How I came to terms with my my first “sexual experience”

My first sexual experience happened when I was still in primary school. Worse still, it was with two boys in their early teens. It was completely, and utterly, wrong.

I lived in a small village and so it was common for children of different ages to spend time together. Everyone knew each other, no one was anonymous, and in my primary school there were actually less than 50 pupils.

The two boys were my friends, apparently. We had been planning a camping trip in my parents field. The plan was to experiment with alcohol and we had been stealing alcohol for weeks from our parents to experiment with during the night.

I was 9 years old the night it happened. They got me drunk and then proceeded to dare me to perform sexual acts on them, which I did, incapable of understanding what it was and thinking it was normal. I think I just believed everyone did this.

The boys themselves went a much larger secondary school in another town. The same school I would eventually go to once I was old enough. We were the only boys in a group of friends in our village and we and our families had known each other for a long time. My parents had bought the farm we grew up on from the grandparents of one of the boys. His family had then moved into our old house. We were all very connected.

The day after the night it occured, we were embarrassed. One of the boys tried to distance himself from the situation and implied it was all the other boy and me, which was not true. This moment should have highlighted what was coming here, but I was too young to understand how much worse it was going to get.

The following week on Friday I went to the weekly youth club at 8pm in our village hall. I went through the gap in the hedge and over to the playground where everyone was sat waiting before it opened up at 7pm. So far so normal..

When I said hi, I got a weird and uncomfortable response from everyone there. I could feel everyone staring at me, but no one could maintain eye contact when I looked at them. I knew something was up, but no one was engaging with me to be able to find out.

Eventually, one of the girls came over and said deliberately in a voice designed to be loud enough for everyone to hear and so that they would know know to watch;

“everyone is talking about you, x and x said you tried to kiss them in the tent? Are you gay?”

I felt betrayed. They had decided to lie about what happened between us to everyone, for no reason, and worse, to use it to ostracise me. It wasn’t even like they had been found out and decided in the heat of the moment to lie. That I might understand, but instead they had decided to do it on purpose in order to hurt me. And I have never understood why.

They made it look like it was all me, rather than admit their part in it. They had thrown me under a bus and didn’t care. I felt shame and embarrassment for the first time ever in my life, and on such a scale that I could barely comprehend what was happening.

I ran home through the fields crying and panicking, but I stopped before reaching my house. I knew if I entered my home whilst crying, I would be forced to explain everything to my mum, but I couldn’t handle that. At all.

So instead I sat and waited until I had calmed down in the dark by the hedge. I decided to wait until the normal time my mum would expect me home and then just go in as usual as if nothing had happened.

From then on every friendship I had basically ended instantly, or went sub zero. I had two years left at primary school and basically spent them completely alone. I saw no friends during the holidays and not once did anything social outside of school take place. At breaks and lunch times I preferred to keep to myself.

A lot of this was because people did not actually want to be my friend after what they had heard, but a big part of it was also my choice. I was terrified and ashamed. Even then, I think I knew I was gay, and the thought of being outed and losing everything again was too just too much for me to risk going through again.

So as a result, I think I subconsciously made a decision to keep people away, rather than risk being subjected to that again.

My parents noticed the difference in my socialising. I spent all my time with my older sisters (11 years difference) and also with my nephew when he was born. I lived on a farm so it wasn’t like I was ever bored, even without friends. I read a lot and I worked outside with my mum. I think from an early age I learnt to be comfortable alone and I really still am.

My dad just thought I was not a sociable person and he’d always randomly get ideas to “bring him out of his shell”. Mainly he would suggest solo sports such as golf whilst describing me as a “loner” to my mum when recommending them. He was trying the best he could.

My mum just thought my friends and I had grown apart. She knew we weren’t getting along, but she’d had two kids already and knew how friendships at such a young age can change quickly. She told me “don’t worry. Soon you will be at big school and you will have your choice of friends. You won’t be stuck in this tiny place with these people anymore”.

In many ways she was completely correct. I did make friends, but I never let them in properly. I spent time with them during breaks and lunches, but never let them into my life outside of school.

And that was my choice. I was still terrified of what had happened and couldn’t face anyone getting too close and it reoccuring all over again.

I chose to be alone and it was because of both what they did and how they outed me by lying.

Eventually I met someone when I was 16. Someone I would go on to be in a relationship with for 15 years. I met him via online dating websites of the time, including gaydar and fitlads.I’d created a whole social life online where I could be myself, in a way I could never be at school.

Meeting him changed my life forever and it felt completely liberating. I learnt how to relate to people and make friends properly. Having him made me feel much more confident to go out and make friends myself, not only with him, but by myself also. As cringeworthy as it is to say, meeting him really did change me for the better.

In my 20s things were different. The early impact of what happened had gone, I no longer found it hard to make friends, and the impact of the outing and betrayal had slowly ebbed away, but the way I understood what happened, was still completely wrong.

When people asked about my first time, I would essentially tell the truth, but lie about my age. I would say that I was 15 and embellish it to make it sound cool. I would tell people my first time was a threesome in a tent, as if that was something to be proud of. I used it to overstate my sexual experience as if it gave me some kind of status. It is horrible to reflect on.

Looking back now, with over 20 years of vantage point from which to view it, I think I still felt ashamed about what happened. I didn’t want to recognise how wrong it was, or how much it had actually damaged me. So I just chose to believe the lie I was telling people. To bury it as deep as possible and completely forget about it. To remember it was too painful and it made me used and weak.

I think one of the problems is actually understanding what it was that had actually happened. I knew I was too young. I also knew that they were older than me. But equally, they weren’t 16 yet. From memory they were 13 and 14. And so I think for the longest time I struggled to know what it was or what had happened. It was incredibly wrong what they did and that it happened, undoubtedly. But even now I still struggle to know what to call it. It ruined my life for a long time. It scarred me. But I still don’t know how to talk about it or how to describe it. I know how to talk about how it impacted me. What happened. But not fully what it was. I feel like I don’t have the words.

I am not angry at the two of them. One of them is now also gay and I have known him since, loosely. Indeed our paths used to cross a lot and we have still never actually discussed it. The other boy I know of slightly, he had a child with someone I know, but I have never been in touch.

I think what they did was completely wrong, but I don’t think they understood it either, if I am honest. And I think this is the reason I have never actually felt anger over it.

I do think I am happier now that I can see it more clearly. I’m not afraid to try and think about it anymore.

In my teens I ignored it. The main impact of it was the outing. It forced me to keep people away to protect myself.

By my 20s I chose to wilfully misunderstand so that I felt comfortable enough to stop pretending it didn’t happen.

But now I think I can see what it was more clearly and how complicated it was. I do think that I was taken advantage of and I think it was something horrible that should never have happened to me when I was 9. I know from looking back how much it was something that would impact me during teens and cast an ugly shadow over my 20s. I feel lucky now, however, that I can see it more clearly and can begin to understand it properly.

So this is pretty personal, though not something I find difficult or upsetting tbh. I wanted to start writing about important things that happened in my life and understanding how they may have or have not had an impact. If you find this interesting and/or want to discuss it with me, let me know.

One thing I will say is that I absolutely hate calling it my first time. It wasn’t and I refuse to see it as that. But I honestly don’t know what else to call it.

Sam