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The Lucky One

When 'Pedophilia' is Simply a Word

'Boots' in our old apartment.

At age 18, I knew what the word 'pedophile' meant. I was book smart, mature for my age. When I actually met one though, let's call him D, the thought never occurred that this man only liked me because of how much younger I was than he. He was 42. It started on the internet; I was basically pawned off on him by the guy I wouldn't sleep with. Our relationship started out OK, as far as making each other laugh and physical attraction is concerned, but things got rocky when he came to visit me from two provinces away. I was denied the sparkly 'first time' that no girl can forget. I wish I could forget. We got a hotel room, I wanted it and I guess I liked it until it ended with a punch to the stomach "in case I was pregnant..." Because, yeah, it totally works that way. NOT. 

Well it only got worse from there. D must have felt slightly bad about it because he proceeded to use my hand to give himself one hell of a black eye. That was the first night he made me cry. It was also the first time people stared at us wondering what the deal was. I should've left it at that and broke things off once he went back home, but did I? Of course not. He made sure I couldn't. He would later threaten to tell my Mom about an encounter I had that I am pretty sure he set up... 

This one happened at a local nightclub, a place I did not belong. D had insisted I go out and dared me to dance with as many people as I could. I did enjoy dancing, but I was shy and awkward with low self-esteem. But when a cute guy asked me to join he and some girls at their table, I agreed. Where I went wrong was consuming the drink he offered me. I will never know what was in it, but I could consider myself roofied and that is a dangerous state to be in. As far as I can remember, I left with this guy and ended up on my knees, having sex behind a dumpster (call it rape, but at the time I was unable to see this and did not say no). Then I supposedly walked without pants for a few blocks before he helped get me back together and chucked me into a cab. How considerate. 

Somehow I made it back to my university dorm, feeling more stupid and disgusting than ever. I kept to myself for a while after that until D told me I should perform on camera for a man that would pay me and with the money I made I could come visit D. Naively, I performed, but, of course, I never got paid. This only happened a few times before I got fed up and terribly frustrated, to the point where I took a handful of cold medication and slept for the next 24 hours. As luck had it, I woke up with a brutal stomachache, but lived to tell the tale. Not that I ever told anyone. 

Soon I stopped going to class. I had really enjoyed my classes, but with 200 students in each one, nobody noticed I was gone. What did I have left at that point? I had D. Just as he had planned. So I hopped on a bus and off I went to join him in Winnipeg. With the money from my parents, we could afford a modest room in a sleazy hotel where we spent our days smoking weed, having sex, and eating bologna sandwiches. 

I knew I deserved better, I came from a good home. I simply thought this was what a relationship was and, unfortunately, for 3 months or so it was my normal. We soon moved into a shitty apartment in a building that was halfway to condemned and full of shady tenants. We lived off what money I had left and his disability cheque. Every night was the same; A few hours of watching porn, maybe some drinks, and then meaningless sex. 

Why am I lucky? He never forced himself on me and I tried a lot, but if I really didn't want it he would stop; oddly enough I could set boundaries. Also, I realize now I could have been passed on to any of his greasy aquaintances for sex while he profited off of me. But he never did. Most of his close friends were former Hell's Angels and had daughters my age, so I got the sense they had my back. I was walking on eggshells though. One wrong action or phrase would lead to me getting pushed around, whatever drink was in his hand would be thrown on me, and there would be hours of yelling and crying. 

I wanted to reach out, but to who? I was shy and rebellious all at once. Again, luck came my way in the form of a little tuxedo kitten named 'Boots.' It made me feel at home, having a pet, and lucky enough for her, D never hurt her like he hurt me (not that I would've allowed it to happen anyways). Boots brightened my life in the dirty old apartment. Though, even as a domestic prostitute, we had our fun. My favourite place was The Forks, with a park and a market where we hung out at least a few times a week. We went for walks, fed the ducks by day, then posted racy pictures online and partook in filthy sex acts by night and sometimes got wasted at a local bar off his welfare cheque. 

The day things got weird was when my parents found us, after hiring a private investigator to find us in the city, and showed up on our doorstep. I could've gone home with them, but he told me they had made it clear they didn't want me back. I knew he was lying when he said my dad had called me stupid. They were just being good parents. They were there when I needed them, but they knew if they forced me home, it would only make me want him more. 

And so I stayed a few months longer, until one day I got punched in the nose. As I was laying on the floor crying, as I too often had over the past months, I knew this isn't what I wanted for myself. We fought all night, both our faces red from anger and tears. I clearly recall standing on the futon in my underwear, calling home. Despite him clawing at me and yelling in my ear, I managed to tell my mom that I needed to come home. My dad booked me a hotel room for the night. I didn't tell D where I was going. I had to leave Boots at the apartment, but I just couldn't stay there. That could've been the night my luck ran out. If D's bi-polar personality reached an all time low, it would be bad news for me. 

My dad arrived the next morning and came with me to get my clothing and my cat. D's brother-in-law was there as a buffer, while I gathered my things and gave one last private goodbye hug. Then just like that, I took my life back from this predator that had fooled me for too long. Once Boots and I returned home, he tried calling, of course, but I was done with his shit and I think he now knew it. I blocked him from all social media and have not heard from him in 10 years. 

If you are in control of your life, give yourself a chance at something better. Nobody is worth the pain and degradation suffered by young girls at the hands of a pedophile. Not many are as lucky as I was to have the choice, to have left with only a sore nose and some long lost dignity. Too many young girls fall victim and are beaten, raped, and trafficked to other low-life beings for a buck...and that's if they haven't been savagely murdered. If you can get out, do it. If you can't, keep trying.  

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