The Adventures of Me and My Fursona

I’m sure by now a lot of people know about the #MeToo movement going around social media right now, prompting women who have been a victim of sexual harassment or assault to post Me Too on their social media. And like me, I’m sure you’ve seen women all on your Facebook timelines posting the hashtag, maybe even some women you know. I posted it on my Facebook, but I didn’t go into detail because it would be hard for some people in my personal circle of people to take. So I’m going to let my private circle see everything I’ve dealt with to make me say #MeToo.

It started on the school bus when I was five years old. My then best friend pulled the leg of his gym shorts and boxers to the side and showed me his penis. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I knew that boys had something different, I had changed plenty of my then baby brother’s diapers. I knew what a penis looked like. And my friend and I didn’t think much of it until when I told my mom about it later. And I was the one who got in trouble for looking. Because at five years old I should have known not to look at it. Not technically assault or harassment, but rather the idea that it’s the girl’s responsibility to not get harassed or assaulted.

The next time happened when I was thirteen. I had developed my feminine form at a very young age and they’ve been large for as long as I can remember. I was a member on an internet pen pal website, Interpals, and had posted an innocent picture of me at my grandfather’s house, playing with his toy poodle, Rosie, while wearing a Hannah Montana tank top with a white tank underneath and some shorts, as it was the summer and grandad didn’t have any AC. The first comment on that picture was an old man who commented “Hello beautiful.” Second comment, same old man, “You have very large boobs for a thirteen year old.” Third comment, same old man, “Can I get some of that?” There wasn’t a fourth comment because I was horrified and blocked him and deleted that account. I haven’t been on there since.

As years went on I dealt with catcalls, which ended up in me never going out with friends in high school because I was not ok with all the comments.

In college I came out as lesbian and started looking for dates online and guys would relentlessly message me on MeetMe, saying that I “just never had good dick,” or that “they could turn me straight,” and not to mention the countless dick pics.

Then she came along. This was my second girlfriend, in my sophomore year of college. I loved her, and didn’t see any of the red flags of a toxic relationship. Then she came to visit me, and proceeded to rape me. And I never reported it because “Women aren’t rapists.”

It took me until now to admit it to anyone other than my girlfriend and a few close friends. And it feels good to say it.