I was only 8. My parents divorced when I was born and I lived with my mother. Summer rolled around and I had to visit my father for 6 weeks. No big deal I’ve been doing this since I was born. There was something different about this time. My cousin, which whom I’ve never met moved in. His name was Dylan (I’m using a fake name).

Well everything started off normal. We became friends, did the normal cousin stuff, even though he was 14. He became fascinated with tickling me, and I was used to being ticked.

The first time he rapped me, he was tickling me and I was laughing and having fun and I said I’m ticklish everywhere, so he said “let’s test it” and he threw me on the bed and kept tickling me.

Then he took off my clothes and I told him to stop and he said “cousins are supposed to do that”. Those words literally stay with me. He said it every time he rapped me. Then he threw a cover over my head, spread my legs and put it in me. I told him to stop it, it hurts and he said it’s supposed to. And yeah, then he stopped and told me to put on my clothes. I put them on and continued my day like it never happened, and I figured he wouldn’t do it again.

I was wrong. He did it every single day of that summer. Two years later I was getting a better understanding of what truly happened. I was torn apart before, but it tore me deeper. I realised I am not gonna be pure for my husband in the future, so I was mad. I turned my back on God, the one person I should have went to. I confessed to a close friend, Maggie, and she was actually my cousins ex girlfriend.

At the time she knew something was off about mine and his relationship. She could sense it. She convinced me to tell my birth father and step mother what had happened. I said I cannot and cried. She said tell my mother and she can tell your parents. I did that and my parents called me into their room and I told them everything.

I pored my heart out to them and I felt they knew how true and honest my story was. I woke up the next morning and they called me in their room again and asked me if I even knew what rape was. I said yes. I am not gonna lie in this story so I will tell you all the truth.

I was fascinated by the kissing. I loved that, but every time he’d take my clothes off, I’d tell him NO that hurts stop it.

I decided to move in with my father at age 12. I didn’t realise at the time, they didn’t believe me about the rape. I figured this out when I told a older boyfriend at the time and my parents made him and me split up.

He apparently told his mom and well she has a big mouth and told a couple of parents in a small town, and we all know how small towns work. My parents went to go talk to them. I actually heard what was said by a close friend. They said Dylan and I had sex, it wasn’t rape and that I was trying to make myself feel better about what I have done. I have ran the entire thing and the first time the rape happened, it was not my fault, but I feel like maybe I could have stopped it.

My boyfriend at tells me I was too young to have led him on and that I was a curious little kid that became interested in the kissing and that my parents are arseholes for not believing me.

I am 17 now and my boyfriend has been taking me to church and I am working hard on turning to God instead of away. He knows why it happened and I am learning to except that. Not to say I am okay with all that happened. My parents rejected me on what’s happened and I am learning to forgive them. Dylan himself, he was just a child then and he has changed so much over the years. He is in the Air Force and has a girlfriend and I want him to have a happy life. I am proud of him for the man he has become.