Ein Brief an das Mädchen, das mich der Vergewaltigung bezichtigte, als ich 15 war

I was 15 and you were 13. Exactly one year and four months apart. But they will say two years because apparently, in months, we are supposed to round up. I had never met you before, even though we went to the same school. After the usual Friday night routine of underage binge drinking and smoking to look cool, we ended up staying over at a mutual friend’s house. His not-so-traditional parents made it an ideal hangout.

We were talking casually when I first noticed you flirting. I wasn’t exactly a looker back then, and definitely not the kind of guy who girls at our school usually flirted with, so I guess I was flattered. I made some kind of attempt to mirror your advances and we kissed.

"Bed" turned out to be you, your friend and me sleeping on three mattresses in a dining room. We held hands when the lights were out and you guided my hand to your breasts.

We gave up our virginity in eight minutes of clumsiness and confusion. You took my belt off and I battled with your bra. We were as silent as we could have been so as not to wake your friend who lay just two metres away, asleep.

I think we were both relieved when it finished. We didn’t use a condom, I guess because I never expected to have sex any time soon and if you did have one with you it wasn’t offered.

It was entirely mute apart from the simple, but essential, "Do you want to … ?" and "Yes."

We parted with closed-mouth kisses and I returned to my mattress to sleep.

I woke up being shaken by my friend’s father and two policemen. They were telling me to get dressed and come with them. I didn’t have a clue what was going on.

Hier geht es weiter.