I was thirteen; my mom was out of town and left me alone to take care of my aunt's little girl. Later, her friend would come to take care of me that night. I told my mom I didn't have good feelings about her friend (I consider myself psychic) and I knew she wasn't a good person. I had no reason for my feelings of hostility towards her friend, Julie, but I just knew. That night after the little girl left, Julie told me she would teach me what it was like to be with a woman. She told me to take off my clothes and I kept on asking if she was sure and she kept saying the same thing. That it was fine, it was okay. It wasn't. I am ashamed to say that I did as she told me, but I was scared out of my mind. She told me to lay down and I did and just froze as she performed oral sex on me. It was my fault; completely my fault. No matter what anybody tells me. Everyone says that victims always blame themselves, but I think I have a good reason to blame myself. I could have done something, but all I did was nothing. For some reason, I didn't let this affect my personal life. Studies show that most victims are mentally traumatized by rape. I am ashamed to call my case rape. Many women and men (including my mother) were violently raped, drugged, murdered. My mother tells me that her case was worse, because it was a man. She says it was more emotionally and especially physically disturbing, which offends me because she has no idea what I went through. Still, every time I think about the night it happened, I cry. I got up to the point where I thought about killing myself. I don't have much reason to live.. but I don't have much reason to die, either.