**Author has been kept anonymous at their own request**

I never talk about my rape. I even will say that I was never raped, was never sexually abused. I flat out lie. I am a horrible liar, but this, this I could lie about to a lie detector. Even when there was a burst of bloggers talking about their experiences with rape, I left comments even, but in those comments I say that I was never raped. It is not something I tell people. But, I am going to tell you the story now.

I was in an honors program when I was in seventh grade. We were a small group of kids, close knit. We were also really responsible and adults trusted us, because we were the ‘smart kids’. Well I had a huge crush on a boy named Jaime. He was everything that I wanted at that young age. He was a soccer player, smart, and gorgeous. We accidentally got paired up for a large project near the end of the year because we both happened to be absent on the day that partners were assigned.

We both stayed after school one day to work on our project. It was in our classroom. Our teacher stayed with us for about ninety minutes after school ended. Then he got a phone call and had to leave. Any other students would have been forced to leave. Students should not be unsupervised. But we were the smart kids, we could be trusted. Not to mention, we only had about thirty more minutes until our parents came to pick us up. So he locked the door [it could still be opened from the inside, but locked from the outside] and left.

Jaime scooted closer to me. He touched me. I was confused. I made a joke about it, because I so wasn’t his type. He told me I didn’t know what his type was. I was stuck between being excited about the attention he was showing me, and being uncomfortable. He kissed me, his lips were chapped and too forceful to really be enjoyable for a seventh grader. It wasn’t my first kiss, it felt more awkward and forced than any other kiss I had. He pushed me back and I tried to struggle. His legs kept my lower half immobilized. He pulled my hair so I wouldn’t struggle with my upper half. He managed to pull down my jeans and panties, to this day I have no idea how. I wasn’t struggling too much at that point, I was almost a zombie. Human in body and flesh, but something had taken over me.

He used his spit to push himself into me easier. His grunts were soft and almost feminine. I could tell I wasn’t crying, at least not on the outside. I wanted to. I wanted to scream. I wanted to push him off of me. I couldn’t move though. Not too long after he was pumping on top of me, he leaned over and in a slick voice he whispered words that will never leave me, “I could never cum in a fat girl”. With that he got off of me and went over to a garbage can near the teacher’s desk. His bottom half was naked, and in that moment I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. He stroked himself to climax into the trash can. He turned to me, sneered, and told me that even a trash can was better than I was. That was the last time I looked him in the eyes. We both dressed in silence. I picked up the supplies for our project and went out to the front of the school to wait for my mom. I had to be in the same classroom with him daily for over a month after that. The next year I luckily moved towns.

Looking back, I cannot believe how unbelievable cruel he was. Raping someone is sick enough, but to cum into a trash can and tell me that it was better than me? To me that was worse than my rape. I worked through my rape by myself. I never told anyone. My current boyfriend doesn’t know, my family, my best friend, no one. I have always lied about it when people bring up rape or sexual assault. I will continue to do so.