.
When my oldest told me she thought she was gay, the rush of relief I experienced was enormous. Because if she wasn’t going to be participating in what we think of as “normal” teenage dating experiences, heer chances of going through what you did, what I did, what *every goddamn woman I know* did, would be so much lower.
I’ve come to terms with what happened to me. I hate the bastards, and hope they burn in hell, but I’m pretty much okay now.
But the thought of my kids going through that? Makes me want to drink all the whiskey on earth and start lighting things on fire. Like, all the things.