My name is Eric Filipkowski and I was a victim of child molestation

Yes, it’s true. Before this moment, there were 3, maybe 4 people who knew the truth. Two of them were professional therapists. My parents didn’t even know.

I was molested. I was raped.

God, you can’t believe how good it feels for me to say that. For 17 years, I’ve had that horrible secret bottled up inside of me and now it’s out. It’s gone.

Up until now, I haven’t been able to move on. Not completely. There was always a part of me that was the same, scared little boy who had his innocence ripped from his grasp, so many years ago.

I feel that part of the healing process is to tell my story, but I warn you, it’s very graphic. If this kind of thing bothers you, I implore you not to read any further. It doesn’t make you less of a friend and I really do appreciate you listening so far. I wouldn’t be at this place I’m at now, where I am healthy enough to stop blaming myself for what happened, without you, my friends whom I love so much. Thank you.

OK, well if you’re still reading, hold on, cuz it’s a bumpy ride.

My story starts when I was just 13 years old. I was a happy kid. I had friends and I did well in school. I remember feeling like I was standing on the edge of a world with limitless possibilities. I truly believed that I could do anything I put my mind to. But that was all about to change.

My attacker was older than me, around 20. She was about 5’11”, maybe 120 pounds at most. One of my few clear memories of the incident involves me staring at her enormous 34DD breasts through my tears and wondering how a woman that skinny could have such large breasts.

I know a few of you are probably snickering right now. You think a horny, 13 year old boy would love to have sex with an insanely beautiful 20 year old college sorority girl who worked as a topless dancer on the weekends to help pay her tuition and you would be right. But that doesn’t change the fact that I was raped. You should be ashamed of yourself. I was a child.

If things were different and I was a 13 year old girl getting molested by that gorgeous 20 year old stripper, would it still be sexy to you?

Yeah, I didn’t think so. You didn’t think of it like that. Nobody does.

They say most victims of sexual assault know their attackers and this was true in my case. Who she was and how I knew her aren’t important. I’ll leave it at “she was a family friend.” She was home for the holidays for a few days before she went to a regional gymnastics competition.

My parents had a Christmas party and she snuck up to my room where I was sleeping, safe in my bed.

I remember the faint aroma of alcohol on her breath as she kissed me awake. If you’ve ever wondered why I don’t drink, well, now you know.

I sat perfectly still as she got under the covers and removed my boxers. If you’re wondering why I didn’t yell out for help, let me point out that it’s easy for you to say, safe in your home, staring at your computer screen. I was terrified. I literally couldn’t move a (voluntary) muscle.

She took me into her mouth for close to half an hour. The first time I orgasmed, I thought it would end. She got her sick thrill from raping this sweet, young boy and now she would be on her way. “OK, that was terrible, but I’ve survived.”

But I was wrong. So very wrong. Every time I came, she’d just swallow it or shoot it all over her face or naked breasts. After the seventh time, everything seemed to blur together. I lost track of time. I think this was a self-defense mechanism.

Finally, her voracious appetite for my semen seemingly satiated, she ceased her aggressive felating. I told myself that this wasn’t happening to me, I was somewhere else right now, this couldn’t be real. I was snapped back to reality when she informed me that this nightmare was not over yet. Though her voice was sweet and sexy, her threat to “fuck my brains out” was taken very seriously by yours truly.

As we repeatedly engaged in hot, steamy sex in every imaginable position, I began to pray to God. I had never been a religious person but I felt that if there was a God out there, he needed to hear my prayers and help me.

Well if there is a God, he’s a sick bastard, because he cursed me with an erection that just wouldn’t go away. No matter how many times either of us climaxed, my phallus was paralyzed. All the prayers in the world wouldn’t make it go away as she raped me repeatedly. The most humiliating part of the experience was her affinity for “doggie-style” sex. I pounded away at her from behind until we were both, quite literally, sore from the effort.

I thought that perhaps her screams of intense pleasure would alert someone downstairs at the party, but the revelry was simply too raucous. When you’re having a good time with your friends, celebrating the holiday season, you never imagine that such an awful crime could be committed in your own home at the very same time. I don’t blame you, mom and dad. I did, for a very long time. But I have forgiven you. I love you both. You weren’t the best parents a kid could have, not by a long shot, but you did your best. Well, you tried to do your best. You’d think that one of you would have checked on me at least once during that party, but no–

No, forget it. It’s over. It’s done.

Anyway, after what seemed like hours, but which was only 3 or 4 hours in reality, she kissed me on the cheek, got out of bed, put her clothes on and walked out of my room and my life forever. To add to the humiliation, she left with me a casually tossed off “Merry Christmas” as she closed the door. Once she was gone, I immediately burst into tears.

I didn’t sleep much that night, even though I was exhausted emotionally and physically. I felt dirty and sat down on the floor of the shower, sobbing. The warm water cascading over my body, taking away some of the physical evidence but none of the deep hurt I felt inside.

I tried to go on with my life as normal after that, but it was impossible not to associate the sex I had with thousands of other women to the traumatic experience I had gone through as a child.

Some might read this and say this is all just an invention in my mind and they could very well be right. I’m not going to sit here and say it’s not wishful thinking and a complete fabrication from someone who never came within sixteen feet of a real naked woman until he was in college, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a victim.

So if you see me some day casually making comments about rape or child molestation, maybe you’ll think twice before you jump down my throat about it. Because when someone has been through what I have (or more likely have not been through), sometimes the only way they can deal with it is through humor.

Thank you for listening, I wish you all the best.


  1. Well, the up side to that story is she was a she and hot. At least it wasn’t your older step brother who also had an affinity for beating the shit out of you. So when people say be acceptive of homosexuals and I say no, don’t judge me.

  2. I know this story is a lie because gymnasts don’t have big boobs. They have tiny, stringy, flat, steak-shaped musclebumps. I feel duped.

  3. I would give my left nut for that to happen to me when I was that age you fucking dumbass.

    Nice satire post btw.

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