My mother said she knew there was something wrong, she didn't think it was what it was but it was a relief to tell her and she was such a comfort. When it happened I didn't want to tell her because I felt she would tell my dad and he would try and find the chap, without success, but cause a big fuss which I didn't want to be at the centre of.
One of the girls I told about it said she thought it must be terribly difficult to rape someone and didn't believe me, virtually calling me a liar. I was withdrawn after that but a few months later she came to me and said something similar had happened to her and she was sorry, she understood. Well we were all a lot younger then. We move on but it's still there in the background, every now and then something triggers the memory.
There are plenty of nice men around who wouldn't dream of sexually assaulting anyone, thank goodness.