Survivors of sex crimes are unsung heroes

(Editor’s Note: This is the second in a two-part story. click here To read the first article. )

Last month I started watching “X-Files.”

Most of the time I love the show, with agents being Scully and Mulder as the main reason. But what frustrated me most was seeing their research. In episode 1, Agent Scully, set in a small town of scary people protected by scary men, proposes a coincidence while Agent Mulder proposes an alien. Despite the episode’s “cult” in it, both agents seemed unwise.

Recently I learned that the FBI has an open process for writers and other creatives to learn how agents work. We also discovered that the FBI has a history of writers’ surveillance. In fact, the FBI is almost as image-conscious as your typical DC gay, and you wonder how “X-Files” has moved forward almost with pushback. This is just as interesting as Ufos was discovered when testing an atomic bomb in New Mexico.

But if you’re reading this, you’d want me to shut up about “X-Files” and go back to my story. When I left off, my friend disappeared and my work cleared up the cheating to me. That said, I was strangely fired in September 2022. It’s just six weeks after the first incident, when I learned that my boss was writing a book.

My firing process was odd to say the least. First and foremost, I was not given a reason. To this day it remains a mystery. My current employer (a well-known lobbying company) bullied me to sign an NDA to access my retirement.

Incidentally, I negotiated. I don’t know what I did, but I felt that I had the power. I was right.

Just before the shooting, they asked me to bring my laptop. This is mainly because they never gave me a laptop. So they wanted me to bring my personal laptop. As an author with original materials, I rationally asked what constituted the work file. I have never received an answer.

By chance, I met my ex-boyfriend a week before I was fired. He was the same ex-boyfriend from my religious works and said he fell in difficult times. Specifically, I was mainly referring to the signs I discovered last April on gay apps. And I refused to let another slip from my grasp, as I still have some fresh memories of the last boy in my mind.

So, what did I do? I’m the first to jump into hell with a nasty attempt to rescue him. After playing this new game of cats and mice said, I’ll allow you to share what I’ve learned. For several months I found a sketchy character in my original location. Furthermore, I have found that online accounts promote highly suspicious porn and yes, pumping services on X (formerly Twitter). He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew something was off, but when he stood up to his ex, he denied it.

As I am a stubborn asshole, I decided to check out these sketchy characters myself. I found out I was spotted about their roughness. I learned to record videos of young men who are not suspicious in a coordinated way, not just drugs, but also drugs, they are sexually violated and if they are taking enough medication. It’s all made to look random yet safe. For example, it appears that groups always have nurses who have “experienced” needle administration.

Once I proved that these people were unsafe, I took more action for my ex. In mid-November, I reached out to someone in his personal life. I chose someone who was strategic and knew he was bisexual and after connecting with her on Instagram I spoke to her on the phone the next morning. Hearing my concerns, she agreed based on her observations.

Apparently she found signs he was physically hurting in the summer. She and I spent hours talking about the situation and how we could help him. Then, just a week later, I lost contact with her and my ex. I haven’t heard of it from either of them since.

I was worried enough to finally contact the police and the FBI. In the meantime, particularly following my trauma article, sex workers have approached me to share their stories, the stories of rape and abuse along with the power structures rooted in them. Who would be opposed to this system? They are often amortized as mental disorders.

I don’t know about you, but I refuse to live in a world where young queers are shepherds in this system. That’s the opposite of what I imagine in the queer community.

The Atlantic leather weekend arrived in January with more sex workers. Again, some people have approached me to share their stories. And again, about the abuse system designed against them from the beginning. Hearing stories from fathers, father friends, or young boys about drugs used to force sexual activity. Sadly, like UFO witnesses, they are usually amortized and not taken seriously, especially if they have a record of substance abuse or mental illness. It looks like a pattern.

That said, these men are not the only victims. If anything, they took their trauma and turned it into their profits. I want to take this moment to thank them. They are unacclaimed heroes in countries where they often shame them.

But while I’m as proud as these sex workers, my heart was equally broken. These stories were painful to listen to, to say the least. I quickly grew up paranoidly, even the people around me, sometimes even friends. With the pain that others had experienced, I was sitting alone in my apartment, baiting the man I had lost, and I was sitting alone. This only reinforced my resolve to end it.

On top of this, my last discovery came just two months ago. Regarding this relationship, I found out that X accounts are publicly making fun of me. The account refers to this column and according to the receipt it started before I realized any signs about my ex in the first place.

Hello, dear X account. It appears you were observing me. Put this back my proverb tapping back into the glass.

Wow, it seems there’s a lot of the time, energy and effort spent on Little Me. Why do you think? I’m a small barback who’s been fired twice. Looking back, those shots were also strange, wasn’t they?

Is that abuse I revealed? Is that a detail of my lover’s past? Was that what I wrote? Is that a combination of three? And is it possible that the little dark clouds following me on DC are more intentional than I once thought?

I may never learn the truth myself, but I can raise another question: what is the only thing scarier than a UFO? I have one answer. In the first place, UFOs were never real. Sometimes the answer to the uneasy mystery only reveals the uneasy mystery.

In this column I mentioned earlier that I have arrived at DC Naive about a world that is probably just as naive as Agent Scully and Mulder. But with my naiveness I stumbled upon something: corruption hidden beneath the surface of our country’s capital. No, it’s not a coincidence. It’s not even an alien. But whatever it is, I can’t identify it alone.

Throughout my time discovering this story, I encounter friends, acquaintances, and even abused relatives, becoming threatened and embarrassed, and embarrassing to keep them quiet. They come from all races, beliefs, backgrounds and orientations, and after all, some of the power infrastructure of the country’s DC and towns is built around it. I’m ready to tear it apart, but this isn’t just my story. I might be the one who started it, but I don’t have to finish it.

All I can do is hand over the pen to the victim. I shared my part. Now it’s their turn. As for the audience, I hope you are ready to start believing now.

Jake Stewart He is a DC-based writer and a barback.