We dated a little longer after that, but we weren't as comfortable. And once we broke up I spiraled for a bit, even almost raped another boy for all the same reasons.
And then, I changed. Entirely.
I had mostly forgotten all about that night (though not about you, your kindness echoed and reminded me to believe in it elsewhere) until my son spoke so candidly with me. And I recognized myself in his fears.
So, I told him about you, and I was honest. I shed light on how awful I felt and how wrong I knew I was. I pointed out how my ugly needs drowned out your kindness to me. And then I told him, point blank, never to do it. Never to push someone, or force anything.
And then, together, mother and son, we wondered about you. How are you doing? How have you coped? Because I know what I was thinking when I raped you, but I've never asked you.
I want you to know that I thank you for showing me respect, and I'm sorry for not seeing it then. Or more accurately, for seeing it and resenting you for it.
Discovering our sexuality can be scary, and is often confusing. But when we have someone to talk to, someone who can offer tools and suggestions for navigating it kindly and safely, the beauty of sex is discovered with fewer dangerous missteps along the way.
My son and I weren't in the car for long that day, but we said much.
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