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I was on my way to meet him and his six year old son at his apartment for dinner.

After dinner, he put his son to bed and asked if I wanted to watch a movie. As we were watching the movie, he started kissing me. He started groping me and trying to take my shirt off. I kept telling him no, but he kept going and asking me if I wanted to go to his room. He didn't care that I said no.

His son must have heard, because he came in. I figured he was okay with his son in the room and I didn't want his son to ask questions, so I stayed there. He got on top of me again—with his son in the room—and started taking my clothes off again. I didn't want to draw attention to his son, so I just tried to push him away without saying anything.

I finally got away, and I called a friend to talk about what had happened. I told her that I had messed up, because I wanted to be in love the next time I had sex and I didn't wait. I told her that it was my fault because I didn't leave when I had the chance. She was the one who told me that I was sexually assaulted, but I felt like it was all my fault and that, though I was repulsed by him, it felt good and I didn't know what to do with that.

I never pressed charges because of that and I never told anyone else . . . until now.

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