Don't Tell Me I'm Beautiful
“You are so beautiful” he whispered in my ear as he slid his fingers into my swimsuit and into my vagina. As he squeezed my chest where breasts had not even thought of forming on my 10 year old body yet. As he shoved himself inside me until he had satisfied himself. When he assured me through my tears that it was normal. He said beautiful girls, good girls don’t tell when they’ve had sex. I was a beautiful, good girl - wasn’t I? But I did say something. I was 10 the first time anyone asked me what I was wearing. When I was told not to flaunt myself if I didn’t want men to take advantage. That it was my fault. That it was shameful for me to have enticed the attack with my prepubescent body. That I was ugly and that everyone would know I’d been touched. —— “You are so beautiful” he said as he clumsily fondled my newly developed breasts. I was 13 and grown up. he told me he loved me and I believed him. I believed him when he said I was pretty. It was quick and clumsy