when i was about 15 years old, my friend's mother got me alone, gave me alcohol and pills, and started a sexual affair with me that lasted for a couple months.
i saw it coming, and i let it happen.
in fact, i welcomed it, but did not encourage it.
i allowed her take control of the situation.

she was an alcoholic and an addict, who would secretly supply me with drugs and sex whenever the opportunity presented itself.

i was never attracted to her. truthfully, i did not really enjoy the act, although i was able to function. what kept me coming back to her was the constant flattery. she fed my starving ego.

i had already been sexually active since i was about six years old, so i saw nothing wrong with having sex with my friend's 36 year old mother. in fact, i thought society was wrong, with all the puritanical rules and double standards.
i was already 100% amoral by this time.

to avoid trouble with my friend, i never told anyone about this. i was worried he would be mad about me sleeping with his mom. i did not want to be embarassed, ridiculed, rejected, attacked, or in any way chastised by my peers.

this affair went on until my own mother started getting suspicious and began to ask me questions about why this woman was calling me at odd hours and so often.

then we almost got caught in the act by her violent husband. fortunately, because of my young age, he had trouble believing what was right in front of his eyes, and instead chose to believe her lies.

i never allowed myself to be alone with her again, although she propositioned me several times.

for years, i cherished these private memories with pride.
but i never spoke of them, because i was ashamed.
this is a paradox and a contradiction.
how can both be true?

now, rationally, i consider what she did to me as sexual exploitation of a vulnerable minor. especially supplying the booze and dope, which is outright illegal in this country.

perhaps she did not know any better, considering her constant state of intoxication and inebriation.
she later died of a heroin overdose.
if this had been some isolated incident, i might be aware of any emotional problems it caused me, but i am not.

however, in context, my life was so terrible at that time, it still feels like a fond memory. but i know it was WRONG.

all i have to do is imagine her as an adult man (a father of a friend) and me as a messed up 15 year old girl.
suddenly it does not seem so cool.
why is that? why is gender relevant to me in this case?

up until i discovered this particular forum (Survivors of Female Abuse), i had not really given this much thought or consideration.

any feedback?