He turned on the computer and said he wants to show me something. The internet was slow back then, and we waited as an image slowly loaded, row by row. When I could figure out what it was, I shut my eyes tight, turned my face away, and started coughing from disgust. "Why would you show me that!!?"
It was an image of a man, dressed in business attire sitting at the edge of a table...but as each row of the image uploaded, I realized that the lady beside him was doing something I had never even fathomed people did. Today kids joke about it all the time...but that was my first exposure. Nothing followed...but what had happened was I was now exposed to an act that I had not known about before. An image never leaves you.
Once he told me to turn on the television to a channel that I knew we didn't have access to at home. And we didn't...the screen was speckled, hazy and the sound was muffled. I told him I can't see anything. He said, "No, just watch and listen closely". I did...and when I realized what it was I turned it off immediately. It was an adult movie. Again, I was disgusted. To this day I can not bring myself to watch any form of intimacy. It felt animalistic and I hate that feeling.
Another time he asked me whether I wanted to see an ejaculation. I said no. I thought if I said no whatever intimacy that was to follow would just have been the regular hug and hold. But instead, a few minutes later he ejaculated. He did fulfill my wish though...I didn't see it. I just felt it on my stomach. I remember he made a remark about how I can do well in my Health Class now. "You don't have to just rely on what your teacher tells you," he said..."you can see it for yourself".
I was innocent. Before him I knew only of hugging and kissing. I had learned about sex when I was in grade seven but it never ever crossed my mind - to me it was just something adults had to do to have children. What his sporadic and seconds of exposure to different ideas and images did do, however, was desensitize me. He was slow and smooth...never forced me to do anything...but as days, weeks, months progressed, I was more willing and more free.
I grew to hate the physical however. I never resisted but neither did I enjoy it. I liked it when he spoiled me and wrote me poems. I liked it when he would glance at me with mesmerizing eyes. I liked it when he told me how special I was and how much he cared. But I hated the physical. The more explicit it became, the more I lost any pleasurable sensation. There was a time where I would give him the middle finger behind his back each time we were intimate. I even remember spitting at him. I hated him. I hated every moment.
Why did I allow this to progress?
Monday, August 23, 2010
Why didn't it stop?
My time-lines and chronology will invariably be a bit off...but, I'm trying to recall events exactly in the order I remember them occurring.
I had a diary with me...a few years into the relationship...and I remember writing about the beginning. In it, I recounted honestly that for the first three times we met (as a 'couple' that is) - from that first hug, to a hug and a peck, to a more intimate five-minute holding session - I enjoyed the idea of the relationship. I was experiencing what being an 'adult' was all about..and I was with a man that cared for me. Plus, my rationale for it being okay was that my clothes were always on.
But, sooner than later...and in ways I can not recall...the physical part of the relationship escalated. I battled internally. I knew this wasn't right, but I didn't understand why he didn't think it was wrong. I felt upset that I couldn't tell my friends about it, but felt special at the same time because being with him felt good...I felt mature. I often cried myself to sleep in confusion.
Part of the confusion was that our relationship was not dominated by the physical. He was also a mentor, a teacher, a friend to hang out with..he would engage in long discussions with me about politics, Islam and the empowerment of women. He also spent money on me and bought me my favorite things. When people were around, he was still his jolly friendly self; everyone knew we got along, just not how much we got along. There was no chance for anyone to suspect that there was a bigger story behind our very obvious good relationship.
In my prayer I would turn to God and cry about how confused I was. I would weep sometimes. But, no matter how much I knew something was not right, I didn't know how to stop it...but, I also did not know whether I wanted it to stop. Till one day.
He told me about something he wanted to try someday. At first I was intrigued by the idea. But then, my guilt overwhelmed me and I decided to write him a letter.
"I appreciate that you care," I wrote, "I appreciate all that you have done for me, but this can not go on any longer. It is not right. We are doing something haraam. And we have to stop". As I wrote those words, weights seemed to be lifted of my young thirteen year old shoulders. I was proud of myself, and I knew I was doing the right thing.
A few days after I gave the letter to him, I saw him again. He was visibly upset. He explained that he does not understand why he feels this way about me and he feels disgusted when he thinks of how young I am and what has become of our relationship...but, he explained that he doesn't understand why he cannot stop himself from feeling the way he does about me. The feeling is too strong, and too genuine, he explained to me. I might be thirteen in numbers, but my mind was that of a thirty year old.
We can stop this, he told me, but that means I will not be able to see you anymore. No more phone calls and no more rendezvous. We must entirely be cut off...and if ever we were to cross paths somehow, we would not be able to talk, and he would leave. "And don't be surprised when you see me quiet and not talking. I am respecting your wishes and it will not be easy for me. It is going to be very hard. I will be walking but dead," he said.
Rather than an acceptance for my appeal to end the relationship, I was made to feel as if I was being unreasonable, too uptight, and unfair...and that if I pushed for things to really stop, my whole world would change. He would excommunicate me out of his life. I was torn.
But the subtle coercion got to me and like three times to follow before the final mutual decision to end the relationship years later, I decided that things should not change. This time, I rationalized my decision to stay with him by asking myself an innocent question, "if he is out of the picture, who is going to buy me all the packs of gum?".
Yes. Chewing gum. That was all it took. So, was it abuse?
I had a diary with me...a few years into the relationship...and I remember writing about the beginning. In it, I recounted honestly that for the first three times we met (as a 'couple' that is) - from that first hug, to a hug and a peck, to a more intimate five-minute holding session - I enjoyed the idea of the relationship. I was experiencing what being an 'adult' was all about..and I was with a man that cared for me. Plus, my rationale for it being okay was that my clothes were always on.
But, sooner than later...and in ways I can not recall...the physical part of the relationship escalated. I battled internally. I knew this wasn't right, but I didn't understand why he didn't think it was wrong. I felt upset that I couldn't tell my friends about it, but felt special at the same time because being with him felt good...I felt mature. I often cried myself to sleep in confusion.
Part of the confusion was that our relationship was not dominated by the physical. He was also a mentor, a teacher, a friend to hang out with..he would engage in long discussions with me about politics, Islam and the empowerment of women. He also spent money on me and bought me my favorite things. When people were around, he was still his jolly friendly self; everyone knew we got along, just not how much we got along. There was no chance for anyone to suspect that there was a bigger story behind our very obvious good relationship.
In my prayer I would turn to God and cry about how confused I was. I would weep sometimes. But, no matter how much I knew something was not right, I didn't know how to stop it...but, I also did not know whether I wanted it to stop. Till one day.
He told me about something he wanted to try someday. At first I was intrigued by the idea. But then, my guilt overwhelmed me and I decided to write him a letter.
"I appreciate that you care," I wrote, "I appreciate all that you have done for me, but this can not go on any longer. It is not right. We are doing something haraam. And we have to stop". As I wrote those words, weights seemed to be lifted of my young thirteen year old shoulders. I was proud of myself, and I knew I was doing the right thing.
A few days after I gave the letter to him, I saw him again. He was visibly upset. He explained that he does not understand why he feels this way about me and he feels disgusted when he thinks of how young I am and what has become of our relationship...but, he explained that he doesn't understand why he cannot stop himself from feeling the way he does about me. The feeling is too strong, and too genuine, he explained to me. I might be thirteen in numbers, but my mind was that of a thirty year old.
We can stop this, he told me, but that means I will not be able to see you anymore. No more phone calls and no more rendezvous. We must entirely be cut off...and if ever we were to cross paths somehow, we would not be able to talk, and he would leave. "And don't be surprised when you see me quiet and not talking. I am respecting your wishes and it will not be easy for me. It is going to be very hard. I will be walking but dead," he said.
Rather than an acceptance for my appeal to end the relationship, I was made to feel as if I was being unreasonable, too uptight, and unfair...and that if I pushed for things to really stop, my whole world would change. He would excommunicate me out of his life. I was torn.
But the subtle coercion got to me and like three times to follow before the final mutual decision to end the relationship years later, I decided that things should not change. This time, I rationalized my decision to stay with him by asking myself an innocent question, "if he is out of the picture, who is going to buy me all the packs of gum?".
Yes. Chewing gum. That was all it took. So, was it abuse?
Sunday, August 22, 2010
The first time.
One day I was in a casual discussion with him. He asked me what my deepest dream was...after listing all my goals and aspirations, I told him that I wish I was in a long-term relationship with someone special. I told him about how I once slow-danced with a boy (I was very proud of that accomplishment). That discussion happened months before anything even started.
The first time he approached me, he reminded me of our talk. He then told me about how I was so special and how he had never met anyone as mature as me at my age...in fact, he told me I was even more mature than some adults he knew. He told me I was different from everyone else and that Allah had blessed me. He then asked me if he could give me a hug.
...this was my thought process at that time: a) I've done this before; b) I don't want him to be embarrassed if I say no; and c) I don't want to say no in case he becomes upset. I like his company.
And so it happened. A hug that must have lasted no more than 15 seconds. It felt like an eternity.
Over the next while he continued to tell me that he envisions me to be a leader for Muslim women around the world one day. That I was unique and that Allah gifted me with special things. Hearing these words made me feel special. I loved Allah and I loved Islam and I wanted to be doing good for the religion somehow. I also grew more attached to him - his faith in me amazed me.
He planted a seed..and I am ever grateful for that. But what about that hug?
The first time he approached me, he reminded me of our talk. He then told me about how I was so special and how he had never met anyone as mature as me at my age...in fact, he told me I was even more mature than some adults he knew. He told me I was different from everyone else and that Allah had blessed me. He then asked me if he could give me a hug.
...this was my thought process at that time: a) I've done this before; b) I don't want him to be embarrassed if I say no; and c) I don't want to say no in case he becomes upset. I like his company.
And so it happened. A hug that must have lasted no more than 15 seconds. It felt like an eternity.
Over the next while he continued to tell me that he envisions me to be a leader for Muslim women around the world one day. That I was unique and that Allah gifted me with special things. Hearing these words made me feel special. I loved Allah and I loved Islam and I wanted to be doing good for the religion somehow. I also grew more attached to him - his faith in me amazed me.
He planted a seed..and I am ever grateful for that. But what about that hug?
Is it abuse?
I was in grade nine. It was sex-ed class and all us girls were sitting in a circle. The topic for that day's discussion was sexual abuse and sexual harassment. At the end of our talk, a short quiz was distributed. When we finished, we proceeded to mark our own papers.
True or False: A victim of sexual abuse may feel pleasure.
I answered True.
The teacher repeated the question as we marked: "A victim of sexual abuse may feel pleasure. True?" While I was slowly raising my hand, in unison the class said "FALSE!"...as if to imply that the answer to that was so obvious. The friend sitting beside me grabbed my hand and put it down. She looked at me with curious eyes. In my heart, I was confused. But, I told her I did not understand the question.
And, I guess I still don't. Legally, having a sexual relationship with a minor is unlawful - a heinous crime. But, what if I was a minor, and we never ever had sex? And, what if I was a minor, and we were physical...but without any form of penetration...and it was 'consensual'? What if he treated me very well...and I believed in him...Is that abuse?
I only ask now, more than a decade later, because while I no longer communicate with him, and while I once felt that I had truly been in love with him and that age was just a number (that age was my enemy, in fact, because the world would not understand), something in my deepest core knows that this was not right. It shouldn't have happened. A young child...of thirteen...or fifteen...even an eighteen year old...does not always know what they are doing. Today, I feel that I was a victim to the most subtle coercion. But it was coercion. I didn't know any better at that time. And no one even noticed that I was living this big secret. I was happy, excelled at school and was popular and loved. At that time, my moments of confusion were masked...sometimes even to myself.
Was it abuse?
True or False: A victim of sexual abuse may feel pleasure.
I answered True.
The teacher repeated the question as we marked: "A victim of sexual abuse may feel pleasure. True?" While I was slowly raising my hand, in unison the class said "FALSE!"...as if to imply that the answer to that was so obvious. The friend sitting beside me grabbed my hand and put it down. She looked at me with curious eyes. In my heart, I was confused. But, I told her I did not understand the question.
And, I guess I still don't. Legally, having a sexual relationship with a minor is unlawful - a heinous crime. But, what if I was a minor, and we never ever had sex? And, what if I was a minor, and we were physical...but without any form of penetration...and it was 'consensual'? What if he treated me very well...and I believed in him...Is that abuse?
I only ask now, more than a decade later, because while I no longer communicate with him, and while I once felt that I had truly been in love with him and that age was just a number (that age was my enemy, in fact, because the world would not understand), something in my deepest core knows that this was not right. It shouldn't have happened. A young child...of thirteen...or fifteen...even an eighteen year old...does not always know what they are doing. Today, I feel that I was a victim to the most subtle coercion. But it was coercion. I didn't know any better at that time. And no one even noticed that I was living this big secret. I was happy, excelled at school and was popular and loved. At that time, my moments of confusion were masked...sometimes even to myself.
Was it abuse?
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