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Note: This post is part of a seven-part series on a multi-decade journey with sexual trauma and healing. It contains sensitive information including detailed description of physical violation with sexual overtones.
I was dancing all night at a beachfront nightclub that sits perched on a rock ledge, facing the sunrise. My friends and I had been dancing for hours, since just after midnight and by this time it was early dawn. There was a soft pink light that was just starting to spread through the place. I was on the edge of a wooden platform that was facing the ocean. It was a beautiful moment of joy and serenity.
I was on my own in this bubble of bliss. I knew that my friends were somewhere around, but they were not right next to me. Suddenly there was a flash of movement from behind me. I felt a hand reach under and grab my crotch. It was a man’s hand, cupping my most intimate female body parts, taking the pleasure of a brief but firm squeeze. It was the “pussy grab” move. (That was the year that Trump was running for President of the United States, so we can thank him for the inspiration.)
My body started moving in what seemed like a slow motion flow. I turned around without missing a breath. Somehow, even without having seen him, I knew who it was immediately. I saw a couple of flustered girls looking around on either side of me. And I saw his back, moving away from us, retreating. There was no thought stream and no inner dialogue. It was an instant knowing. Absolute certainty.