I Was Surrounded by Men That Sexually Degraded Women

There was something about him that gave me the ick. I was standing at his front door asking about the available spare room he had advertised, and even from that initial meeting, I had a strong sense he was imagining what I looked like underneath my clothes.

*****

I had left home just before my sixteenth birthday, just as my siblings had done before me. Staying home hadn’t felt an option for us and so understanding my predicament, my eighteen-year-old sister allowed me to move in with her and her much older fiancé, which for me, would later, bring uglier problems.

When I settled into my sister’s flat, I had to quickly adapt to the adult’s normalisation of pornography (some rotten), being regularly viewed. It educated me darkly and taught me about intimacy in the filthiest ways; where small fragments are still burnt into my psyche.

My sister’s fiancé had one friend who stood out to me. He had a vile persona, and I knew he wasn’t a good person the way he would smash his dog’s nose in the cruelest way. He possessed some of the most shocking, abusive, and what I learned, years later — illegal videos.

Thankfully for me, I was only privy to the less depraved legal tapes. My sister’s fiancé appeared to normalize all of them. At times, even gloat at the depravity.

I remember the sickness my naïve mind felt as I watched the images of the objectifying scenes unfold, yet from my teenage stance I had to appear cool. My young adolescent self hadn’t yet instilled boundaries — I was porous and wondered if all adults behaved and loved this way.

Destined to a bumpy and broken journey, I would move fourteen more times throughout those years until I turned twenty, and around ten more times throughout that decade. It wasn’t until my thirties, that I eventually had a place I could call home.

I needed to move again, and when this happened, it was mostly to get away from a negative situation, and this time, my brother-in-law’s repulsive friend gave me the heads up that his brother Pete had a spare room going, for an affordable rent.

Pete was single, and maybe twenty years older than me; an overweight, and grubby looking man. He wore an ultra-friendly guise, even though, behind that amiable mask, was something that felt off.

I was undoubtedly dubious as a seventeen-year-old girl. Pete, not only being older, but he was also a man, which made me nervous. Living with men felt unfamiliar to me; my father had only lived with us when I was a child. My father was a misogynist and womaniser; my mother would overshare inappropriate information to me about his sexual history.

Yet for all of that, the pornography had terrified me. It had left me with the indelible question: Is this what all adult men desire?

In spite of this, I knew one of his lodgers, Richard, who was a gentle character and happened to be a friend of my sister. This helped me feel a little safer. Not having any other choices of which ship I could jump to — I jumped to Pete’s place.

I made my bedroom as homely as I could, sticking my favourite pictures up across the large wall. I loved cutting out magazine and newspaper photographs of the catwalk models I adored — aspiring to be a runway model one day, myself. And although I had turned down a once-in-a-lifetime modelling contract at sixteen, I still had the dream, I just needed to grow some courage. Through my lack of self-worth — my dreams felt more attainable taped to a wall.

I felt watched when I used the kitchen or bathroom, and I would struggle to sleep, keeping one eye open, suspicious I’d experience an unwelcome repugnant Pete open my door. The damaging effects of pornography had seeped through my mind; it repulsed me, but it also gave me a strange feeling and imagination.

I wondered if Pete looked around my room when I was out at work or with friends. Reality, paranoia, and insecurity had blended into my mind as one consciousness.

The house was a building site, with its renovations thwarted, or maybe Pete had run out of money? The bathroom was a mess—the flooring had been removed back to bare wooden floorboards. Dusty bags of cement and building materials were leaning lopsidedly, into any nook or cranny they would fit. The room was covered in grit, and I was painfully self-conscious when I had to go in there, but had no other choice; just as I hadn’t in all the other places I had lived in. But it felt worse living with Pete.

Undressed, and running myself a bath one day, as I bent over, dipping my hand in to test the temperature, I turned my head to look behind at my reflection in the jagged broken mirror covering the adjacent wall; I was surprised to see my body was morphing into the luscious shapes and curves of a young woman, and no longer a young girl.

Then it crossed my mind:

Would he try to look through the keyhole at me? Maybe he does? I am sure he does?

I felt unsettled and scared.

****

I said hello to Richard, as I flopped down onto the beaten-up old sofa; he was chilling watching the football on a small television set. It was rare I ever bumped into him—he was usually working, but I always felt relieved to see him—feeling so much safer when he was around. I relaxed back into the seat—and for the first time since moving in, felt okay being there.

Richard, although engrossed in the football, I could see he had something on his mind. But I glanced around the room, taking in the old-fashioned gold trinkets that were scattered about. The sofa was a brown coffee colour, and there was a dirty brown carpet that covered the floor. The patterned wallpaper had splashes of brown and beige shapes, and the ashtrays were over flowing with cigarette butts embedded into mounds of speckled grey ash.

The whole house was groaning from the lack of feminine energy.

Richard than dropped a bomb:

“You know Pete is planning on spying on you!”

I laughed at him, not able to take in his words. I hoped he was playing with me. I sure didn’t want to believe Pete would really want to do that.

I didn’t get why he’d even make the effort over me?

In a way, it shouldn’t have surprised me, if I was honest with myself. I had already been blocking out my brother-in-law’s degrading behaviour towards women and myself. And they were all from the same ilk, these guys. I had no other choices in life —I had to somehow normalize how they were, in order to survive.

“Spy on me! No way!” I laughed it off.

Richard, concerned, looked never more serious.

I gulped.

He continued:

“He told me the other day he’s gonna drill a hole through to the bathroom ceiling, in the corner, from the bedroom above. And he’s planning on doing it real soon. He’s definitely worked it all out, and I was waiting to see you, so that I could tell you!”

I wasn’t sure what to say, and froze for a second, trying to take in the image:

That pervert. He wants to watch me whatever I’m doing in there — that’s gross.

What a fucking creep!

“I had to let you know as soon as I could,” Richard said with sympathy ringing through his voice, “I’ve been at work, so couldn’t tell you til now!”

He genuinely cared.

I thanked him and felt blessed he had been honest and there to warn me,

And with that, I went to sort out my stuff, and call my sister, which was always the drill when I had to jump ship.

As I repolished this piece, the memory from almost forty years ago — depression washed over me. I would be destroyed if my daughter experienced these abusive scenarios back in her teenage years. Even now as a woman in her twenties, it would hurt me.

But also, for myself, for the first time I feel grief and anger for my younger self.

For the objectification, abuse and pornography that messed with my young impressionable mind.

For adults that should have known I wasn’t age appropriate. Yet I can see they were, adult children themselves.

And the saddest part in all of this is that there are hundreds of thousands of children now and over the years, having to deal with homelessness, trafficking, and abhorrent abuse. It’s heart-breaking to know there’s so much brokenness, fear and pain among defenceless children and young people.

I wish there were ways to instill more care, more hope and more love. I wish there were ways to protect them from selfish adults who don’t possess a nurturing bone in their body.

If only it was possible to change this.

I am grateful to the organisations and charities who do their utmost to help.

© Chantal Weiss 2025. All Rights Reserved