Does Yea Forums remember the summer of '92?

Does Yea Forums remember the summer of '92?

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cobi la mascota mas genial
vive junto al mar en barcelona

barely. was almost 4 years old

Rapists. It's a word that, even years later, seems too dirty to say. Rapist, rapists. The two syllables that i have replaced their names with. Rapists. The men who fucked with my head more than any part of my body.

I was 33 years old. The 1992 Olympic games were taking place in Spain. My quaint little hometown of Detroit was real excited about it whilst I ended up as working shows after breaking into the business, barely making enough money for food but having fun every night. Not a bad job, I guess.

I befriended some guys a couple of years younger than me. We used to get the same show each night. They looked and acted like nice enough guys. They were always smiling, and popular with the boys. As a confident and in control dude, I had fun with them and I considered them friends.

I was working a later show when one of them asked if he could come round and meet me afterwards. He was my friend; I said yes. We met outside the show and the others were with him. Before I knew it, my pants had been pulled down and they was on top of me. All I remember is the pain, and my vision becoming blurred by the intense fear that swept over me.

I left the show to go to home, pretty sure they stayed at the building. I was terrified at the thought of still finding them outside since I kept thinking I forgot something. This was a nightmare that haunted me for weeks after: walking into an alley at any time, and finding the men who raped me laughing and smiling there.

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>Rikishi turns over, clutching his tummy, which exposes his shit covered ass. His abdominal muscles contract involuntarily as he shits

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yeah it was the beginning of my neighbourhood being turned into a tourist trap

>You pounce on him, and spread those chocolate smeared cheeks apart, ready to dig in
*BRAAAPPP*

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Typing about what happened still feels me with an indistinguishable sense of fear, doubt, worthlessness and discomfort.

I was trapped within what my rapists had done, and unable to reach out to anyone for help. I thought I'd be outed as gay and rejected, so I feel like I overcompensated. I know this sounds silly. But it was what I thought, and I know it's the same for others who have been sexually abused. Since the incident, I’ve had to overcome a number of mental health issues, all of which inextricably link back to that day.

Consent couldn’t be easier to understand. No means no. So why do people still ignore it?

In writing about this, I'm coming to terms with what happened to me for the first time. I'm talking, because I know it's the right thing to do. No one should let their experiences rot away within themselves.

No means no, no will continue to mean no - and male rape needs to be spoken about, urgently.

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OHNONONONO
IT JUST
KEEPS
HAPPENING

>It hurts Scotty, it hurts just like back in the blistering summer of '92!

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