Beloveds,
i was 14 years old. he was 24.
he was a taxi driver in my community. trusted by my family. he drove me to and from school. he was the kind of person no one questioned, because no one thought to.
i called him The Initiator — because that's what he did. he initiated me into a world i wasn't ready for.
i didn't resist. i invited him in. small touches. longer conversations. smiles that felt like being chosen.
i thought it was love. i was being groomed.
for two years, we met almost every day after school. wherever he chose. whenever he wanted. my first time was at a beach. i remember how painful it was. i remember how i held onto him. i remember how badly i felt after — and how quickly i buried that feeling to survive the next day, and the day after that.
i told myself: I love him. He loves me. It's okay.
i didn't know yet that love doesn't work that way. that love doesn't have a 10-year age gap with a child. that love doesn't have to hide.
when my parents found out, they were waiting on the verandah. my mother was angry. my father said nothing — which was somehow worse.
he was never confronted. i was the one who had to carry it. and i did carry it. into every relationship that came after. into patterns i spent decades unlearning. into a body that learned early that it was something to be given, not chosen.
the full story — the grooming, the aftermath, the moment i finally named it for what it was — is in Book 2: Fourteen.
or if this is the post that makes you want to read all of it — the full collection is available as a bundle - Speak, Mamacita: Seven Stories of Unsilencing Trauma.
A portion of proceeds from the Speak, Mamacita series supports The Sanctuary Foundation, launching November 2027.
next week: 🎢 The Roller Coaster — the decade i gave away.
Talk Soon,
Santana Chevel 🌹