I can attest to this first-hand; at the age of 15 years I was staying at a friend's house, having recently discovered alcohol. That night it was sloe gin and double-Tvarski vodka, the kind that burns all the way down your throat and burns a hole in the bottom of your stomach and burns right through your balls and leaves a steaming puddle on the floor, burning through carpet and then the earth's core, through Pellucidar and on to China, where slant-eyed, buck-toothed Bugs Bunnies in rice-paddy hats parade about talking gibberish even though the direct course through the center of the earth from where I was at would land you in the ocean somewhere off the coast of Australia near Borneo.
After everyone crashed, a 23-year old woman came to me and seduced me on the living-room floor. Of couse, I came after about two strokes (a true case of premature ejaculation), but, being 15, kept going for several hours. At some point I noticed an older man watching from a darkened hallway.
Everyone knew about it the next day, clapping on the back, and praising my prowess, dubbing me a "Sexual Dynamo" (one of my older friends loudly proclaiming his status as "Sexual Domino"). I commenced an on-and-off 7-year realtionship with an adult woman, whose character you could scarce underestimate.
Now, 30 years later, I look back and understand that every relationship in my adult life, romantic or otherwise, has been twisted and doomed to failure, and I wonder - could this incident/relationship have been a contributing factor to my inability to love or be loved? I believe, at the very least, this was child abuse, if not outright rape.
I never really went home again after that night.