When age is not just a number.

Between the ages of 11 and 12, I was in a semi-secret relationship with a boy four years older than me. We went to the same Scout group and so I was rather flattered to have the attention of an older boy.

I didn't question why he couldn't date girls his age.

My innocence, however, was quickly shattered, torn down by truths of sex and pornography. My eyes were both opened and exploited.

During the summer of 2011, my Scout group organised a coach trip to Austria. Days after his 16th birthday, we were sat next to each other on a coach. This is where he began to grope me. Concealed under a blanket, he groped my bare breasts; though they were hardly formed at this point. His hands then continued down my body. The assault couldn't have been longer than ten minutes, but I was frozen in time. My upper body was facing away from him as small tears formed in my eyes.

Somehow, my school found out. I was in my second year at secondary school and I had the chance to kick him out of sixth form. I could have also reported him to the police.

I did neither.

I was confused and ashamed. I didn't blame him; I blamed myself for being too scared to explicitly say 'no'. My school friends still hung out with him, reducing the incident to mere miscommunication and exaggeration on my part. As I grew older, I even questioned whether a 16-year old boy could have even understood the complexities of consent? But when I turned 16, I certainly knew right from wrong.

Unable to process the trauma, it is only as an adult that I accept it was not my fault. I have found comfort in knowing that, after seven years, your cells regenerate, meaning that my body is no longer one that he has touched. It has taken me 21 years, but I have found my voice and I am unashamed of my flamboyant sexuality.

That's not to say that I am over it. I still find myself in public situations that reduce me back to my 12-year old self. All the progress I have made is instantaneously undone when a guy cat-calls me, undresses me with his eyes or leaves his hand lingering for a moment too long.

I am not proud to say that the event still holds power over me, but I find strength in knowing that I still have my whole life ahead of me. A whole life to find myself, and re-find the confidence that was taken away.

The writer of this piece has chosen to remain anonymous.