The best comparison I can give to explain the way I feel is like I was a train on a railroad with a simple, if not bumpy, track to follow. Then, I was attacked and violated again and again and again — and that derailed me. I was a trainwreck, trying to get back on some track, any track at all. My life changed, and my path will forever be different. And the intimacy, the intense following from the cosplayer, hiding in the Men’s room? It gave me a jolly old spook. I did not feel resentful of the cosplayer; she probably had no idea I was fourteen — no one does. After all, my new nicknames at my then new-Highschool were ‘Dilf,’ ‘44-year-old man,’ and ‘Freetard.’ Couple that with my voice being deep for my age and my height, I looked four years older. The story doesn’t end there, though. I had to get out of the bathroom eventually, and I went to my remaining panels. Then, I went home. The next day, however, I had to get an autograph for my sister. And of course, who was there to wait in line with me? She was. And she was cosplaying too for the freakin’ contest. Wonderful. She was, as she showed me in her pictures on her phone, Black Cat. I thought I might get lucky googling a picture of her, but I can’t find anything. She followed me around for a while, and when she went in line with me. More of the same occurred, but this time, she was not being subtle about anything. She was teasing me, putting my arm around her waist, kissing my cheek, ruffling my hair, and holding me close around MY waist. I won’t lie, I was getting really scared again, but I also really liked the attention — and despite what you may think of my profession, I HATE attention. I don’t like being noticed too much, only a little.