I was in the 6th grade. I was at another boy’s house, one we always teased for seeming effeminate. (I’m a millennial and things were different back then.) He offered to wrestle me. He wore tight spandex briefs and his dick slipped a little as he put them on, and it looked huge (I didn’t know what an erection was). It wasn’t a big deal to me, but I was disappointed that his wrestling outfit was just underwear. Then he got on top of me on the bed, it felt sexual, and I asked him to stop, so he did.

He apologized, he felt really bad about it, even confessing to his mother un-prompted, and eventually my mother told me something like “you were a victim”. I didn’t even care about the incident, but there was a weird unspoken homophobic attitude between our families. A couple years later when I was dealing with real, unrelated issues, my parents found a way to incorporate gay-affirming rhetoric into their conversations with me, even though I was only mildly bisexual and a kissless virgin. I’m now very openly gay (partially as a way of deflecting coming out as trans), but it wasn’t a consideration back then.