A Guy With Crooked Teeth

I was molested and almost raped at seven or eight years old.
My dad made me take judo classes when I was six because he wanted me to be able to protect myself. It’s a bit ironic that this happened in the judo-cabin, just weeks before I was going to try out for my new belt.
The judo-cabin was a cabin where all the judo students from and near the area got together for a weekend of fun. Students in the age between six and seventeen came. That’s where I met him.
He came with the oldest group of kids. He was probably sixteen or seventeen, but to me he looked like an adult. I only reached his stomach, that’s how tall he was, and I was pretty tall for my age. He had long, wiry arms and legs and long fingers. I don’t remember the color of his eyes, but he always had a dark look in them, and he was frequently staring at me with a supposedly friendly smile. He’s teeth is what I remember the most. They were very white, and very crooked. I remember vividly what they looked like, and how big they were. He scared the daylights out of me.
It happened on the last evening. We were going to tell scary stories by the fire outside. We didn’t have enough chocolate, so one of the trainers asked me to go to the storage to fetch some more. I obliged, taking my bag of cheez doodles with me.
The storage was in the basement. You had to walk down a steep staircase and past two unisex bathrooms to get there. I had just walked past the first bathroom when a long arm shot out of the second, dragging me inside, closing and locking the door behind me. It was the guy. The bathroom was so small that I got squashed between him and the sink. He smiled, showing me his crooked teeth, before he turned off the light, making it pitch black. His teeth were so white I could still see them in the dark. He lifted me up on the sink, and started to touch me.
I was out of my body at this point. I got completely numb and just listened to the disgusting sounds and his heavy breathing. It was when I heard him pulling down his zipper I reacted. I snapped out of my daze, pulled his hand out of my pants, punched him in the face and scratched him in the process, unlocked the door and stumbled out. I tripped and all the cheez doodles where spread all over the floor. I can still hear the crunching sound as I ran. I ran up the stairs and out to my mother, who was also there. I immediately began to cry when I saw her and hid behind her. She tried to comfort me and asked what happened, but the word wouldn’t come out. Then the guy, with a bruised cheek, a scratch mark on his left eyebrow, walked up to his group and sat down with them, talking and smiling with his crooked teeth, like nothing had happened.
Now I’m eighteen, and I still have nightmares about his crooked teeth. I never told my mom what happened, and I had problems with sexual feelings since then, and hated being touched by people other then my parents and some of my friends. I felt so dirty and disgusting, no matter how much I showered, so I didn’t get the point of it. I had really bad hygiene back then, but I’ve gotten better at forcing myself in the shower. It’s never a pleasant experience, and I’m always dreading about it.
I wonder if I could ever be in a relationship with someone, when I can’t even touch myself in a sexual way without crying for hours afterwords.

— Survivor, age 18