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I am not the survivor. My girlfriend is. We have been dating for about 2 months now. On our first date she told me she was raped, and that i'm officially the first person to find out. She didn't give me details, and that's is important to note. I've been a member of most of the male groups involving skepticism around rape and sexual assault. I have been a lurking member, my beliefs catered to by the groups that i follow. I always thought there must be a reason that women are raped. Maybe they asked for it? Maybe it wasn't actually rape? Well, today she gave me those details. They were graphic, as the rape was graphic. As i read her story, my stomach churned. I was at work, so i had to keep my calm. I was angry, but not at her. All the stories i read about the woman who cried wolf. All the articles about people having their lives ruined by a woman that simply had some vendetta. Here i am, armed with the horrifyingly true knowledge that rape is real, and much closer to home than i previously thought. I met her on a dating app. I have also met other women on the same app, and it just...i dont know the proper word to describe how i feel about knowing that rape and sexual assault is much more common than i was lead to believe. How many women have been raped, or assaulted, is mind boggling. At the time she told me, i was angry, sad, confused, upset. So many adjectives to describe how how i felt in that moment. I then asked her to give me his name. I wanted to hurt him. Badly. I have friends in high places, and those friends have friends. He could be destroyed in an instant, and no one would be the wiser. I begged her for his name, and she promised to give it to me when i saw her tonight. But the day went on and i calmed down. I bought her flowers, but i didnt get to see her due to circumstances we saw coming. I took the time to hop online and simply look up what i can do to help. The most common theme i read was as such: Listen. Just listen. I shouldnt try to fix something that happend 6 years ago. I shouldnt attempt to do anything to the person who did it. I shouldnt give advice on how to cope (because who am i to give advice). I stumbled upon this blog, and found a place to vent my frustrations, my pain. I have had no one to talk to about it, and i can do it anonymously here. I havent come to grips with the idea that another human could do such monstrosities to another, but i have come to the decision to seek support groups, and donate my time to those in need. It is difficult to change how i have been. I was so caught up in the idea that all women ask for it, and then i met her. Since she has told me i want nothing more than to be her hero. Her knight in shining armor. She saved me from this dark mindset. These whispers in my head constantly saying it's their fault for being raped. In reality, she my hero. Sorry if this is all confusing. I just needed a place to vent and not be judged. Thats what she needed me for, and i couldnt give her that. I will be a better boyfriend, and continue to learn to cater to her needs.
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It started when I was six. It was my brother. He was nine. "It's what brothers do," he assured me. As I grew older, the molestation became rape, ending when I turned fifteen and he moved away for college. He used our "games" as leverage whenever I did something wrong. It came to the point where I would have to promise him sexual favors to keep him from getting me in trouble; once, after a particularly violent "game", I threatened to tell our parents. He countered that he would kill himself if I did. I was numb--my sexuality was hypersensitive. I slept with anyone who asked, including an older, married neighbor who let me swim in his pool. I was sixteen. He was in his fifties. I remember that one interaction with him more distinctly than any of the years and years of repeated abuse from my brother: the neighbor was kind, older, with gray hair and a gold watch. His mustache tickled. He was very unlike my brother's sweaty, clumsy panting, but somehow it was worse; the neighbor knew exactly what to say to make me do things I didn't want to do. "You're so good," he told me, stroking my hair. "Such a good girl. So beautiful." I was nineteen. He was in his late twenties. We were dating--it was the first man who had ever shown interest in dating me, rather than fucking me. It was novel and new, and I was absolutely thrilled with the concept. After a long day hanging out with friends, I fell asleep in his car on the way back to my house. I woke up to the car parked, and his fingers inside me. My limp hand was around his penis. I jerked back instantly, years of memories of my brother molesting me while I slept flashing horribly back into my mind. He grew sulky and petulant. "You're my girlfriend," he insisted. "It's fine. You were into it until you woke up." I am ashamed to say I didn't break up with him until a month later. I am now twenty one. My anxiety has skyrocketed but I have been in therapy for over a year--my depression is more manageable. I am no longer suicidal. I am now dating a man I love fiercely, a man who loves my independence and ferocity. I am still skittish and sky around sexual intercourse, because my years of switching my brain off during sex no longer works. But thankfully this story has a happy ending. During my life, I have attempted suicide three times, the first time at nine years old. I can now say with gratefulness that I am so happy I failed all three times. My life has never been better--my career is fulfilling, my friends are loyal and supportive, and my boyfriend is understanding and kind. Although I am still scarred and mutilated, both inside and out, I am strong. I'm not broken. I'm not a victim, or a survivor, I'm just me.
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When I recount my experience with sexual assault, I do it almost entirely in person. Even then, I don't really know how to discuss the topic, and my anecdote- my confession really- is brief and lax. I feel like each time I tell it, I'm noodling around with the idea on how to reduce its severity, so that I'm not a victim. I was a freshman in high school, and I had been dating this boy for a few months. Quite honestly, I've forgotten the day this all happened, the month even, and because of that, I can't remember if it was 2013 or 2014 when it happened. I was over his house, and I'd slipped into this tendency to fall asleep while he was playing video games (my parents were fighting a lot at home and I wasn't sleeping much there). One day while he was playing a game, I fell asleep, my legs sort of thrown over his while I curled up next to him. I was somewhere between mostly and fully asleep, where everything feels like a dream, and he decided to slip his hand into my pants and start fingering me. I slowly began to wake up, and I sat in motionless fear of what was happening to me. Eventually I gained enough courage to move, almost like I was shifting in my sleep- and he stopped. I casually texted two of my closer friends what had happened, and being the naive freshmen they were, they didn't know what to do, except say sorry. My mom often would scroll through my phone, and I believe she came across those messages, because one day she hugged me and told me that she knew what he did to me, but she didn't do anything to actually help me. After that, I was terrified of any sexual intimacy. It wouldn't be until years later when I tried it again, and realized that I wouldn't be able to handle it. I think overall I've given up on it. I'm terrified that I'll be raped again in college.
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I'm still unsure what to call my experience.. I was dating "the love of my life" for about 9 months when things started getting really bad. He was always very controlling, and untrusting of me, but I let him act that way because he told me he had exes cheat and break his heart, so I let him tell me what to do/wear. We started fighting a lot because I got busy with school, and he didn't approve of that. The way he wanted to deal with the fighting was by having sex, which Is the opposite of what I wanted. For the first month of this I just went along with it, because if I tried to say no he would get very upset and say he felt ugly/unloved. I started to feel very down on myself, I started thinking that all I was good for was sex. So I finally started saying no to him. He would get so mad, yelling at me, threatening to break up with me, until I gave in. One night I was absolutely exhausted, I hadn't eaten in a while from the stress, and we were fighting again. So I just layed in my bed and let him take off my clothes, my body was limp and I stared up at the ceiling. As he was thrusting I lost it, i felt totally worthless, and started crying. He kept going until he finished, I then ran to the bathroom to cry, when I came back he was alseep. It's been 3 month since then, and I still get flashbacks and guilty thoughts. I have hope that one day I'll be able to put this behind me and grow from it.
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Raped when I was 15 and 21, and have had other "near misses" as well as plenty of sexual harassment/objectification along the way. I'm now 26 and I'm sick of it. Why do men treat me this way?!?!? I've been single for 5 years, I guess I'm afraid of getting hurt. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to anonymously get this off my chest. I haven't really told anyone. Something reminded me of all this recently and now I can't stop thinking about it.
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He stuck his hand up my shirt, holding me down from behind, and I begged 'No' the only way I could. I was so terrified. I thought he would rape me. He didn't rape me, but he did fondle me from underneath my clothes, and let me believe he could do anything he wanted to me. Even after I reported him to school administrators he stalked me and his Congregation blamed me for the incident. To avoid any more scandal the school forced me to graduate from my degree program early, and I abandoned the goals I'd worked so hard for. I spent the next few years trying to survive, and was hospitalized three times, once for attempting to kill myself. While back in the workforce I reported a coworker for sexual harrasment and my boss didn't want to deal with it, so I was terminated from my position. I'm slowly becoming whole again, after 10 years of therapy. My life has been nothing like I'd imagined it would be when I first arrived in this city. One day I would like to leave it, but it's taken this long for me to get enough energy and self-confidence to manage full-time employment. The future looks more hopeful than ever before.
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i have always loved women. i have always loved men. it started with my grandfather. age 12, in a rural, unciviled backwoods barn. then it was a string of boys in early highschool. i never knew if i wanted it, if i wanted to throw up, or if i was trying to cope. then it was her. her. the first woman, no girl, i ever loved. i hung off her every word, her accent thick and intoxicating. when she pushed her fingers inside me, in a dim bathroom stall right in the middle of junior prom, i had said no only twice before she put a hand over my mouth. she left me after that, after i refused to kiss her anymore. my gay friends all turned on me. i was struggling with sexuality, my gender identity, and then undiagnosed severe depression. i dropped out of school. left 2 years early, never looked back. burned my way through 8 partners in the next year, half of them transmen who changed me for the better, the other half rapists. one is in jail for being a pedophile. the rest are married. i felt like i couldnt love. i met an older couple, once i was 18. they too, violated my consent. i tried to rebound with a poly trio who left me unable to speak for a week. Another poly group, this one fracturing in on itself, and eventually my main partner forced himself on me too. i stopped caring. stopped dating. started sex, figured i might as well get paid. spent my days numb in a mcdonalds, serving fries, my nights number with those who got off on paying for assualt. its been only 2 years since then, but i function now. my queer partner and i see each other every weekend. i can laugh again, but i still freeze up when i hear the word rape. even now... the woman i loved hit me across the face a month ago. the man i love has shut down for a week because he blamed himself for her. we are getting better. slowly.
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Oj, kalina, jagada maja. Oh, viburnum, my berry. This is from a song about unwanted romantic advances. Oh, my viburnum, my girlhood, my youth, the singer sighs: it is worth making sacrifices, if it gets you away from predatory old men. If it keeps your petals untorn. I get angry when I hear this song, an anger that feels like adrenaline festering in my veins, an old clotted wound. I resent people who have not been raped. Even reading the stories of other survivors burns: so many women describe the changes that happened in them after the rape. They talk about who they were before. I started being raped when I was six or seven. Who was I before? What kind of question even *is* that? Do you even know how lucky you are, that violence came upon you like a thunderbolt, like a bomb, instead of being the miasma that you (drowned in) breathed?
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Last year I was raped by an older man I met off the internet, not in my city. I managed to convince myself I was in control and I just felt "weird" about it, also because after he gave me money. A few months ago, I finally came to terms with the fact I wasn't in control, I said no repeatedly and then froze. I recently went into therapy, with an amazing therapist. I live every day with the consequences of my rape, especially now that I'm starting to work through it. I told a few close friends what was going on, also because it seems so dishonest to lie to them about what dominates my thoughts and actions every day. Frankly I'm also exhausted from carrying this secret burden and I need people around me to understand, or at least respect my limitations. I was very disappointed by my two closest friends, one that I work with as a waiter. I told her I had trouble going to a certain table because there were three men there who boisterously wanted to flirt and take my picture, and I have intense anxiety when men try to flirt with me or comment on my body. Her response was, "No, you shouldn't feel that way, I don't feel like that" I told her I had anxiety about those situations because I was rape and she looked upset and was silent, making me feel guilty for upsetting her. After she seemed to resent me for bringing it up. We saw each other today, and acted like nothing happened. Another friend I have who lives in another country, but with whom I have a very intense and intimate relationship, I told her via skype last week and she was very upset, then a few days past and I wrote her something along the lines of "I hope I didn't upset you but I needed to share this with someone, I love you" and she hasn't responded. My friends who I thought would always be there for me disappear when I talk to them about being raped, after they told me they love me and will always be supportive of me? Supportive in everything except this? It's very sad to feel so alienated from acquaintances, and then also from loved ones.
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It took me 7 years to realize to read some red flags of my first relationship. I met him online when I was 13, he was 5 yrs older and I thought he was my one true love. Our 5 year relationship can mostly be summed up as meeting every few months for a couple of weeks and a hell of a lot of chatting via Yahoo Messenger. Sometimes all I'd do in a day would be sitting at the computer talking to him. There was the constant pressure of people around me telling me that this relationship is bad for me, because of our age difference and me being to young - but that mostly only fueled a sort of ''us against the world'' feeling, although it tainted my view of our perfect relationship more than I wanted to admit at the time. Then there was the fact that our good communication also included being radically honest with each other, so he'd tell me about girls he liked all the way to fantasies about how he would fuck them. Then, about in our 3rd year after a period I felt he was a bit most distant, he confessed he cheated on me. Not, like, slept with one of these girls, but mind you - moved to a nearer city to live in a woman's flat for a few months (when he first confessed he said it had been only a couple of weeks) and fucked her pretty much daily. All this while he would still be chatting with me and pretending everything was normal. It broke my heart in ways I can't describe, though I ended up forgiving him and being with him for another couple of years. But all this was the emotional aspect, in very rough lines, seasoned with the occasional declaration of suicide if I would leave him (he presumably tried to at the beginning of our relationship one evening after I said I don't think it would work out, by swallowing some sleeping pills. I was horrified and stayed on the phone with him all night trying to keep him from falling asleep. but then again I knew and was doing that just because he told me to). I never thought that he'd abused me sexually because I never thought I actively resisted and I always pictured rape as something violent and done by strangers. But.. We were in a hotel room and I can't recall why I was in a bad mood when I came to visit. He wanted to have sex, because that's what we would do mostly when he visited, "to enjoy the little time we have together", and I do remember being cold and saying I don't really want to. He kept insisting and touching me, I didn't stop him, things advanced as usual, but as he was penetrating me I felt all this sadness gather in my chest until I couldn't take it anymore. I got up and went to the bathroom just to be alone for a moment, and I remember staying there in the dark for a bit. I came back, he didn't understand what was going on and when he asked me I just started to cry uncontrollably. I still remember it as probably the longest I've ever cried without being able to stop, and he was terrified, trying to hold me in bed. Finally his solution to getting me to stop crying was to give me his earphones and make me listen to some prog-rock, something like Dream Theater. So cheesy of you, I thought, but then I calmed down. I couldn't really explain to him what had just happened. That was the only time I reacted in some way, but I couldn't count how many times after that I would want to say No, or Stop, but I just couldn't because I was terrified he wouldn't listen. Before that I just wasn't aware of all of this. But because in my head I liked having sex there was the constant pressure to go with it, be turned on and be open to anything. There was the constant pressure for reciprocity in oral sex, in the name of fair-play, which my 15yr old mind also couldn't argue with, so I complied, although I rarely, if ever, felt I wanted to do it. There was the never ending insistence to try anal, so I gave in, and when I kept saying it hurts, please, stop, he didn't. Months after we'd split up, he'd still chat me up and provide me with complete details of his sex life with his newer, younger and prettier girlfriend, but also about how he'd finally got to fuck that cute girl that he always liked, in ways that didn't seem nowhere near consensual. After that ended, I would still think of him as my first true love. Somehow I has the most romanticized picture of all of this in my head, just like the few film photographs of us captured random nice moments among everything else that was forgotten. Fast-forward 7 years and sometimes during sexual interactions I get a sudden urge to cry. Or, after a sexual encounter I'd suddenly feel very sad out of nowhere, when it was clearly not related to the person I was with or my feelings of safety or anything in the present. I had these for years and it's only been this year, after pondering much more on the topic and reading a lot of zines and articles that I put two and two together. I literally never made the connection between my crying fits of today and that one time I cried with my first partner. It put everything into a new perspective, and I'm trying to work out ways to communicate triggers and feelings to partner and to work through this on my own. Also to work through all the patriarchal relationship patterns I've developed alongside my first partner, as well as an intense emotional dependency on my current partner. It's been hard, but discovering feminist ideas and a whole world of radical support zines gave me a great place to start. Thanks for creating this site, and thanks to the people who choose to share their story, and thanks for reading.
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i was seven.
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It was two months ago. A guy I was seeing and I told him I wanted to move slowly, that I wasn't ready for us to have sex. That was fine for a while but then there was a day whe. I said no and he thought my body language was saying something else and then it didn't matter that I was saying no or that I was trying to fight him off. He thought I actually wanted it rough. And he was inside me and I was helpless. At first after he was done I thought maybe I'd been unclear that maybe I'd said something confusing. It was two days ago. Different guy. Who knew about the first and that I was still raw and afraid to be touched. He was drunk and supposed to sleep on my couch. I woke up to him in my bed and his fingers pushing inside my body. I don't know what to do now. I've never felt unsafe in my own room. I can't handle having to report two assaults to my campus in two months.
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I remember he made a really inappropriate joke about going down on a girl tasting like curry. I was really repulsed with how he talked about a woman's body, in the abstract. We were at the end of a two-week stand. I had gone through some really hard things, and was being reckless in response. In retrospect, I was manic. We had sex after watching tv or a movie. We were at my apartment. A one bedroom beneath a curiosity shop. It seemed pretty normal, for us. Pretty vanilla, but he was earnest and girthy. Something felt off at the end, but I didn't think much of it. After catching our breath, he turned to me and said that I should take a morning after pill. He showed me the condom, broken. I stopped seeing him shortly after that. He had invited me over, made dessert. He ate it while I watched, since I was nervous. I knew he didn't see it coming, which was so weird to me. We didn't make any sense. Fast forward. Pregnant. I told him about it, he responded well. I had decided before talking to him about it that terminating the pregnancy was not an option for me, so the choice was between adoption and becoming a parent. He was invited to come along for the co-parenting ride, if he would like. Shit got crazy. He got mad. I got persistent. I didn't have the emotional tools to deal with the situation. Somewhere along the way, he casually mentioned that he was used to breaking condoms. That it was normal. That it had happened before. I guess he bought it a couple times with past girlfriends. It had always worked before. He also let it drop that he would only love the part of the baby that was his. Talked about abortion well into my 3rd trimester. At dinner. In front of people. I ruined his life, in his words, by not letting him have the family he wanted. I should mention that I was on the pill, but had taken two strong courses of antibiotics for two different reasons. One of those reasons was Gonorrhea for 2 years. It was pretty likely that I would have had scarring or other damage from having an infection for that long. I had found this out one or two months before, and then got a staph infection and had just recovered when I met him. I took the morning after pill, it doesn't work because it is just more birth control. He knew that. Part of me feels like it is just stupid. That wasn't rape. It was just a condom. But he knew. He came inside me without my consent. It led to a pregnancy, and I am not a parent to a 3 year old. Over the summer of 2016 I was suicidal. It came out of nowhere, so it felt. The therapist I was seeing wasn't very helpful. I would end our sessions disassociated and fuzzy. Weekly sessions of this was just enough to really press me. I started wanting to drive off the road, a bridge, into a wall. Always while I was driving, I had the strongest thoughts. It came to a crux when I was with my son in the car, he was sleeping, and I had the thoughts. It seemed rational and reasonable that he would just join me. Less complicated. He would never know what had happened. I always thought that suicide would feel scary. It would feel alien. It would feel huge. It felt like the next step. It felt very logical. It felt heartfelt. I pulled over and called my sister. She was on her honeymoon and I left a voicemail. Her new husband called me back without listening to the recording. I pulled my shit together and left a message with him for her to call me back once she was done with her turn driving. But then I guess they listened. I took her advice and found a psychiatrist the next day. I was scared enough to take what they gave me. I got a diagnosis from the experience. And I got back memories that are still very hazy and terrifying. I don't know how old I was. I am not sure it matters. Some things make sense now. I don't have sex sober. I have a great deal of trouble trusting men. I enjoyed sex that simulated non-consensual fondling or fingering. Having an abortion felt like violence against my own body. I had a visceral feeling to the idea of it, and knew it wasn't possible as soon as I saw the pregnancy test. I just moved, hopefully to my final city. It is wonderful here and I am at my dream job. I love being a parent. My son is such a beautiful human. I am so grateful to be his mom, to see him grow. My health insurance should kick in next week for the new job, in the new state, and I can start working on things again. I stopped taking the medications they had given me, I was so fuzzy and heavy. I felt like I couldn't be my best, anxious self if I couldn't feel anything. The hallucinations are probably the toughest. I see small birds flitting just outside of my field of vision. On election night, I kept seeing rats. I kept hearing them in my apartment. Sometimes I can't get out of bed except for work and to feed my child. Sometimes I feel like I could run a marathon. This usually happens at work, and I learned that might be better as labeled "grandiosity" instead of mania. It has been really hard, but I am much less fearful - at least I kind of know what is happening. My parents don't know any of this. They want to know why I didn't come home for thanksgiving. I went to my best friend's instead. I guess my mom cried, and I imagine it was much like when I told her I was pregnant. 24 and knocked up. We haven't ever spoken about it. I wish we could, without ruining the holidays. If you read all of this, I really appreciate it. I am still in transit but feel like I have the stability to move forward. I haven't had many suicidal thoughts since moving. I don't know if this is because things are actually better, because I can see my way forward, or because I am so good at repression. I guess we'll see. Thank you :)
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I was five years old when I was forcibly penetrated by my 15 year-old male babysitter. He was the nephew of my mother's childhood best friend. This happened in a very small town. My parents were divorcing at the same time. I shut down and became a much quieter, angrier child. I suffered from extremely awful nightmares that I now recognize as coping attempts - my little brain making pictures to try and explain what had happened, while also contending with his threats of death to my family and the need to hide the event so he wouldn't go through with his threats. I only realized what I'd suppressed in my mind and soul when I was 16 and became sexually active with my boyfriend. The memories came back during an episode of psychosis. I am 33 now and still dealing with the grief and anger over what was taken from me and the various effects the childhood sexual assault had on my brain. I try to be vocal and advocate for myself and others when I have the energy. I still look up my rapist's Facebook account from time to time and I see that he has small children. I feel stifled in my ability to write to him or seek any legal path because when I was 16 I was told that my account against him could be used to sue me for slander because it was 12 years past. I still struggle to trust and seek help from anyone, but I am glad that I've reached a point of emotional articulation that allows me to express and live in a much healthier way.
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Before I start I feel like to put it in context, I'm pansexual and gender fluid, but, while everyone knows I'm pan, I'm seen by a lot of people who haven't explicitly talked to me about gender as being male, and I lived (until recently) in a country that pushes the idea that men 'always want sex'. When I was 19 I was living in an international hostel. It was all I could afford as a poor student. I was room sharing with a friend, but we only had a single key to our door. We had a conversation in the hostel kitchen area about our plans for the night, where she asked me to leave the door unlocked as she was going out with her boyfriend until after midnight and I was staying in as I had an early class the next day. At around 1am, I woke up in the dark with someone on top of me, with me in them. I freaked out and pushed them off, and they ran out the room. I was disoriented, so it took me a little bit to find my feet and go after them, but, as I said previously, it was a hostel; there were rooms everywhere, and they were gone. I went and sat in the shower crying until my roommate came home. She believed me because the room smelled of sex, but she was one of the only ones. I lost a large group of (mainly female) friends because they didn't want to believe me that I, someone that they saw as a man, could be raped by a woman. They either told me I was lying, or tried to claim I just woke up during a sex dream, even though my roommate backed me up on it. I already had MDD at this stage, and this pushed me over the edge into severely suicidal depression. I started seriously self-harming. What was odd to me was that later I was told by one of the other friends who believed me that most of the group who refused to believe me still thought I was their friend who they had 'set straight'; I couldn't get my head around why in the hell they would think I'd still be friends with them. I didn't correct their misbelief though; I felt like there was no point. After that happened, I moved out of the hostel as I couldn't cope with living where the assault had happened. I fell into a severely emotionally abusive relationship with a power bottom that lasted for six months; it was a horrible experience, but I was drawn to her because she didn't try to refute or minimise what had happened to me. In some manners it was liberating, but it was severely destructive in others, so I ended the relationship and moved to a different city to continue studying. Now, as students are paid so poorly where I'm from, I was busking on the side to make enough to live on comfortably. I played traditional scottish and irish music, and wore a kilt (of my ancenstoral clan) at the same time. In the city where I was raped, nothing ever happened to me when I was wearing it. In the city I moved to, it seemed that people (men and women), the moment they were even slightly drunk, took it as permission to look under my kilt. It wouldn't happen every night, but often enough that I would stop busking for periods of time until necessity drove me back. I was groped often. I had one woman go to put money in and, when she dropped it in, lifted my kilt and licked my dick then walked away; I was too shocked to react immediately, but the people around at the time reacted like it was great that she'd done that. In the same city, busking at night I made friends with all the bouncers (I was a pair of sober eyes that was able to back up their statements to the police about when people caused trouble, I didn't cause them any trouble, and I was polite); this meant that I was able to get cheap drinks in a lot of bars on 'friends of the bar' rates; I learned early on not to do that if I was still wearing my kilt, because while people on the street were bad enough, people in a bar were far more willing to just rip my kilt up without warning to look underneath. The fact that they hadn't gotten permission was ignored; I was a man in a kilt, men 'always' want sex, therefore, in their minds, it was fine. I hated it, but, as I said, I needed the money. I feel often that the rape and the subsequent assaults have driven me more and more asexual over the years; I love sex, and take pride in being able to pleasure my partners, but I don't initiate sex very much at all. With a partner I love, I will nearly always be willing, but the thought of initiating sex is very difficult as there is a large part of me that just wants to be left alone sexually. It has caused a number of my long term relationships to fall apart, which I hate; I am aware that it can come across as me finding them undesirable, but it's not that at all, and I always explain at the start of a relationship that it's hard for me to initiate sex because of what's happened, and I tell them that I find them sexy and desirable a lot, but without initiating action I can see how it'd feel like a rejection. Writing all that out was hard and made me feel really horrible inside, so now I'm going to go out for a long walk. I hope that my story has helped people to feel braver about opening up; even if it's hard, it's cathartic to get it out.
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I was raped when i was 14. but was it rape? You know when you say to someone your ok and you know that they know your not ok, but they ignore it. Thats what he did, so why is this any different? Surely if your girlfriend is lying there making no sounds, or movements, or giving any indication that she wants to be having sex, you would realise? I dont know. He was 17, was he too young to realise? Did he know but just carry on? He used to ask me over and over why I didnt want to have sex with him and I could never answer, not really. Sometimes he would start touching me in bed and I would move or turn over, but he would continue. Sometimes I would say no and it would cause an argument and I'd be so emotionally hurt by him, that the next night I couldnt face the awful words and arugments so I just lay there and let it happen. Is this my fault? Will I ever get over this? Will I ever stop flinching when I'm touched? I want to be normal again and feel like a woman again. I feel robbed of my childhood and my ability to have and enjoy sex ever again. I can feel him everyday. Touching me and it makes me feel so sick.
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Throwing this out into the void may be a good thing. I'm not sure who reads all of this, but thanks. It makes me feel heard. I hate that I'm a survivor. I'm strong, and I knew that before anything happened. I don't think that I'm stronger for having used my resilience muscles. I think I'm just tired. I hate that I have to justify myself. You were groped at a party. No, I was fucking molested at a party multiple times by two people in front of everyone else, including my now-husband, who did nothing. I hate that I no longer feel safe at a gut wrenching depth. I was in a room with friends and people who I thought were friends. If I can't have a reasonable expectation to be safe there, where the fuck am I ever going to be safe? If I failed to protect myself and my significant other failed to protect me, around whom will I ever be safe? It fucking sucks. I hate that I can't afford therapy. I'm taking advantage of free services and using the resources that I have, but I should probably be in therapy. This is the third time in my life something like this has happened (molestation as a minor and anal date rape, in case you were curious). And it has been the most difficult to get through. I hate that I have to take extra time for myself. That months and months later I still have to cancel plans with people because I just fucking can't that night. I'm still healing and it takes so fucking long. I don't need to be all better. I probably won't ever be "all better." That would suggest I would be as un-fucked up as if the situation never occurred. I will always be different because of this experience. And that's fine. I can be frank, I can be over it, ect. That would be good enough for what I need right now. Maybe later I can do some fine tuning work. I just want to be done with this fucking stage of getting over shit that I never wanted to have happen to me. I hate crying. I have a specific distaste for it now. I have cried so much. And there are still more tears waiting for another day. It's hard to cry alone. It's harder to cry in front of my support system (my husband, best friends, ect). There is a lot of hate. More than I want to carry. But here it is, in my hands. Waiting to be let go. And it's the only thing protecting me from this happening a forth time.
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I was recently relocated to my little hometown, after five years in three very different regions of the country, excited because some friends from my undergraduate were going to be in town for an art show. I went--I noticed him across the room. Even then, I noticed him standing way too close to me, but I ignored it because I wanted to get to know him better. He was a local elected official, serving the neighborhood I'd grown up in--he was cute. I'd also been good friends with his cousin in high school--cool. He told me at the time he was six months divorced. I would later learn this was a lie. We clicked and started dating. By the third date, I told him, albeit not 100% clearly, that I had issues with sex, intimacy, touching. He said that was fine, there were other ways to be close without having sex, then casually changed the subject. I felt pretty good, and during our various make out sessions, felt more alive than I'd ever felt. My undergraduate boyfriend had sexually assaulted me, said it was "his right," and since he was paying the rent, I usually just went with it, freezing up every time. But it was different with this new guy--I felt more safe than I ever have before. About a month into the relationship, things got weird. We stopped going on dates--if I suggested going out, he said "no, stay here and watch TV with me." Eventually, he refused to be seen with me in public, and in hindsight, I think this may have been tied to his status as a politician. Again, I'd assumed his divorce was six months old--and it wasn't. Then the aggression started, pushing me a little bit further every time and refusing to talk about it. Forcing my head onto his dick multiple times, and the only way I knew how to fight it was crumple into a ball like a scared animal. Waking up to him fondling me, and me being too frozen and terrified to say anything. Him going down on me, and me being too scared to even know what was happening. He finally stopped when i started sobbing. He'd say there were other ways to have sex, but I didn't want any of this. The breaking point came when I told him I had to go home NOW, and he proceeded to take his clothes off and turn off the light. The next day, I texted him to ask if he'd even known I didn't want all of that. He called, wanting to talk to me, but I couldn't--I could barely even breathe. I said I had a lot of work (I freelance on the side) waiting for me at home, and I was on the drive back there now. Three days later, he dumped me. I took to Google--where I learned the night he met me was exactly 24 hours after his divorce went through--the six months date he told me had been a lie. I found more--a drunk driving charge, and because of his various social connections, complete forgiveness and permission to keep his elected position. And more--he'd previously worked for our state government, and the things he and his wife did while there aren't fully clear, but highly suspicious. (He'd also, over the course of our brief relationship, spilled some dirt about our governor--something that could easily get him impeached. I'm not sure if it's true, I'm not sure what to think. It's another weight pulling at me, almost daily. Does this secret carry more weight than my softer, deeper secret? The bruises? The pain? The "anything but sex" that ended up seriously injuring my neck?) One month later, he filed to run for mayor of our town. One month after that, the community announced the election was uncontested. I'm sitting here waiting for that changeover to happen, for him to "govern" me once again. I want to move, but I love my new job. And yet the thought of knowing he will once again have any power over me is almost unbearable. It's like a ticking time bomb, in the center of my home, the one place on earth, after all that moving around, where I'd felt safe. Not anymore.
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I went on a date with a guy. Nice, nerdy, kindof quiet. We ended up at a house party and by the middle of the night I had had way too much to drink and took too many pills that made me very sleepy and nearly blacked out. We were hanging in an upstairs room with some other friends and people while they smoked weed. Eventually, I passed out. I woke up much later, on my back to a quiet room and to the feeling of my body being rocked slowly forward and backward. That feeling, I finally realized, was him having sex with my body. My green dress had been pushed straight up over my boobs and my undies were off. When I realized what was happening, that my body being pushed into the bed over and over was actually him penetrating me over and over I told him to stop. He did, and I think he looked disappointed or embarrassed. I grabbed my clothes and locked myself in the bathroom of this person's house who was having the party (even though I didn't know the host well at all) and took a shower. I sat in the shower and let the hot water run over my for a long long long time. It must have been an hour that I was in there. I felt dirty and painful between my legs and the hot water helped sooth my pain. I didn't know how I felt emotionally. As a female, that came of age in Italy, (where public sexual harassment of female young teenagers is the norm) I was used to feeling like my body was meant for sexual use and abuse by males. I didn't have sex again for a long time, years. I met my "boyfriend" after moving to a new part of the city. I fell in love instantly because I was lonely since I had isolated myself after the rape and he came out of nowhere and intrigued me. But he played me, manipulated me, gas-lighted me, used me, cheated on me, disrespected me, lied to me, betrayed me, stood me up frequently and never loved me. I didn't realize until later that he sexually coerced me on a regular basis throughout our relationship. I often did not really want to have sex and would say "no", "I'm not in the mood", "I don't feel like it" and push him away and make obvious physical gestures that I did not want it, if I was feeling assertive enough. And if I wasn't feeling assertive, I would just quietly submit to letting him use my body. One time he fucked me so violently, I bled all over the bathroom wall and fainted. Another time he convinced me to take shots until I was blacked out drunk, then carried me upstairs to his room. I remember I was on my back with my arms and legs splayed out and he took off my clothes and asked me if I had "slept with anyone else recently?" I couldn't speak because I was so wasted but I shook my head slowly from side to side in a very exaggerated, drunken motion, meaning "no". The last thing I remember is him turning his body toward the speaker to turn up the volume of the music and then I felt him penetrate me and everything went black again. I woke up painful, he dressed me in his sweatpants and tshirt, which were way too big on me and just sent me on my way. The whole thing happened so fast from the first shot of vodka to being abandoned at the end that I don't even know how I let it happen. I went home and passed out in my own bed, only to awaken to a call from him, asking me to come back over again like his little toy. I am ashamed to say, I got my drunk, disheveled, just-raped body out of my bed and went back to him. I am now 5 years older and 5,000 times wiser and remembering this breaks my heart.
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I can't even say I'm a victim. I can't say I'm a survivor, because I don't know if I have even "survived" anything. What I can say is what happened. My first relationship was toxic, and I learned that soon after it ended. "Sexual coercion" was clear. I moved on. My second relationship was my first true love. He was younger, and it was long distance. He used to tell me that "he couldn't help it once it got that far." He would cry if I tried to explain how I felt. I eventually stopped moving and waited for it to end. He broke up with me after I tried having sex with him to make him happy one night, and I started crying after he told me now I knew what it felt like to have sex with me, which was being completely immobile. It took a lot longer, but I moved on. My current relationship is the most serious and longest lasting of them all. I'm afraid it's going in the same direction. One time I was drunk and he laughs about how I gladly sucked his dick when he put it near my mouth, after we had had sex a lot that night. I don't remember that. Things changed. We were happy. Are happy. Healthy. Except when I don't want to have sex sometimes. When I am on my period or I am sad or I am tired. I'm a liar on those days because I couldn't really love him. I must want out. I must not care enough. We talked. Things changed. Then one night I woke up to him kissing me. I kissed back even though I didn't want to have sex. I cried when he started eating me. He stopped. He cried. He apologized. He said I made him feel like a rapist. I consoled him. Things changed. He hurt his back. I sucked him off, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't fair because I "needed to be pleasured." So the next day he ate me. I let him go until I came, because I knew he would know if I was faking. I cried. I lied and said I was fine. Then he went inside me. I cried more. I didn't want to hurt him physically or emotionally, so I laid there until he finished and wiped away the tears when he wasn't looking. I moaned to ease his worries. He came. He cuddled me after. No one can figure out why I am so "out of it." I don't know either, so I blame it on illness. Mental, physical, anything to avoid inquiries. I love him and I know he loves me. He buys me lots of things and we talk about almost everything. I want to be good. I want to show him I care, like he shows me daily. I am tired. I blame my depression. I apologize. I want us to be together forever. I want to be good enough. I want to not care when he checks out other women. I want to be confident. I want to believe him when he tells me I am beautiful. I want to know what is wrong with me. I want to know how I can see a car flying toward me, feel the impact of metal against metal, and feel absolutely nothing. I want to know how to talk to him about this and avoid his anger and accusations. I want answers, so if anyone has them, please let me know.
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Coercion has been a part of so, so many of my sexual experiences, and it has been a part of them since the very beginning. It wasn’t until this year, now that I’m 36 and have a therapist, that I’m understanding how greatly the presence of coercion has stunted and poisoned my sex life and sense of self. It was always difficult for me to accept how impactful certain experiences had been. I saw them as not serious enough to be deserving of affecting me in the way that they clearly have. Some things were serious, some things less so. Regardless, the cumulative effect of all of it has been real. My first brush with anything remotely sexual was when I was 14. A group of popular sophomore boys selected some girls to come over to one of their houses after school. I was one of them, and I felt special for being chosen. The boy who invited me said it was for a language club, but when I got there I learned that there was no such thing. They had only invited freshman girls, about 5. We were all younger than them, and we didn’t know each other. They started by casually getting us into different rooms or parts of the house, dividing us up. Then, when each of the girls was isolated, they made their moves. I was alone in the room of the boy who invited me, where there was just a bed to sit on. He kept trying to kiss me. I said I didn’t want to kiss him because I didn’t know him yet. That was me trying not to be mean; in truth I simply didn’t want to kiss him, period. He kept trying to talk me into it. “Come on. Come on. Why not? Oh come on.” It’s not until now, more than 20 years later, that the absurdity of him trying to talk me into it has hit me. What the fuck is that. Anyway, it was all very uncomfortable, and got worse when it was clear that a couple of his friends were on the other side of the door, peeping through the lock hole. Someone was peeking through a window as well. At some point, I got out of there. The whole scenario strikes me as something that many people would write off as “oh, boys being boys.” The effect of that day’s dynamic has never left me though, probably because it was repeated over and over through other experiences. They trapped us and preyed on us, and they thought it was great. They even gave the day a special name, and repeated it other weeks with new girls. I felt like a sucker, because it was obvious there was trickery and that it was supposed to occur at my expense. But that was confusing, too, because I was also supposed to feel special (and, to my disgust, I did). To this day, because of this scenario and the many that followed with similar dynamics, it is difficult for me to not see sexual situations as potential set-ups, at least in my sub-conscience. Like, even if I’m present willingly and am aroused, I can hardly see the other person as a partner. Instead, they are someone who might be seeing me as some kind of prey or the subject of a “gotcha” that they engineered. I enter into sex concerned about not being scammed or used, which means I don’t involve emotion, don’t trust the other person’s emotion as genuine, and therefore don’t connect with the other person. My first kiss happened to be with a boy from that same group. I was 14 or 15. We would sometimes hang out in his room after school, fooling around. The dynamic during these encounters was formative for me as well, though I didn’t really understand that until now, in my mid-thirties. I liked him, and was aroused, but didn’t want to do more than kiss. But he wanted to do more, and so he just did. He would put his hands in my pants and fingers inside me. I would remove his hands, and he would push them right back, over and over. I remember the feeling of his strong wrist. He was a rugby player. I could not move his arm. He would also put my hand on his penis. I would take my hand back, resisting, and he would place it back, over and over. I was very uncomfortable but also took it all as normal. Frankly, it was normal as far as I can tell. One of the worst parts might be that I was simultaneously experiencing desire or arousal and the awfulness of being coerced. Those two things wove themselves together, and I think it has something to do with why it's difficult to really freely feel desire for partners now. I can feel pleasure during sex, like my body functions sexually; but my pleasure happens privately, within myself. It’s not something that happens between me and a partner. When I was 15 or 16, there was a boy who was my friend. He was popular and attractive. I thought he was cute, but didn’t want him. At the same time, I had the confusing feeling of being flattered that he wanted to hang out. He came over to my house to watch a movie. Right away, he made moves, and I didn’t want it. I started by telling him I had a boyfriend. He just flat out invalidated that and said, “no you don’t.” I reiterated. But he laughed and said he didn’t believe me. He kept grabbing my hand and I kept taking it back. He kept pressuring and pressuring, kissing and groping, and I kept saying I didn’t want to make out or fool around. But he kept pushing, and I gave in. Still, though, I stopped a few times and said I didn’t want to continue. But he wouldn’t listen. When he left, I felt so upset and confused. It was a sick, nauseating mixture of feeling violated and betrayed and also somehow pleased that he, this popular guy, had wanted me. I feel sick even right now recalling that feeling. But I knew what happened was wrong, that I was distraught for a reason. He shattered my confidence in that feeling. That night, I told a girlfriend what happened and she was outraged. She said, “you have to call him and confront him!” So I did. I told him that I was not OK with what happened and that what he did was wrong. I remember exactly where I was standing, trying to find some privacy in my parents’ bedroom on a rotary phone, when he replied, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He denied the whole thing happened. I lost all sense of reality and any confidence in my memory. I was still upset, but no longer felt I could justify it or was a credible witness to what I myself had experienced. Instead, for years and years, I felt that I was overreacting, that I must have actually wanted what happened, that there was no good reason this should have affected me at all. I had to see him every day for the rest of high school, but I refused to speak to him. I ran into him 6 years or so later, after college, in a grad school prep class. We sat and talked outside for a bit. It was friendly. Deep down, I had a feeling that I shouldn’t talk to him, but I had also long ago bought the idea that nothing ever happened, that my memories weren’t real or trustworthy, and that my feelings weren’t justified. From there, we carried on a very strange, mostly non-platonic friendship for years, which fucking sickens me. There was one night where he did reference what happened years earlier and apologized. Because I no longer even felt sure something had happened, I probably told him it was OK. I don't remember. As a few years of encounters and strange friendship passed, he was still coercive, but I tried to manage it or be in some kind of control by treating it as an almost kinky quirk of an already odd, unconventional relationship or by choosing to participate. Once, towards then end of the years we were in contact, he wanted to come over and hook up. I had a boyfriend, and wouldn’t have wanted to hook up with him anyway, and so I turned him down. His reaction was to text me with demands, more than 40 times within one hour. It was like it didn’t even occur to him to take “no” for an answer. Lately, after reading other women’s testimonies about their experiences, I’ve been thinking through all of mine. And I’ve been shocked to find that memories of coercion are leaping out where I hadn’t even seen or recalled them before. Coercion has been a common thread from 14 through 36. I’m so angry, but thinking through all of this is helping me understand my own difficulty with sex and sexuality. Why I have a wall inside.
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Date-Raped but have Hope... May seem strange, but here are some "good things"... 1. I realize that I'm really resiliant. 2. I don't feel broken at all - still in one piece, despite any of society's stigmas. 3. I know how to forgive. I've already learned it. 4. I did protect myself from him afterward, and I never will see him again. 5. I will also see the warning signs in others ... I will more promptly notice if people are being disrespectful to me. 6. I will put more weight on such disrespect and act in a way to better, more quickly protect myself. 7. I'm not physically hurt. 8. It doesn't feel as emotionally painful as is assumed: To me it feels like a break-up within a break-up. It already felt bad that it didn't work out, and now I grieve this instance as well. 9. It gives me new respect for the people who make sure they always have concent...with no co-ersian at all. No co-ersion, just questions and acceptance. My heart is much warmer and stronger to those people now. 10. I realize that sometimes it's not "No" It's more. It's me protecting myself. Saying No doesn't do anything toward someone who doesn't listen. I've learned this. 11. I will learn more, from new therapies. 12. I will learn to not give excuses and reasons to keep seeing someone who treats me with disrespect. Now for me disrespect is more on and off, and I am not so prone to giving the benefit of the doubt. 13. I will take pride in myself, and I know that I am me... I am not what has happened to me. 14. I will be forced to no longer guilt myself. I currently feel a lot of guilt with what happened, but I know I will learn to no longer do that. Hopefully this was my rock-bottom to learning how to stop guilting myself once and for all.
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I thought I had a friend. I'm naturally codependent having been raised in an extremely dysfunctional family. This will be the 3rd "friend" who has sexually molested me, but the first few times, I was out of it drunk...and this time I was completely sober. For some reason knowing that I was completely sober has brought a lot of "I could have done this or that" and "I should have realized what has happening" guilt to me... but I didn't realize what was happening throughout the entire relationship... I didn't realize that he was using and manipulating me, and disrespecting all of the "No"s I had given him the entire time we knew each other. If I didn't realize all of the ways I was being used by him then how could I have realized he was raping me? I knew something was wrong... I knew I was a pushover in the relationship itself... but I kept trying to change him and spare the relationship... I kept thinking "Well if I just act this way or that way..." or "It must be my fault because I must not be saying NO hard enough" or "enforcing my boundaries strongly enough". and I kick myself now "All the signs were there that he didn't think of me as an actual human being but just a toy for his amusement" ... I remember a million boundaries that I tried to get him to respect, and the million ways he ignored or tested them. Something as simple as "No, you can't come over - I'm busy tonight" was met with him staying two nights... and I would tell myself "Ah well I should be glad someone likes me enough to want to spend time with me." I'd give him a million excuses to his million ignorances of my million No's... and then he raped me...and I just kept saying No the whole time.... NOOO NOOOO NOOO NOOO and afterward he said "Wow, that was really hot how you kept saying no" and here I am kicking myself.... that I should have moved my body away....or I should have poked at his eyes.... or I should have pushed him ... maybe THEN he would realize that I was saying no... but no. If someone is blind to me saying "No" then they are just plain saying "No" whether they are offering me a drink, or putting their dick in me. And I still kick myself about that not even being the breaking point of me kicking him out of my life. I still needed him to disrespect me several more times before I finally booted him out of my life all-together. And I kick myself for still hanging around people who have the potential to take their disrespect for me too far. I can be blind to disrespect. I can make a million excuses for it. I can almost relish in the fact that someone else is controlling me...and that's sick... and I'm working on changing that part of me. I'm not trying to victim-blame myself... I was definitely a victim of his narcissistic codependency and insanity in more ways than just the rape. I just feel very let-down.
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I was raped while almost unconsciously drunk, in a shed, by someone I never knew. Sometimes I wish I was completely unconscious so that I didn’t have to remember any of it, but I do. I was at a party and there was a horse, so I went on it. Then behind me a man got on and road us away, already completely out of my control. I have flashbacks of that ride, I remember I didn’t know his name, where was I going? I just wanted to go on the horse, alone, did I ever invite him on there with me to take me away into a secluded area? No. Next memory, laying in hay, in a shed, looking up at the horse above me, helpless. I look down, see the top of this head, what’s his name? I don’t know his name. I kept asking, no response, only my pants getting pulled down and my vagina getting sucked on. Can’t move though, processing what’s going on but can’t move. Was it because I was intoxicated or in shock? I’m still not sure. Next image, him pushing his penis inside of me. Me lying there, still helpless, still can’t move. I look up, see the horse. Next memory, me crying to my friends about what just happened in the car, no not crying, sobbing. Next, me waking up in the morning and puking. Me trying to deny to my friends that we didn’t have sex, my friends telling me I was crying about being raped, then me starting to process what happened. I was taken away on a horse in the middle of nowhere and thrown into a shed. The whole party had no clue where I went so EVERYONE came looking for me, they found me, and you want to know what happened then? People ran in the shed and asked my rapist what he was doing and he said “he just kissed me”. That makes so much sense, yes because that’s why my pants were off and that’s why my vagina was in pain the next day. His friend told my friend that I couldn’t go to court with it because “I kept asking what his name was”. I’m sorry but when was the last time that asking what someone’s name was is consent or to show they are sober enough to speak? I was confused. I was young, I didn’t know, I didn’t know how much that would affect me. I had to find people who were 18 years or older to get me plan B the next day because I was too young. Little did I know this event would affect every aspect of my life. People later told me that someone tried to beat him up that night because of what he did, and then that this Dad brought out a gun, a gun. But, it wasn’t considered rape because I asked him what his name was, so I clearly was capable of pulling my assaulted body away from him. I remember. I was drunk but I remember because those images were so detrimental to my brain that the alcohol wouldn’t even allow me to blackout, sometimes I wish I was fully unaware. But I remember, and I always will remember. Will he remember, I hope so. I sometimes wish I went to court with it but at that time, did it really matter? Was it really that big of a deal? It was probably my fault. Those were my thoughts. And damn, it took me 2 years to realize that I’m worth so much more than letting myself get hurt. All those years I struggled with the pain by overeating and overdrinking. I was so sad and I would break down every time I got drunk about it, and the sad thing was is that I thought it was my fault. “It was just because I was drunk and being overdramatic”. No. It was because my nervous system was damaged and afraid and picking up and similar thhings around me that caused me to have panic attacks. None of this was me. It was all him. It took me so long to get my worth back and help myself. He ruined 2 years of my life without me even knowing. I was raped, and I didn’t allow myself to be hurting. Instead, I berried it by binge eating and drinking and not focusing on anything and having mood swings. I was angry, and I thought it was because that’s just who I was, but it wasn’t. It made me like that. But that’s not who I am, I am intelligent, smart, kind, loving, and WORTHY. I was embarrassed, but why? It wasn’t my fault but I was embarrassed. The rape will always be part of my life but it will not under any circumstance define me, but for him, it defines him because that is who he is and always will be. So for that, I am thankful, I was thankful that I know my worth and that I am a good person but for him, I hope that he has trouble sleeping at night and I hope that the trauma didn’t just effect my life, but his as well, that is what I can only hope for.
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The first time I was raped I was three. I didn't remember the even for over two decades, but I remember being terrified of going to my mother's then boyfriend (eventually second husband)'s home. He used to babysit me. I remember making myself stay up all night over and over so I could scream like I was having a nightmare after he moved in. He'd have to pretend that's why he was in my room because my mom would rush in and just be so tired she thought she hadn't woken first. Her third husband was like the father I always wanted, until I hit puberty at 10. The next four years are mostly gone, but I remember being afraid to have friends over because I didn't want them hurt too, and yo-yoing from hiding in as baggy of clothes as I could find to being way overly sexual for my age to try and feel in control of it all. I remember my having my first boyfriend at during this time and just going along with what he wanted to do. I remember one moment from then really clear, of him stopping in the middle of sex with this look of horrified realization on his face and saying "you didn't actually want to did you, oh my god what did I just do." He was the first person I told about my step fathers. I pray every day that I was able to take away his guilt because I was so shut down and so good at faking being okay in those days that there is no question in my mind that the lines he crossed were by accident. After that I fell into the only safe relationship I ever had. My best friend and I liked the same two guys who were also close friends and best friends with each other. All of us came from truly fucked up homes. For two years we had this safe haven in each other. But then my mother got divorced again (because he'd finally been caught and she had to "save face") and we moved out of state so my family could pretend nothing happened. My mother went through a series of boyfriends that set off every creepy alarm. I'd gotten into the habit of avoiding being home as much as possible, and barricading my room when I was home. But there were still several near misses, times where I had to make up reasons to leave home suddenly because the current he was there and no one else and kept trying to stay in the same room for no reason. Things came to a head when the last one while i was living there got clever and convince my mother to redo my room as a surprise while I was on a trip. The new furniture was all super light, and the new door was sliding with no lock.... And in the process, because awareness of what mattered to me was never high on anyones list, all my things were tossed and replaced. All the things I used to bind myself to my few good memories were gone. This is why I can remember so little of my past. I had C-PTSD by this point and my memory has been badly damaged. I pretty much only have limited short term and trigger based recall left, and I need a physical or visual reminder to bring back good memories. I tried to press charges finally against my attackers, and though it didn't stick, it was enough to convince a judge that between that and the fact I had a car paid off and a full time job and straight a's, it was good enough for emancipation. The most heartening thing I ever heard was from that judge after in private "I wish the law didn't need so much proof for these things. I have to go with the jury, but kid, I believe you. Take care of yourself. It's over now at least." So I was sixteen with only a two week alotted stay at my grandmothers before I had to get my shit together and take care of myself. And here comes a "friend" who lived at a punk house and offered me space there. I was the quiet and don't move and maybe they won't hurt me type by then. They took me for all I had every payday via guilt trips and masked threats, and I was afraid to leave lest I be forced to go home. Then this guy, older, big, strong looking, is so nice to me. Keeps the others from taking my stuff and money, is protective, is sweet, is caring. Is everything I'd been missing for years. So when he pushed for sex and dropped hints that not doing so would make him feel unloved, I did whatever he wanted. And then he stopped pretending and just took. The first time I said no I had a black eye for a week, the next time a cracked rib. I yo-yoed between fighting back or arguing because complying made me want to just die, or just accepting it because I was in so much pain from the beating I couldn't fight anymore. He went out of town for a temp job about two years in. Called constantly, showed up randomly. But in a brief moment I made both the best and stupidest decision ever. I decided I wanted a say in my own sex life again, even just once. I cheated. I cheated with his best friend. It was the best decision because from that day on my will to fight came back bit by bit. It was the worst because all limits were gone in his eyes. Over the next three months he raped me multiple times a day. He threw away my birthcontrol. He didn't stop until I was pregnant and then spent the full term telling me I was too vile for anyone to want to touch and beating me bloody. I gave birth with three fractured ribs that hadn't been able to heal in over two months, and a cracked hip. When he went out for a smoke break after the labor I asked a nurse if they could take the baby away to where he couldn't find it, she said no, that in our state if the father is present at all and the mother gives up the baby he gets the chance to keep it by default no matter what. I hated this baby, I never had wanted children and this child was forced on me in every way. But I couldn't give a child over to a monster. I used all the money I'd been hiding to run to take care of the baby. It would be three more years before we could escape, but I made a bigger scene every time the kid cried or was annoying so the blows hit me instead. A couple years after escaping I met a guy. He was kind and loving. He was patient. He openly admitted to faults, took precautions against his anger issues because he knew they were triggers. We had an amazing life together for four years and got married. His best friend moved in as a roommate and was the first male that I had been around that did not even once consider approaching me in even the vaguest sexual manner. Between my husband's love and the friendship of our best friend I felt finally safe. When I feel safe and confident, I'm hypersexual to compensate for my fear of sex. For most of my sex life the relationships I choose have been casual or open. I found safety in poly relationships. My husband was the same way. He was a little broken inside too from his childhood though in different ways. We agreed to an open relationship from the start, but never acted on it, until he met this girl at work. It was right after the worst of the custody battles with my son's father. We were stressed beyond reason, tired, working opposite schedules to make child care work and like idiots thought hey, let's fix the lack of needs getting met by going through with the open relationship. She was into BDSM, but not for healthy reasons (which is a big reason the kink community had nothing to do with her I later found out). I had no interest in that stuff and was surprised to find out he did. It seemed to make sense to have that need meet as far from me as possible. But he changed. He wanted it for the same reasons she did and both grew sicker and more selfish as the relationship continued. First came neglect as he obsessed over her. Then came shaming and guilt because I "wasn't poly enough" since I felt abandon and jealous. Then came a push to be secondary and when I opposed came the worst emotional abuse I have ever experienced (read all previous again to put that into context). I broke. Entirely. And was deemed worthless as a result and abandon completely. He took everything and my son and I were homeless. A co-worker rented me a place for a short time after finding out, but the house sold and we ended up in a hotel. The divorce didn't go through for over a year. Every time he started to pull back from this monster version of himself and seek help and try to fix things with us, his girlfriend threatened to leave. She pushed for divorce over and over while claiming to want us back together and swearing she was no homewrecker. We later found out my husband had had a severe mental break that split his personality partially. The girlfriend needed control of her abuser to feel whole and brought out a version of his abuser to satisfy that need. He went along with it to feel in control also, but as the party he saw as strong. I was just a causality. He proposed before our papers were ever signed. His family congratulated him for getting rid of the used woman who already had a child. His father wrote to me saying he was so proud that my shame had been removed from the family and that a raped woman should know better that to spread her filth around. So here I am. Even years after escaping abuse I have a child I don't want, but exhaust myself to the bone to make feel loved so he never knows that. I have a failed marriage and ex-in-laws over joyed at the failure because years before I met there son I was a victim and am therefore unclean. I have a family who loathes me for not staying silent and shaming them by making their dirty business public at all. I have no home, we are still living in a hotel, which is just affordable enough to stay in shelter, but too expensive to save up for an apartment. I have had PTSD so long that my body has been permanently damaged. Most of my endocrine system is in ruins, I have permanent brain damage from blows and the stress. I am numb all the time. And my ex-husband's best friend, the only person who stood by me and managed to stand up for me without taking sides, who respectfully waited for the drama and trauma to calm down. Who was there to grieve along side me at the loss of the person we used to care so much about as he turned into a strange. Today he told me he loved me, and that our friendship has been the best relationship he's ever had. That I'm the only person he feels safe with. Brought up that we never push each other, that we never back out on each other, that we always understand each other. He said that's what he's always wanted in a partner and asked if we could try being more than friends when I was ready to date again. I have never been more scared in my life. I know without question no one is safe, not really. And I know if I say yes, and when whatever poison is inside of me that makes people become rapists around me gets to him, I will break beyond hope at the loss of this person who has been so safe to be around. I heard "I love you" for the first time today and was really able to believe it and all I want to do is vanish .
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I fell in love with my first girlfriend and she psychologically abused me because she convinced herself my love for her was a lie. It was easier to pretend, lie to me, make me feel crazy, resent me, put me on the outside, struggle to build a rationale to leave and try to forget me than it was to put her faith in me and take the fall. She hates that I still love her, years later. I haven't had true intimacy with anyone since. I hate myself for letting her perversions affect my relationships with other people who have put their faith in me. She makes me so sad, but I know other people love me and are willing to care about me despite my flaws. I'm just working on letting myself accept it and see people for who they are. I'm trying to open up again. She'll be ok. Eventually she'll realize she hasn't changed all that much, but that's ok too. It's life. I made myself not care about anything except practical things for a long time, but I've always known it's not right.
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when i was 19 i was assaulted.
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I was around 3 when my father asked me to rub his penis. I remember some wetness coming out of the tip. I didn't like it. He would touch me, too. I remember thinking it was strange. I didn't understand exactly why if felt wrong, but I knew I didn't like it and wanted it to stop. I didn't really know much about the anatomy of the vulva, but I understood that pee came out of there and wondered why he would want to touch me there. I certainly didn't want to touch him. One time I asked him if he didn't mind the smell, trying to make him understand that I thought it wasn't a good thing to do. He said there was no smell. I didn't know what to do. I remember one time he asked me after touching me if I had liked it. I have no idea what I said. I began to feel guilty, like I was wanting these wrong things to happen. So much to try to comprehend at such a young age. One time I tried to tell my mom. I was too young to really process or describe what was happening. I was just a toddler. I think I said something to the effect that my dad was opening my legs. My mom was confused and didn't really understand. I think she must have assumed we were playing some sort of game, and she told me to tell him not to do that as it would be bad for my body (This is a little hard to describe, english wasn't my first language and at the time this was all in Spanish, trying to remember and translate is difficult). I tried to tell my dad what my mom had told me to the next time, I didn't say it correctly and I think he understood me to be saying I was going to pee myself. He was grossed out and called me dirty. I think he stopped touching me that time. So it worked. Later on as I was older, maybe 4 or 5 I had been accustomed to stroking his penis, in my memory it was always hard. It was all I knew about penises for a very long time. On this occasion he told me "no" and that it wasn't something that should ever happen again. I was confused but glad for it to stop. During my early age I think I was hyper sexual in my mind. I thought that all the things that had happened were my fault and that I was dirty and disgusting. It wasn't until later in my life that I realized I was just a tiny defenseless child and it wasn't my fault at all. In kindergarten there was a boy who kept asking to see my "pee-pee" and said he would show me his. I had no interest in this. I tried to avoid going to the bathroom alone. One time on the school bus he had a big wrapped box. He told me it was for me but I had to show him my pee-pee. I said no. I told my mom. She talked to his parents and it stopped. I have no recollection of other incidents up until I was around 13. We had a family "movie area" in the basement with the TV and sound system, as well as a couple mattresses where we could all fit and watch a movie together comfortably. By this time I think I generally tried to avoid being alone with my father. On one occasion I somehow ended up alone, I think I had gone down for a nap, I was always napping, always sleepy. My dad came downstairs. I think I was wearing a dress and nylons. He removed the nylons and kissed my bare legs. I didn't know what to do. I needed it to stop. I don't know how but it did end and nothing else happened. After that I was determined NEVER to be alone with him. I was 16 at church. The bathroom was in the basement. I had gone down but someone was already in the bathroom so I was waiting. A married man came downstairs. He was always complimenting me. At this point in my life I was quite used to compliments, though I never felt comfortable with them. I stood there with my head down a little bit, embarrassed by his compliment. I had my back to the wall. To my shock and horror he leaned in to kiss me on the lips. It took everything I had to turn my head so that the kiss landed on my cheek instead. Afterwards I giggled like a crazy person out of sheer awkwardness and complete astonishment, not knowing what to do. After a few minutes I finally regained control of myself and walked quickly away from him and up the stairs to get back to safety away from the isolation of the basement. He tried to grab my boot as I walked up. I told my mom. She didn't know what to do. Due to what I'm going to call "rape culture" my mom thought that it was my responsibility to keep myself safe. She told me from now on to let her know when I wanted to use the bathroom and she would go down with me. She didn't want to tell anyone else because it would cause many problems in the church and I guess she thought it would ruin a marriage. I never told anyone else, until my husband who I've shared everything with. When I was 18 I finally told my mom about what had happened with my father. I tried to tell my younger brother as well. He simply would not hear it. I can't remember exactly when but my dad told me he was sorry and deeply regretted what he had done. I accepted his apology and in my mind that part of my life was in it's own box. And that person my father had been didn't exist outside of that box. Only the other parts of my father existed. My mom left my dad a few years later. I had an internship out of country when I was 24. I made some friends at work and we would go out drinking, a thing I didn't really do much and they did a lot of. We were out for a friend's birthday with a group of his friends from out of town. They were staying at his and his gf's place. Being naive and less experienced with drinking I'd tried to keep pace with them all. Eric, one of the birthday boy's best friends kept buying me drinks. I got so drunk that I blacked out for some parts of the night. My friends carried me into a cab and took me to birthday boy's house where the drinking continued. Apparently I threw up on their bathroom floor a bit and they cleaned me up. Once everyone finally went to sleep I ended up on a long couch with Eric. I was mostly passed out and he started kissing my neck, sticking his hand into my underwear. I did what I could to keep his hand out. I kept trying to push him away. He removed my bra and sucked on my breasts. I was too weak to do much other than keep trying to get him away. At some point he must have gotten tired and he moved away and I slept for 2 hours. When I awoke, no longer drunk, I grabbed my stuff and left. When I got home I saw I had bruises (hickeys) all over my neck. I was so angry. How dare he think that he was allowed to do that to me? I was disappointed in myself as well for having been so drunk. He took parts of me that I hadn't been ready to give to anyone. I'm 27 now and in a healthy marriage. Last year I found out my dad is most likely a pedophile. I don't know exactly how I feel, other than knowing I feel sorry for him. I love him and there must be something terribly wrong with him psychologically. I sometimes feel depressed and have some days where all I can do is be sad and cry. I'm sharing my story because even with all that has happened to me I am okay. I am generally happy and have a successful career. The scars may never fully fade, but they heal over time.
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it seems like i cant change fast enough for him to forget me
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When I was 17, I was having one of the worst weeks of my life. My parents lived in a different state, and I had just been told over the phone that my father was very sick, and the doctors didn't know what was wrong. I was stressed, and scared, and I didn't know who I could turn to. I had a boyfriend (he was older-- about 25), but he had a tendency to be controlling and make fun of me for having emotional reactions to things. I know now that this is called being emotionally abusive, but at the time I had thought he was a badass. Anyway, I knew he was not likely to provide a great deal of emotional support. So, not knowing what else to do, I decided to go to a party my friend was having and get as drunk as possible. At first, this worked relatively well; I was having fun, and having a lot of great conversations that had nothing to do with the fact that my dad was probably going to die. In particular, there was one boy who provided some really interesting insights. We shared similar interests, we got into a long debate as to whether or not consciousness can be proven to exist, we discussed how interesting dolphin society was. We went into my friend's basement, because it was loud upstairs, and difficult to talk. At least, I thought that was why. We continued talking for a few minutes, and then he got up and locked the door. I asked why, and he said 'to keep out the riff raff' and he smiled. Then, he kissed me. I pulled away and told him that I had a boyfriend. He pulled me closer and said that he wouldn't tell if I wouldn't. I kind of tried to laugh it off, but told him to stop. He didn't. I said it more firmly. He ripped my shirt. I started to physically push him away. He slapped me. I sat there blankly, completely stunned. I had never been hit before, and I didn't know how to respond. I guess he took this stillness to mean I had relented, because he took this opportunity to push me down on the floor and take off my leggings and underwear. I quietly murmured that I could scream, that there were people close upstairs, that they would hear me. He responded with, 'The door's locked.' I'm not sure why I took that as a valid refute of the point I had made, but I'm guessing it had something to do with being drunk and tired and scared. He held me down. I begged him in a whisper not to do this. Please don't do this. Why would you do this? You seemed so nice. You've done research on dolphin communication, for God's sake! This isn't you. Can't be you. He squeezed his hands around my neck lightly and told me to shut up. He wasn't choking me, but seemed to think it was important to let me know that he could if he wanted to. He raped me. (I don't know why those words are so hard to type. If I talk about what happened, I usually use the term 'sexual assault.' I like it to be a little more vague. Like maybe I'm hoping the people around me will think I'm talking about getting groped on public transportation, or maybe even that someone tried to rape me, but I fought them off. That I was successful. That I was strong enough. Whatever.) When he was done, I kind of just sat there, staring blankly and shaking slightly. I didn't want to make any sudden movements. What if he got angry? What if he wanted to do it again? I sat on the floor like a living rag doll. I pulled on my underwear and leggings. I was bleeding a little, but not badly. My shirt was ripped, and I just kind of stared at it for a second. He took off his sweatshirt, lifted my arms, and pulled it onto me. It smelled like him. Like cigarettes and bad cologne. I wanted it off of me. I wanted him off of me. But I couldn't go back to the party half-naked, so I let him dress me. For some reason, this is the part that I hate the most. This is the part that makes me feel like a weak little moron who let this guy own me. Because he did. I was a lifeless doll that he had complete control over. And I wore his sweatshirt, which was less a piece of clothing and more an unmistakable sign of ownership that might as well have had the words, 'Property of [insert first and last name of rapist here]' printed on the front. And then he asked if I wanted to go have a cigarette. Like we had just hooked up. 'Outside?' I asked, mouse-like. He nodded. I said okay. We went upstairs, and as soon as we were among other people I bolted for the nearest bathroom. It was locked. I went upstairs to my friend's bedroom, which had a bathroom attached. This one was free. I started crying. I looked at my reflection. I was disheveled and pale and had the beginnings of bruises starting to form on my neck. All things considered, I didn't look awful, but I couldn't bear to look at myself. Worst of all, I was still wearing the f*cking sweatshirt. My friend knocked lightly on the door. When I didn't respond, he came in. He could tell something was very wrong, but I wouldn't tell him what. I just asked if he had a shirt or something I could borrow. He brought me a T-shirt and a sweatshirt and then left the room. I changed, and left the offending sweatshirt in the bathtub. Then I cried some more, because I realized that it wasn't just the sweatshirt that smelled like him, I smelled like him. And I hated it. I hated having to exist in a body that he got to touch, that he got to possess, that felt like it belonged more to him than me. I wanted to claw off my skin, to make it crumble away so I wouldn't have to be trapped in it anymore. Barring that, I just wanted to go home. To be somewhere by myself. To be somewhere I could shower, could cleanse myself, to be mine again. But I was drunk. I was in no state to drive home. I lived in small town with no taxi service. I couldn't call the cops, because all of my friends would be busted for underage drinking. Plus, I didn't want anyone to tell my parents. They were going through so much, and I couldn't put them through the intense amount of stress that comes from having your daughter be a rape victim. I had carpooled with one of my friends, and decided to brave going back to the party to find her. Maybe she could drive home. I went back to the party, and I found my friend sleeping on a couch. I didn't want to wake her, until I overheard my rapist animatedly telling his friends about the great sex we just had. He smiled at me. I felt like I was going to die. I felt like maybe I wanted to. Maybe that would be better. I shook my friend awake and told her that I needed to go home. She was not entirely sober, but not entirely drunk either. She didn't ask any questions and got straight in the car. I can't believe I made her drive drunk. I can't believe I jeopardized her safety like that. Most of all, I can't believe she has forgiven me for it. She got me home. I took several showers. I called my boyfriend and told him, 'I went to a party last night, and I was sexually assaulted.' He responded with, 'You went to a party without telling me?' He broke up with me for 'cheating on him.' Apparently the part about cheating that bugged him wasn't the emotional aspect, but rather the idea of someone else's penis being inside his girlfriend. Turns out I was just property to him, too. I thought I was over this. I thought I was okay. Then, a week and a half ago, a guy stopped me on the street as I was walking home from work and told me that I was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, and he wouldn't be able to sleep if he didn't get a kiss. I protested. He grabbed me. He remained affable. I didn't want to escalate the situation. I kissed him because I was afraid he would become violent. I kissed him because what he wanted wasn't so bad, and he could have done worse. I kissed him because he looked at me with the eyes of a man who owned me, and in that moment, I only existed to serve his needs. It wasn't even assault, really. It didn't need to be. When I got home, I cried. I sobbed, because it was so easy for a man to make my body his. Because I guess that means that every man who can scare me can own me. And I hate that. I hate it. I hate me. And I don't know if that'll ever go away.
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I met this guy online, and we started talking eventually we went out and he convinced me to go home with him so I did he said we will just play video games it'll be fun. He seemed decent so stupid me went. For a couple hours we talked played games and hung out. So then we decide to watch Netflix and he kisses me I let him. But next thing I know he is pulling off my pants and at first I was a bit into it he was fingering me and stuff. But then he wanted to penetrate and I realized I didn't want that so he went in and I told him to stop he said just a little more I cried out please stop or at least use a condom so he stops to put a condom on. I told him that he rushed too far into things and he said don't let him waste the condom. He made me feel so guilty, I never said yes but I lost the strength to say no any more. So I laid there while he did me, I felt no pleasure, I just laid there crying. I felt bad for him that I got him all into it and then wanted him to stop. I said to myself I deserve this I owe him something. After when I finally got home I kept asking myself if it was rape and I talked myself into being convinced otherwise. Now I just feel so dirty and guilty, there's a guy who I am really falling for he's good to me and sweet, but I don't feel good enough for him. I feel like I'm worthless like I have this baggage. I was raped during the first week of knowing the guy I'm falling for. I don't know how to tell him that I'm damaged that I need someone who is going to love me even though I am a mess. I don't know how to forgive myself how to love myself the right way. All I feel is shame and guilt, this happened about a month ago and I'm scared to get tested for stds, I lost motivations to care for myself I used to eat healthy and workout a lot now I don't do either. A week after my rape I decided to hookup with someone I thought it'll help me be in control but it made me feel worse. I was not officially together with the guy I'm falling for yet, but I still felt like I cheated. I don't know how I'm gonna tell him what I did, but he said that ive been the only girl he's talked to since we met. That pretty much means that he committed himself to being loyal to me during the time I was raped and the time I hooked up with someone. Just knowing that is eating me away. Who knew that forgiving the rapist was easy but forgiving myself would take longer, I am angry at myself for meeting someone from online dating, I am mad that I was so lonely where I got desperate to feel love. But what he did to me wasn't love, it was lust, it was sinful, and it was dirty. Im learning to take it easy on myself and that I need to move forward. Right now my biggest fear is hurting the guy I'm falling for like I feel like I am not good enough for him and I tell him that but he says we are just human beings who make mistakes. I think when we progress maybe in a month or so I will tell him everything.
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I think I was about nineteen years old when my bestfriend (male) had asked me to come over and drink with him and another girl friend of mine. Everything was normal , nothing unusual about drinking in his room. That's where everyone would come and hang out, my bestfriend was very social and had lots of friends.. so naturally what happened next made no sense to me.. we're drinking him sitting on the bed, with my other friend sitting next to him, it must've been maybe 30 mins and I started getting sleepy, and just tired almost like I had lay down. So I get up from the chair I was sitting on and crawl up next to my girl friend and I lay my head on her thigh after that every thing is a blur. I remember waking up to the room being dark, the only thing I could see was his posters full of half naked women, I knew I wasn't sleeping in my own bed but I didn't entirely know where I was. I remember calling out my ex-boyfriend name and I don't think he liked that very much. I saw "my bestfriends" face but I didn't recognize it, it was scary. He was having sex with my body and I was screaming I can't remember what but it made him cover my mouth and tell me to be quiet, all while I can hear his parents beating on the door... I was terrified, I can still hear the music he was playing to shut out my yelling. After realizing that I had woke up I felt him getting soft and he knew I was conscious now he told me "I hope this doesn't change anything" and in my head all I could do was try and justify what happened, things like "this is what bestfriends do", I was wrong. After he asked me to stay the night but the sun was coming up and I knew I wouldn't be sleeping I asked him to take me home and he did. The next morning he called and wanted go out to eat, by that time I had just numbed myself to not feel a thing. I went just maybe so I could get some answers but I think everything got ever more confusing. He told me that when I fell asleep he went to the bathroom, when he returned he said his door was locked, as soon as he manged to open the door he said he saw my female friend on top of me, So he said he took her home but left me sleeping in his room.. he tried to tell me that she was trying to do something to me but to me none of this made sense. I didn't drink enough to be drunk yet I passed out and when I woke up everything changed. I haven't talked to the girl since that night. And he's in jail for some unknown reason. He still tries to contact me, so every time I go out, I hide. I don't know if he's out or when he will be out, and this terrifies me beyond belief.
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I was raised in an uber religious family that taught abstinence only. I was homeschooled, so my only resource for sex ed was my parents. I could have looked it up online, perhaps, but the complex network of morals and rules established bymy parents made to too afraid to research. I was also suffering from an assortment of untreated disorders which cause slower sexual development. I didn't experience arousal until my early twenties. I was 20 years old nannying between college semesters. I woke up one morning to a phone call from a number I didn't recognize. It wasn't abnormal, I had new clients all the time that would be referred to me by friends. Unknown numbers weren't a huge deal. This one, however, was at 5am. The voice didn't really seem much different than any other voice, some middle aged man with the leavings of a northern accent. I groggily said hello, and the man explained to me that we were on a time difference, that he was a movie studio director in England, and that he'd heard of my acting talent from a friend. The friend he listed was someone I was training with at the time, let's call the friend Mr. White. This man said Mr. White had gone on and on about me, and that he'd really like to bring me in for the part. I've never told anyone this story because it make me feel stupid. I was 20 not 13. But because of the way I was brought up, I might as well have been 13. I knew so little about everything. I was initially excited by this call, although in retrospect, it was so obviously fake. The director described the film and character as a sexually adventurous woman. This is incredibly painful for me to write, there is so so much shame. He began to ask me sexual questions. He told me that the film would be shot in Italy and that men there are much more flirtatious and touchy. He had to be sure I was prepared to deal with that. He asked me if I was a woman of my word, and I said yes. Then he told me that I would answer the questions because I was honest. He painted scenarios where I was being groped or kissed, and told me to tell him how I would(was) reacting. He went through it over, and over, and over again. I knew that I didn't want to be doing anything, I wanted to just hang up the phone. Even now, to this day, I wish I had opened the door and thrown my phone as far as it could go. I wish I had just jumped on top of it. I wish I had called somebody. I didn't. I let him ask me all the questions until he told me I was a poor fit for the role, and let me go. He called back 2 minutes later to ask if I was upset and to make sure I was ok. I said I was fine. I tried to commit suicide a few days later. It didn't work out, so I just kept living. I've only told 1 person what happened since. Fast forward 5 years. I'd I dated my first BF for 3 years, but we never had sex. We were both virgins and never really felt ready. We broke up on great terms, and I started dating someone new a few months later. He was kind, thoughtful, and respectful of my pretty rigid boundaries. Over time I eased into the place I'd been with my previous BF, which was basically any/everything but actual sex. I still wasn't quite there, but I was becoming interested in losing it because, at this point I was 25 and finally becoming comfortable enough to consider it. At a little before the 3 month mark of us dating, he kinda pressed his deal against my butt and I told him it felt good, "strangely enough" (my words). He said he was surprised I was into anal, and I said that I hadn't tried it, but that if I was going to, maybe it would be nice with him. We left it at that, and moved on to other things. A week later, he asked me over to fool around, which I was very happy to do. We began to kiss, and not long after I was on my stomach. He kept his hands away from me, content for a time to rub "himself" against my backside. Something I really enjoyed. That's when it began. He began to push against me (well, my butt hole). I remember liking the pressure against the outside of me. I liked the feeling of him pressing himself on the outside, we'd done that before. But he didn't stop pushing. He went inside. I don't know why I didn't say no. When I knew for sure that's what he was doing, that it wasn't only going to be pressure, I wanted him to stop. He didn't have a condom on and there wasn't any kind of lube involved. I kinda froze in disbelief. I felt kinda like I was watching a movie. I did want to try, but not right then and not without lube. . . But he was inside me. I didn't want it. But it felt good. Kind of. Then it hurt. A lot. I cried out in pain, as I stretched to accommodate him. It's not abnormal, I'm very . . . vocal. But it was different. I wanted to crawl away into his pillows, out from beneath his legs and hide. Instead I moaned. I don't know why. He pulled back a little then, "Tell me if it hurts too much." Everything hurt. I wanted him out of me. I was not sure I want to do this with him yet. But instead I said, "Ok" For every new depth, I cried out. I really wanted to stop, but my body was confused between liking it, being scared it was happening, and just feeling frozen. I wanted to tell him to stop, Instead I said his name. I asked once, very softly, for him to be gentler, but I don't think he heard me. He pulled me by my hair until I was upright, still deep inside me. I wanted to run, I wanted to hide under his bed. All I wanted was to stop, but my body wouldn't obey me. My mouth wouldn’t obey me. Nothing obeyed me. I told him instead that I liked it when he was deep inside. I don't know why. I wasn't lying. It felt good. But I didn't want it. I wasn't sure if I wanted it, but there was no stopping this train. I thought maybe if I just got into, it would be better. That I would want it. All I wanted was for him to finish and end this. He didn't finish. He suggested I clean myself up. My first time had been messy and bloody. After I got back from the shower, he told me he felt really bad, but that he needed to tell me something before we did anything else. I laid down on the bed because my butt hurt. He told me then that he didn't want anything serious and that he felt like we needed to part ways. That he didn't want to waste my time (we'd been dating 3 months). He said he didn't want to break up, but felt like we should. He asked if he could think about it and give me an answer later. Believe me when I say it was lightening out of a blue sky. There was NO warning signs at all. Things had been going really well, actually. I told him it was ok, dressed, and left. I didn't change my panties or pants for 3 days because I just couldn't take them off. I couldn't take anything off unless the room was dark. I burned myself the day it happened because I couldn't process the pain any other way. I did it again 5 days later.
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I was 14 when he started talking to me, he was a son of some close friends of my parents but he was also 5 years older than me. As a young awkward teenager I loved the attention from this 'older guy'. I enjoyed talking to him online, flirting like crazy but I guess I didn't really think much of it. He would tell me that he wanted to have sex with me and I played along even though the idea petrified me. I remember telling calling him a "pedo" at one point, I think I understood that this interaction between someone out of high school and myself wasn't normal. He immediately reacted by saying that "age is just a number" and that he'll make sure we don't have sex until I'm 16 (age of consent). Honestly I didn't think of our interaction as 'real', I know it sounds really dumb but I had no interest in him as a person but chatting to him online was so fun, especially since I was lonely and was still trying to figure out my sexual feelings. At a family Christmas party he pecked me on the lips and I ran away as quickly as possible. Looking back he scared me, my instincts were telling me to run but I didn't understand that then. He sat next to me later in the night and put his hand up my thigh. I remember my whole body freezing, I couldn't concentrate on what anyone was saying, his hand felt incredibly heavy and just weird. I remember telling him that he made me feel really 'weird' and he said its normal "I turned you on". Again being so young and naive, I brushed it off, I wanted to believe him. I think I would have stopped talking to him but I told my mum that he kept asking me out on dates and she told me to go. My parents thought he was a great guy and that I should pursue that relationship because older guys are more "mature". But honestly we had nothing in common, I was in high school and he wasn't. I don't think I really understood the danger of the situation, I naively thought our interaction was harmless, but I went out of my way not to be in the same room as him when we would visit his parents. I lost my virginity when I was 16 (not to him) and I told him a few days later, I don't really know why maybe I wanted to make him jealous or show him that I didn't care about him. After that conversation we stopped talking for a while, and a few months later his parents asked me to look after their new puppy while they were away. It was only one night and I didn't mind so I stayed over. I was upstairs on the couch when he sent me a text telling me to come to his room. I don't remember much of that night, I try and replay it in my head but its only snippets. I remember walking down the stairs then blank. I know we had sex, and knowing what I know now he should've seen that I wasn't "into it". I remember just lying there, staring at the wall next to his bed. Then after he was done he tried to go down on me but I said I want to leave, he responded with "then you'll never enjoy sex, don't forget your undies". I went back upstairs and sobbed, I remember trying to call my friends, I wanted to talk to someone - anyone but it was the middle of the night so they didn't answer. The worst part was that he texted me to come down again, and I don't know why but I did. I'm not sure if I was trying to justify the sex or I don't know what was going through my head. The only thing I remember about the second time was trying to force myself to look at his face but I couldn't do it. The next day he wouldn't look at me, thinking back I'm not sure if he felt guilty or I don't know, again I barely remember that night. After that incident I stopped talking to him, I went on with life telling myself it was consensual - I was the one who went into his room, I also went back so surely it had to be what I wanted. I guess at this point I had a fucked up relationship with sex, my only education came from porn. A guy giving a girl head was completely taboo to me, and on top of that when I tried to have sex afterwards I would freak out if a guy tried to eat me out. I had night terrors (still do sometimes) and my brain blocked out what happened completely. I didn't want to believe it could have been non-consensual and I justified his actions. He thought I was into it, I led him on, I was the one who went into his room etc. It's only recently that I stopped getting flashbacks and panic attacks about it, but knowing what I know now, and having incredible consensual sex with my now-boyfriend there is no way that a 21 year old guy wouldn't at least ask if I was ok or be interested in someone my age in the first place. I'm not "broken", I am powerful and strong and I love sex. This experience really screwed up my ideas about what sex was, I didn't even know that girls can orgasm until I met my current partner. I think I still hold a lot of suppressed anger towards my parents for not 'protecting' me against him, I wish they would have told me that it was not ok. I recently talked about it with mum, she doesn't know about the incident, but I think the way I spoke about it made her realize that it was really screwed up. Young teenagers are so vulnerable when it comes to this sort of thing and being pretty much introduced to sex, and relationships in that way was really damaging for my mental health. But I recovered after I acknowledged that what happened was not ok and it definitely was not my fault.
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I have been a “victim”* of sexual violence. By both a man, and a woman. My very budy hurts as I write this, I hate this. Because as I write it I can feel it all again. My body reacted, when I feel I should have, but I didn’t. I hate it. I want it to be over. I have been assaulted by both genders… one of them was/is my best friend. What do I do now? I find it easier to understand the rape that happened to me from a male, it is suppose to happen by a man to a woman. But the second time, by a person I had known for years. She was suppose to be someone who I had known forever. We had been best friends since grade nine. But one night, she started touching me after a night out when we were drunk. She kept asking me if I was OK with it. I suppose that is why I hate it. It is my fault. I wasn't OK with it, but I felt like I couldn't say no, because I didn't want our friendship to be ruined. But she asked, I should have just said no. All night all I could think was how much she would hate me if I said no. I just... I don't like being touched anymore. Not by anyone. Oddly enough, I feel more pain from my experience with her, I am not sure why? maybe I thought I could trust women more after I had been so hurt by a man. But I can still feel her fingers shoved up inside me and I hate it. I hate it so much. * I hate and love the word victim, I try to understand it isn't my fault and using the word victim allows this. Yet, I am not broken. OR maybe I am. But why does broken have to be bad? Was I ever really whole? What does it matter to be whole? It that ever a thing? I think humans are created out of experiences, therefore they are always the sum of broken parts. Maybe I have always been broken, but not in a bad... but in a beautiful, fragmented way.
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One of my earliest memories is of being 4 or 5. My oldest brother, 9 years older than me, enticing me to his room. We were excluding my other brother, 2 years older than me. I thought it was funny. Until he unzipped his pants and took out his penis. I remember it stuck out. I didn't know what to do. He wanted me to touch it. He kept saying, "Touch the snake." But I didn't want to touch it. And my other brother pounding on the door became more like the sound of rescue. I don't know if that was the first time, or the last. One day when I was about 6 my parents called me into their bedroom. Asked me if either of my brothers had ever touched me. All I could do was cry. As an adult I wonder what spurred them to ask me. And I wonder if this impacted my hyper-sexual focus throughout my life. When I was 7 or 8 my female cousin and I would explore each other's bodies on sleepovers when we were supposed to be asleep. We'd take turns rubbing each other's clits. One day we stopped and never spoke of it again. I used to lay on the couch next to my dad and he'd put his hand under my shirt, caressing my back. I loved it, but I always drew my arms against my sides when his caresses grew to close to my budding breasts. He used to watch shows like Easyrider with me in the room, when I was 11 or 12. Topless women on motorcycles. I looked through his magazines of topless and naked women, around the same age, and remember being turned on. At 12 the boy across the street used to flash his dick at me. The boy who sat next to me in math used to put his hands between my legs and rub my clit through my shorts. No matter how often I batted his hand away, it always came back. If I went to the back of the classroom to sharpen a pencil, he was there behind me, pressing himself against my butt. When I was 20 I got drunk at a party, outside with a big bonfire. I wandered into the living room and fell asleep on the couch. I woke up to one of my male friends laying beside me, his hands down my pants, his hard dick up against me. I got up and moved to a different sleeping spot, and never spoke of it to anyone. A thousand times I had sex when I didn't want to. Because I felt obligated. Because he wanted it. Because I would be a tease if I didn't. Newly single after a 10 year relationship, I met a guy online. We meet for dinner and he was a gentleman. The next time we went out I agreed to meet him at his house. We were going to ride on his motorcycle into the city for dinner and a show. Only when I got there he wasn't ready. So he sat me down with a beer while he showered. He brought me another when he got out. By the time he was kissing me I was too buzzed to ride on a motorcycle. And he was rough. Biting my neck. Grabbing and twisting my breasts. Choking me. At first I went along with it. We went upstairs. He put it inside me without making me wet and it hurt. He was slamming it into me. I cried out and told him to stop. I was done. But he leaned over me, wrapped his hand in my hair, and pinned my head to the bed. He fucked me while I cried and begged him to stop. When he finished, I could barely walk. I shakily picked up and put on my clothes, got into my car,and drove a block before I started crying. And I cried all the way home. He even called me a few days later, wanting to see me again. Like what happened was normal and ok. I couldn't be touched for a long time after that. And I've got a weird relationship with rough play now. Lately I'm more turned off by touch than turned on by it. And I crave intimacy without the expectation of sex.
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It was night. It was always night. I had told him, the fiance I was planning to leave, that I didn't want to have sex with him anymore at least a month before anything happened. The first time, I woke up from an erotic dream to find him already inside of me. I froze. What in the world? I stopped moving with him, pretended I was still asleep, pretended I wasn't there, pretended anything except what was actually happening. If I didn't say no, he couldn't force me. I'm very good at dissociation. I didn't think about it again until the next time. I just didn't sleep - or at least, not well. The next time, I woke to find his fingers poking, poking, trying to find their way inside. To lube me up, I guess. But I woke up, and moaned a little "I'm having a bad dream" moan and tossed and turned a little, pretending to still be sleep. I waited. The fingers came again, searching, searching - where are you, little hole? Again, I moaned the disgruntled moan of someone who's just having a little bit of a bad dream. Just a teensy nightmare, that's it. I'm not saying no - how can I, when I'm still asleep? You can't be mad at me, can't force me, when I'm not resisting. I'm just having bad dreams, that's it. Nothing to yell at me about, nothing to cause alarm. He sighed a heavy, sharp sigh as he gave up. I dreaded that sigh. Eventually, there was a night - one? Many? - when I was just too tired (too scared?). I gave up. I let the fingers come, wiggle around inside me long enough to satisfy him, felt his penis slip inside me, let his body move me as I lay there, curled on my side facing away from him, rocked from the force of his thrusts. The rocking propelled me from my body as my eyes caught on a dark smudge on the wall lit by moonlight and I was mesmerized, hypnotized. I didn't exist, I wasn't there. The only part of me I remember feeling are my fists, curled into tight little balls, buried under my pillow. Maybe he thought I wouldn't know; no harm, no foul. Maybe he thought I was still asleep.
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what do i have to gain? when i was 12, on my way home from school, a man rubbed his naked penis against my butt on a packed train, through my purple down coat in the dead of winter. i tried to ignore it. i was a child. before i could speak, my babysitter’s boyfriend molested me. i remember staring at the ceiling and feeling dread. i was a baby. when i was 22, i was raped. he bit me, he hit me, i gave in. he played teen dream through shitty speakers, complimented me on my taste in music and told me how cool i was. i tried to leave my body. i ran out without my shirt the moment he passed out. he called me crazy as he jumped out of bed. i gave him my real number out of fear. i couldn’t sequence another seven numbers. the next day, he asked me out for tacos. i can’t get over this. i’m not there yet. i am not a survivor. i am a victim. i want to feel differently but i can’t help myself. not alone, i can’t. a male therapist scanned my body up and down and tried to hold my gaze from behind the counter where i was paying for counseling. i want the ability to say “stop”, but i don’t have that power yet. i’ve done that and have been assured my words mean nothing. i avoided his presence, but it drilled though my averted eyelids. i walk around with water-filled rocks in my chest, attempted dismissal on my face. i am closed-off. i wish i felt able to engage but around every corner is another potential attack. men search my face and thighs on the bus, while i stare out the window and pretend not to notice. rape is casually discussed everywhere i go, with the authority of people who feel safe. i want to be heard but people don’t want me to react how i do; venomously, too emotional. i don’t want to tell them why. shouldn’t it be obvious? a man i work with, who i barely know but has assumed authority over me, ripped a piece of packing tape off of a box right next to my ear as a joke. it felt like i was hit. when i got off work, i started sobbing as soon as i rounded the corner. on the phone with my boyfriend, my anger bubbled over, for once. i hated that man for his privilege: that sense of security, that inclination to dominate so thoughtlessly, my tendency to be thrust back in time by really-nothing. he sing-songed “sorry” on his way out the door, like a four-year old does, sarcastically waggling his fingers and rolling his eyes as if i overreacted. i may have. truly, sir, i’m so sorry my diagnosis of PTSD makes your power less fun. you are not a bad person but you should know better. because you don’t know me. it took three years to understand that i was raped. i am more comfortable saying i was sexually assaulted. rape is an ugly word and far too acute. i don’t want to access it, because it goes both ways. it hurts my mouth to say it and i feel my face flush and my heart need more blood and oxygen than my body can offer. i must confess. i feel shame. but it was not my fault. i tried to gain the upper hand but a hand was on my throat. since i stopped holding a parental hand while crossing the street, men have commented on my body as i walk from point a to point b. i don’t dawdle, i traverse. headphones became my life-long uniform at 14, not because of music, but because they cover men’s assertions that i am theirs, not my own. and a threat when i don’t obey. statistics regarding false rape accusations fluctuate between 2% and 8%. only 30% of sexual assault cases are reported. i never reported mine. i assume that false rape reports would hover somewhere around 1% (with a 1% margin of error) if victims of rape felt able to call a spade a bloody shovel— outside of being in medical, psychological shock— instead of feeling, understandably, beaten from the start. so why would you question me? stop. you have everything already. don’t take what i know is real. my fear is not in my head, it is a product of my experience: the way you’ve been taught you can interact. a product of a historical party line that women are property. a product of the term “legitimate rape.” a product of the concept that winning is all that matters. the news drives me to shaking and shouts. (can we all agree right now that ivana trump’s retracted description of being raped by her then-husband couldn’t be made up?) this should not be normal. i wish it wasn’t there. it is. line up 6 women you love. numbers say one of them has been raped. if they have not, they have been made to feel powerless by someone who decided they were less than. what do i have to gain by spreading my trauma open wide? believe me. i want to love humanity the way i intellectually do. each other is all we have. why do i fear i will never be able to do this? why does it seem as if this doesn’t matter? why am i told that i don’t? i am still staring at the ceiling and feeling dread.
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I've wanted to express my story out loud to someone, anyone, over the years. Only a few of my friends know about what happened to me, which is okay with me, because I don't want people to consider me "broken". When I was 14, I had a boyfriend I'll call Eric. I was madly in love with Eric at the time, and he was the first person I ever kissed. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing in my back alley after he walked me home from school one day when I was 13 years old. It was sweet and passionate and beautiful. For a first kiss, it was something quite memorable. After the school year ended, he ended up moving away with his mom to a different city, and I didn't see him for over a year and a half. In that time, I dated other guys, but never felt the same way about them as I had about Eric. I had times where I could have lost my virginity, but I was too young and inexperienced, and scared of it, and just not ready or mature enough, that I chickened out and made excuses to leave. When Eric came back to town and contacted me, I dumped my current boyfriend for him. I've regretted that ever since, considering how things eventually worked out. Eric was living with his mom in a motel kitchenette when they first moved back, and I would have my mom take me to pick him up so we could spend time together. We'd always go back to my house so we could be chaperoned, because my parents were wary of things that could happen when you're young and head-over-heels in love with somebody. So one night, he had been over earlier in the day, and was going to stay overnight and watch movies with me and my family. He made some excuse about having to go back to the motel for something he needed. So my mom drove us up to the motel. He asked my mom if it would be okay if I went in with him briefly, even though his mom wasn't there. She said yes, as long as we were quick. So we went in, and I followed him into the kitchenette suite. He was fumbling with some stuff, when he turned to me and said, "I'm tired of this. It's time you lost your virginity. Take off your pants." I looked at him dumbfounded, not comprehending what he was saying. So he repeated himself. "I said, take off your pants. You need to lose your virginity." Now, when I was 14, I started having flashbacks to repressed memories from childhood, that I had been sexually molested by a family member from the ages of 4 - 9 years old. I was going to counselling about it, and I was doing okay at the time. But I had been conditioned by my family member that I wasn't allowed to say no or deny him what he wanted from me. When Eric told me to take off my pants, I stood there like a deer in the headlights, not quite knowing what to do. So after he repeated himself, I lamely took off my pants. He looked at me with an exasperated expression on his face and said, "Your panties, too!". I dropped them on the floor and he told me to sit on the side of the bed. I did, and when he dropped his pants, I was shocked because his penis was extremely large. I knew it was going to hurt, but I didn't know how much. He pushed me back, got on top of me, and unceremoniosly shoved himself in me and did his thing. I laid there unmoving, in excruciating pain, with tears streaming down my face, not making a sound, while my mom was outside starting to honk the horn. He was on me for a couple of minutes when he stopped, looked at me and said, "You're having fun. But I can't come unless you make some noise and let me know you're enjoying it." It was my first time, I had no experience, and I was most definitely not enjoying it. Remember, I was conditioned to obey. So I started making the noises that they made in every sex scene on tv or in the movies. I just wanted it to be over. It was done in a couple seconds. After he was done and got off me, I stood up and he told me to go into the bathroom and clean myself up. I was in pain and in shock, so he led me to the bathroom. He had me get into the tub, and instructed me to use the hand-held shower nossle to wash myself out, because I was bleeding badly and he didn't want me to get pregnant either. After that, I sat on the toilet, but there was no stopping the blood flow. Meanwhile, my mom is really starting to lay on the horn. Eric went outside and told her I was in the bathroom, and we'd be out in just a minute. All I could do was wad up some toilet paper and stuff it in my panties until I got home so I could use a pad. When we got in the car, my mom was upset and asked me why we took so long. I told her I got my period and was having really bad cramps. Since my periods were seriously irregular, she took it as fact and never thought twice about it. We went back to our house and watched movies, and Eric had his arm around me the whole time, thinking it was the best thing ever. I sat there, not watching the movie, but lost in my own head. I ended up marrying him 5 years later, and I think my thoughts at the time were along the line of, if I had sex with him, I had to marry him. Our family was ultra-religious, and that was the way I was taught. There were some good times, but most of it bad. He was a real psychopath, and cheated on me constantly when we were dating. He gave me chlamydia and herpes from the other girls he kept sleeping with, and he continued to cheat on me for the 2 years we were married as well. About 6 months into our marriage, he began beating me regularily. When he moved me to an isolated area and made me cut off contact with my family, I knew that was a very bad sign and I have no doubt now that if I had stayed with him, he would have killed me. So I had an affair with a friend, and left shortly before our 2nd anniversary. I left while Eric was at work. He was distraught and tricked my mom into giving him my location. He stalked my boyfriend and me the entire time we were together, and after that relationship fell apart, he again found out where I lived and stalked me for years, making my life a living hell. I started dating a wonderful man after awhile, and have been with him for almost 22 years now. Up until about 5 years ago, I had serious guilt about how I left Eric. I thought of him coming home after work to an empty house, devoid of all my things with nothing but a single dish, cup and set of cutlery in the cupboard that I had left him. For almost 20 years, I would lay awake some nights, feeling terrible about it. It's funny how, as women, we always feel the need to carry the guilt even when it's not our fault, or over something borne out of survival. So I decided after one such sleepless night that I was going to contact Eric on Facebook and send him a private message, apologizing, not for leaving him or why I left him, but how I left him. So before I did it, I wanted to let my husband know that I was going to do so. My husband became furious at the thought of it! He said how could I ever apologize to a man who made my life a living hell for 7 years, beat me, and raped me of my virginity when I was only 15? Why did I even think he deserved an apology from someone as wonderful as me, who was so loved by everyone, yet would have willingly killed me? His anger shocked me back to reality. I had never really realized that I had been raped. That even though I obeyed, and didn't say no, my non-consent did not give him the right to violate my body just because he felt like it. I spent 7 years with Eric, and I never once enjoyed the sex act with him, and it was always just that - an act, for his pleasure. I had never had an orgasm until after I left him and was with someone who took the time and effort to care about me, and not tell me I had to make noise like I was enjoying it, even though I hated every second of it. I spent 7 long years with my rapist, and yet my second husband set me free. He absolved me of all my guilt, and I haven't spent a sleepless night on him since. And when Eric tried to friend me on Facebook, I blocked his ass.
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I've been struggling for a long time to validate what happened to me. At the time, I had only just turned 17 about a month prior to my assault. I was in a high school show with a friend of mine who was also my best guy friend's best friend. He was younger than me. He had just turned 15 that past october and it was early june. Throughout the duration of the show, I had flirted with him. I thought he was cute, I liked how tall he was. His costume for the show was a suit.It made him look older, more mature, and with me he pretended to be that. He complimented me and teased me. It felt like the classic teenager experience. I only remembered looking back how he had conditioned me to be afraid of him. He'd come up behind me and touch my waist to get my attention or poke me in the ribs when i wasn't expecting it. At the end of the show, there was a party at one of our cast mate's houses. I wasn't even going to go but it was the last time I was going to see any of them before going away for the summer so I went. The whole party, he flirted with a mutual friend of ours. I was furious and annoyed and just wanted to leave. He made me hug him before I left and he started sucking on my neck and his hands were on my waist. I was shocked. For a moment, I thought he was crying. I was absolutely frozen there. I remember looking over his shoulder at my hands in the dark and thinking "step away" and I couldn't move. He eventually stopped. I don't remember much about during or after because I immediately started to panic. I only said one thing to him, when I finally managed to gain some command over my body again. I told him he better not have left a mark because my dad would kill me. I made a trusted friend of mine drive me home. Only now almost 2 years later was i able to tell him what had happened and he remembered seeing the hickey. I remembered wiping the first boy's spit off my neck. I started having panic attacks after that and trouble sleeping. I dropped 10lbs and hit my absolute lowest weight in my adult body because i always felt too sick to eat. I was eventually so exhausted from panicking all of the time that i got medicated. I spent another year in class with that boy, convinced I wanted him, that I had only panicked because he surprised me, not because i hadn't been able to stop something i didn't want or hadn't consented to. I learned in therapy as a freshmen in college that panic responses fight or flight also included freeze. I cried when my therapist told me that. Ever since, I don't like to be touched or sat too close to. I choose when i'm touched and learned to say no to hugging people that i didn't want to hug. Finally I actually have feelings for a guy and when I see him, I'm happy, not anxious and scared.
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I flittered with a man a old friend of mine from high school when I saw him years later out on the town. One time I took him home with me he wanted to have sex I was too drunk I think.. Or he couldn't find a condom.. Something happened we didn't have sex. Then I saw him again I thought I wanted him this time we went back to his house.. We started making out getting hot and heavy.. I thought I wanted to have sex with him as soon as he started to get ready to have sex I realized this was not what I wanted to do at all I was wrong making out was fine I did not want to have sex .. But he wanted to and penetrated anyway .. I felt his hips push into me and I freaked out and tried to shove him off me it a took a few mintires but I did and I ran away. This is one story of more then one sex assault experience.
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We'd broken up years before. Then, at nineteen I woke up to him having sex with me. I said no, i tried to get away. He said "you know you liked it". His brother threatened me when i opened up about it even though he has no idea his brother was the assaulter.
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Thank you for doing this! Only my therapist knows this stuff-- I identify with the not wanting to be seen as "broken" and trying to become more empowered to be able to talk about my story. I think I'll share my story from today to the beginning. I've been sober for 5 plus years. Opiates were my drug of choice-- heroin, oxycontin, etc. It's been about that long that I've been able to say NO to unwanted touch from men. A few years before I got sober I was out one night drinking with a male friend in Brooklyn. We had known each other for years and had hooked up before but had never had sex. I lived about an hour away with my parents and crashed on his floor sometimes after nights out drinking with our group of friends. One morning I woke up naked in his bed with him and knew that we had had sex. I had blacked out before, but had never blacked out having sex with someone. I thought to myself "There's a first time for everything." As I drove home I remembered that I only had one drink and then everything went dark. It was very different from other nights when I had blacked out from drinking lots and lots of alcohol. I called a good friend of mine and told him that I thought Eric had roofied me. I am so grateful he believed me-- but we didn't talk about it again until years later. I put it out of my mind, as I found it hard to reconcile that a friend of mine would roofie me and have sex with me. I figured that I must have made it up-- until I found out that Eric did the same thing to another one of our friends. When I was a sophmore in college I went to meet one of my idols-- an author whose work I had just become acquainted with. He invited me to hang out with him later at his hotel and I accepted though I was nervous. I didn't put much thought into it. I certainly didn't think that this man in his 70s wanted to have sex with me. I smoked some pot with him in his hotel room and when he started to kiss me I said "I don't want to do this" but found myself unable to move or say "No." He continued to kiss me, undress me, and then have sex with me. I was unable to speak during sex or after. I was a completely passive participant in the sex act. I am 10 and taking a shower with my mom after a day at the beach. I had just stopped taking baths with my dad helping. She notices that I am not washing my genitals and asks me why. I tell her it's because soap hurts my vagina. She tells me that's not a thing. I try it and find that soap, does not in fact, hurt. I am surprised. I am 29 and on a meditation retreat. All at once I remember being thrown on my parents bed and a man having sex with me. This is taking place in my old house, before it got re-done, before I was five years old. I know where I am even though before this memory I only remembered this iteration of the house through pictures. I was in a flashback, the likes of which I had never had before or since. It's hard to articulate how present I was in this memory, and account for the fact that I couldn't tell who the man was. While the flashback was happening I remember trying to figure out who the man was, but I couldn't. This makes me think that the man having sex with me wasn't my father, which is a relief, but also confusing. I've had sex once in the 5+ years I've been sober. I find it hard to be sexual, vulnerable without the use of substances.
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I'm a first year in college right now, and last summer, my friend and I decided to work all throughout senior year of high school to go to Europe before going off to different schools in different states. My friends from home drink a lot and so I wasn't exactly inexperienced with alcohol when I went, though I did take full advantage of the lower drinking age. One night, my friend and I were in Paris and we sat at this outdoor hub where many young people would go to at night to socialize and drink. Because of expensive food prices I hadn't been eating or drinking water as normally as I did at home, so the alcohol I drank that night hit me much harder than what I was used to. It was night and you could see the whole city from there, and I just remember the two of us being drunk--me much drunker--and having fun and being amazed with ourselves that this was our first self-funded trip and thinking "wow, we're adults now." About five minutes after sitting down a man came up to her to talk and within a few seconds another man came up to talk to me. (Don't worry, she had a boyfriend at the time and the man talking to her was respectful of that and was very kind). The man I was talking to seemed nice, he was kinda nerdy looking and we talked fairly easily about news, politics, and all other sorts of things. I was 18 at the time and I remember looking at him and estimating him to be about 25 or so. I was too drunk to think of how weird it was for a sober older man to be talking to a drunk obviously young foreign girl, and instead was flattered and proud of myself, like "wow, this older French guy wants to spend his time talking to ME." After awhile the four of us went for a walk, at which point I was even more intoxicated and he was still 100% sober. In a way I can't remember, he separated me from my friend and the guy she was talking to, and at some point started rather forcefully kissing me. The force of his body against mine alone made me nearly fall over because of my overly inebriated state. I remember being shocked--I thought we were just talking and I didn't really want this---but I went with it because how could I, an 18 year old American girl, say no to some French guy 10 years my senior? He said his apartment was nearby and I remember being scared and feeling the huge red flag go off in the back of my brain, but my drunken haze told me "yes, you want to be interesting, you want to have a fun adventurous story to tell your friends about your crazy Europe trip." I was the last of my friends who had never had sex, and they were generally all more interesting than me, so I figured this would put me as more equal, and eliminate my unofficial role of the virgin of my friends. We got back to his apartment and outside I tripped on the sidewalk, and he had to support my entire body weight in order for me to get up. I'd been drunk many times before this but rarely did I lose ability to even pick myself up. We got inside and I immediately plopped down on his couch and he wasted no time. I was thinking so slowly that I would be processing things two minutes after they happened. I didn't even realize he was having sex with me for a couple minutes, at which point I was almost entirely unable to move myself at all. Perhaps realizing this was happening sobered me up enough to realize that what was happening was creepy and wrong, but I still couldn't get myself to say no. I didn't want to be rude. I didn't want to be a prude. He would move my body into whatever position he wanted and I would just ragdoll around for him. He flipped me over, spread my legs apart and together for me, slapped me, kept saying how hot I was and kept saying "you like that," even though I wasn't vocal at all, besides the groans of pain I couldn't help but letting out. Unfortunately, I think he misinterpreted them. Finally, I asked him to stop and after a couple minutes he did. He seemed angry when I left, and kept trying to grab at my waist to keep me from going. I tried to reassure him that I just needed to find my friend, and for whatever reason I was scared of him being mad at me or of him thinking I was just a scared little girl. I wanted to prove I was an adult and that I could handle myself. It took me a day or two to realize that this was assault. I told my friends that "ooh I lost my virginity to this older French guy," and kept wondering why they all seemed hesitant and why they kept asking me if I was ok. My first semester of college, I dealt with it by sleeping with just about anyone who wanted to sleep with me. Drunken hookups with different men every weekend were justified in my mind by the logic of, "for every guy I sleep with, it's like his part in my mind gets smaller," even though this probably makes him even stronger in my mind. Or even, if I always say yes then this can't ever happen again. As long as I actively say I'm ok with it then I can't be assaulted again. Since the new semester, I've tried to abandon this reasoning and I've tried to wait to have sex with another guy again until it's someone I care about, but the thoughts still linger. I think about him all the time. I cry almost every time I drink now, and even the littlest things trigger thoughts of that night. I'm sad for no reason all the time. Not even sad, almost apathetic about my body. Though I'm trying to reclaim myself I fear my efforts up until this point have been in vain in that it still feels less than a week old.
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I was 17. We had been dating for a few months, and I knew he was an asshole...but after my first abusive relationship (and my first relationship ever) my views on self worth weren't good and they've never been the same since. I remember lying on his bed, and looking up at the windows on his dove grey walls as light came in and I remember thinking how beautiful it was. He tried to have sex with me 3 times, every time I just waited for the pain to stop and listened to him as he blamed me for the pain. He called me broken. I was raped three times by someone who was raped as a kid. I'm so angry, and I never want to stop being angry.
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I met this guy at my running club. He was new in the country, only spoke broken English and obviously needed help. He said he was looking for a job and didn't know anyone. He was staying with distant relatives about ten minutes from my house. I said I might be able to get him a job - where I worked. I offered him my number. I never think not to do this when I meet new people - unless they are obviously dangerous. He was gentle, desperate, lonely. I saw him again two days later, at running club - he checked before to make sure i was going - and again the next week, which he also planned. This time he wanted to talk to me more. We ended up talking for hours about my country and his country and how you can get a job here and life I invited him to my flat because I was cold and needed to change after running but didn't want to ask him to stop talking. He was respectful inside my flat and I learnt later that he was shocked and flattered that i had been so open with him. He shared intimate stories with me and at one point, when i showed him compassion for his experiences, he gave me a hug that lasted for a long time and was too intimate for somone i didnt know. When he left that day he nearly kissed me and i felt uncomfortable. I told my friend a day later that I knew he was needy and that I was going to be careful not to get into a relationship with him. I told my Mom that I didn't want to be in a relationship or have sex with him/every man who I met in life. I didn't have any romantic or attraction feelings towards this man. He was nice but ten years younger than me. He needed help and I just wanted to be his friend. The next time i saw him i told him that i just wanted to be friends and wasnt looking for anything more - including sex. Then I hardened myself to be strong and stand by my decision. The fourth time we ever met, he arranged to come to my flat after running. We got food out and brought it back there. I didn't really want to but it seemed to make him so happy and I didn't want to upset him. He told me i was special and he had never found it so easy to talk to anyone, that we had a special connection. After we ate he put on a film and we sat on the couch together to watch it. He put his arm around me and I didn't like it but I didn't tell him to get off. Part way through the film he leaned over very fast and pressed his body into my body whilst kissing me - proper kissing with his tongue in my mouth. He moved it very fast, whilst pressing me and i couldnt move or breathe. I reciporocated so that i could appease him and he would stop but I also felt very scared and confused. He moved his hands over my head and then under my shift and found my breasts in about ten seconds. And started caressing them. Inexperience meant he was hard and aggressive, twisting my nipples and pressing my breasts down, which hurt. I was frozen in my heart by this time and went into past trauma sex mode - just let him do it whilst trying to pleasure him (on his face and neck with my hands/tongue). I used to just go cold and dead but i figured he was a nice person so maybe it was ok to show him affection, even if i didnt want to. I didn't want to be rude and say no. I was questioning if I liked it while it was happening. I also felt flattered and excited. I also felt sick. In about a TEN SECOND movement he moved his hand down my body to my legs and then put his fingers inside my vagina, where he left them for the next good ten minutes. Going in and out etc. All i could think of was that he was a fast mover. i didn't want it. I looked at him and kinda felt proud that he was so turned on by me. After he came out, I managed to stop him touching me more with smiles, making a joke of how quick (and good at sex) he was and saying it was late (it was) and I needed to go to bed (I did). He arranged when we would meet up again and left, kissing me. I cried and felt really really scared. The next day I asked for advice from a friend and she said why don't I have some fun? I didn't tell her about what happened. I didn't realise I was upset about it. I thought I was just frightened of starting a relationship. I didn't want to see him again but I had arranged it with him (for the next day) and didn't want to upset him. The same day he tried to come to my work place even though he hadnt asked me if he could. I felt trapped and smothered. The next day, when he very quickly began to kiss and touch me again, i had sex with him - me on top and in control. He thought it was the best ever. Suddenly we were a couple. A month later literally, he moved in with me because his Uncle asked him to leave and he said to me that he either had to move back to his country or come live with me. During our relationship he bragged about how easy his ex girlfriends were to manipulate. He used to touch me when I was asleep. He woke me up all the time at first and have me message or had sex. It took many times of me telling him to let me sleep when I am asleep, for him to stop that. (And I had insomnia -which he knew about - so sleep was very sacred to me). In hindsight, I felt absolutely violated and hurt by that first night he "kissed" me. He sexually assaulted me that day. I was not able to stop him. Instead, i tried to make the situation/relationship positive by taking control as best I could when I actually felt completely out of control. So I initiated sex the next time i saw him so that he didn't take anything else from me. I allowed myself to get into a relationship with someone who had abused me. At the beginning I was able to show him love and affection but I never trusted him. We went to meet his family and stay in his home town. He was very loving and kind to me but very childish and needy - his parents did everything for him and he has wanted this of me throughout our relationship. As time went on I stopped being able to show him affection. I hated him touching me - which he did a lot. I got angry with him all the time. I hated seeing him and didn't look forward to coming home. At first I thought it was just because I have relationship issues (this sort of thing has happened to me before..) and needed to work on myself. From doing this I realised that i genuinely didn't want to be with him. But my reasons were initially vague and I was unsure as to why. Yesterday I read an article that the founder of this website has written. I put two and two together and came up with four. This morning I told this guy exactly what he had done to me and not to do it to anyone else ever. His reply was: "no one else has ever had a problem with this, just you" - yeah, and the oldest person he had a relationship with before me was 19. Then I told him that i no longer wanted to be his girlfriend. I listed my reasons for this when he asked me to. i told him i would NOT change my mind. He is now sitting in my/our bedroom, feeling forlorn, abandoned and rejected. I do not feel sad, I feel empowered - and frustrated that he is still in my flat. He wanted and needed me to mother him and i refused to I have given him strict rules about him continuing to be here. If he breaks them, i have friends who will help me get him to leave. This is not the whole story. One step at a time.
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when it happened i was yielding waiting waiting waiting for someone to come i didnt know it yet i didnt realize i was waiting grasping on to each breath like it was going to be my last it happened so gradually i never once closed my eyes and shouted the word no people take that as acceptance as if its such a black and white matter it is gray space and static it is no opposite there is no box holding me in or leaving me out my hurt is not romantic nor is it happy hurt it is not hurt that i cry over because i cant give him that power i wield words that are fiery with passion and anger and i cannot stand the way i tick because of his tainted black hands have molded my mind into thinking i am not good enough his hands ruined my mind and started the process of self hate all over again he called me beautiful like a greek statue and told my that my curves were something to love he forced me to eat and stay on my feet but at what cost i let him see me and i bared myself my body to him instead of my fangs i did not scream no i didnt yell or claw like i should have i did not know what to do but accept the attention i was young and naive and i did not know better society failed me at one point in time because they never told me to scream no and bare my teeth and take my claws out and rip him to shreds cut his hands off if he touched me at one point i failed myself because i did not listen and i did not know days come and go and i remember parts but i forget some and its angry angry angry because how pathetic is it if i dont remember his face or what he said to me that made me love how sickening is that that my heart expanded from the attention and gave out love to him like gum in school i was so in love with the idea and theory of someone loving broken pottery like me no one tried to glue me together just temporary tape until they fixed themselves i was in love with him being there at one am as i cried my heart out because someone yelled at me and i got mad too quickly my irrational thinking taking over one time blood dripped down my finger because maybe if i was brave enough to cut the silky skin he described i was brave enough to shove pills down my throat or to pull the trigger or maybe hang from the ceiling i guess i wasnt brave enough because i am still here today on some days i feel a murderous desire in myself grow and i want him to feel the pain i feel most days i want him to feel the despair and shame and the regret there is an abundant amount of regret everytime i look in the mirror i am not the same person i was two years ago how pathetic and disappointing no one knows but two close friends and on some days i want to scream the truth that was only accepted one a half years after it happened his blackened hands did worse than kill me he murdered my mind and robbed me of my dignity he didnt leave anything for the animals that are better than him that stalk the night he ripped me to shreds and refused to pick me back up some people try to sympathize but most give pity out like i surrendered my love to him some people try to relate and say they know what its like but they dont how could they know what its like to be stripped down bare and forced forced forced without even knowing what you are doing how dare they have the audacity to tell me that know what its like when their experience wasnt even close to them i feel unworthy and loveless and so selfish on days that i cant even look at myself in the mirror how dare someone tell me that its so easy to get over when they havent cried over the thought of someone touching them like that the worse part is that some days i dont even feel like its bad enough because maybe its not i was yielding but now im just a fire about to burst in flames to take him down and no one is there to drag the ocean and put me out and at this point in time i would go down in flames with him if that meant him burning in agony
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This is less a story of sexual abuse than it is a story of abusive behavior by a male. It's about my older brother, a frighteningly well-educated, erudite, socially maladroit man. He is nine years my senior, never married, never lived with a partner. He has, for much of his life, wanted to have a partner and a family, but has always prioritized his academic work. He has, at various times, accused me of not giving a shit about the family when I don't come home for Thanksgiving (which I've never done due to work, and the fact that our family has never made much of Thanksgiving as a tradition), being full of shit (when we have even the most trivial of disagreements), and needing to seek counseling when I've shared my sadness about a break-up, or shared positive experiences of slightly outside the norm sexual behavior (extremely mild kink/bdsm). When I have offered that my experiences are MY experiences and not his, he dismisses them with lines like, "I think that you're unwell/need anti-anxiety meds/just don't understand." (because if I did understand it's axiomatic that I'd do what he thinks I should do) I understand that this is gas-lighting behavior, but there's no talking about it with him, because he is entirely unreceptive. He's in...hmmm...like a closed loop. A closed epistemological loop where the only evidence that penetrates is that which conforms to his beliefs. Everything else gets explained away. It's really hurtful, especially when it leads to his attacking me as a person.
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I'm a stripper at one of the most famous strip clubs in the world. I've got an incredible body, and I'm a tattooed short haired punk chick that loves my customers. I'm cheeky like a diner waitress, and popular with men and women. A girl who doesn't seem to speak English well approaches me as I get off the stage. She had given me a few dollars a few minutes before. She grabbed my hand and signaled for a dance, asking me how much. I tell her $20, and I lead her to a chair. She seems completely enraptured by me, but awkwardly, like she's doing this for somebody else. I feel like someone is watching us, but that's not surprising, girl on girl is always a popular show. She keeps wanting me to talk to her. She disappears after the dance and then reapproaches when I'm with other customers. She's awkward and her English isn't great, but she keeps wanting to dance or to talk. She asks me to leave with her. I tell her no. She tries to buy me a drink, but I say no. She disappears again and then approaches awkwardly and asks again if I can leave with her. I try to explain that I can't leave, I'm still working, and I give her my Google voice number and tell her to text me later. She looks kind of worn out. She reminds me of the actress from Twilight, she looks as uncomfortable as she's starting to make me, and I start to wonder if maybe she needs some kind of help, which is why I insist she take my number. She finally leaves in a huff, and I worry that I offended her. I mention the encounter to another dancer and a bouncer and they tell me that sometimes girls come in to convince other girls to leave with them, and those girls are kidnapped. That sex trafficking is real, and they assume nobody cares about strippers. They remind me never to leave with a customer, and I say of course I never would. But I can't stop thinking about that girl. Was she just an awkward girl coming to terms with attraction to women? Was she a pawn of a sex trader? Was she being abused? Was she asking for help or just waiting to drug me? I never find out. I think about her constantly. I read random articles about sex trafficking and I shudder uncontrollably. I don't know what it was, but I keep replaying it in my head, trying to make sense of it. It's the only blemish on my experience in years of dancing. I'm lucky it isn't anything more than that, but I can't stop shuddering when I think of it.
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I was a sophomore in college, and I was going to a frat party later that night. It was a big ordeal, and I went to my ex's house and had a shot. I had eaten a little, but not enough. I was expecting a hangover the next day. I left my keys there, for some reason feeling as if I would be sober enough to walk to the building next to mine and retrieve my keys. My ex would be home, as he was not going to the party. I arrived with friends but caught up with the nerd squad I hung out with, mostly guys and the Gfs I knew them through. My best friend had found them as well. I also found my boo, who had been a senior in college for abt 3 years. We wandered into the foam and hooked up really quick. I was feeling my first drink, which was made by the frat and given out for free. I finished my cup and came out of the foam. My BFF offered me a cup, and all my nerd friends stood around gawking. Apparently someone had given it to her, but she didn't know who. I took it and drank it quickly. After that, I remember nothing. Later, I remember pounding on the door to my ex's house. One of my friend's bf was there with me. He was a quiet, stingy guy and apparently had given me a ride home. My ex opened the door and gave me my keys and a questioning stare. I walked to my building next door, and thanked my friend's ex at the bottom of the stairs.i walked into my house, and went straight into the bathroom to take out my contacts. I forgot to lock my door. I saw him enter my house from my peripheral and enter my bedroom. I walked in to ask him what he was doing, and he made a joke. I laughed nervously. He knocked me back on my bed and started licking my chest. I laughed again and began to rock to get him off of me and get up.i can't I then ask him to stop. He doesnt. I give up and try to leave my body. He takes it. The next day my boo calls me. He's angry bc he tried to come over (I live across the street from the party site) and apparently I looked at him and didn't let him in. I asked if I cld come over. He says sure. I am bawling abt my encounter the night before. My boo tells me it's ok, I forgive you. You didn't know I was there and I believe you. It's okay. While I look at him in shock, he tries to have sex with me. I tell him I don't want to, and he picks a fight. He says if I really cared, I'd do it. And so I do. I lie there. He finishes. And I leave a lot more fucked up than I was when I showed up.
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It's funny how at the time, you brush things off, but after the fact it is plain as day what actually happened. There is the guilt that I let it go on for so many years, actions unheeded and unreported. That I never told anyone until I forced myself to say it out loud. It is amazing what power the words "I was raped" can hold. Financial abuse. Emotional and psychological abuse, including coercive control - this is a killer. Physical abuse - although nobody ever hit me, there were other methods. Sexual abuse. Sexual coercion. Rape. I've had it all over the years, in many forms by several people. It started when my innocence was corrupted by a groomer. I was a teenager and he was 34. I worked with him in my first job and was smitten because of his demeanour and flattering comments, which he counted on. He took complete advantage of the fact. He was kind, he played a long game, and was rewarded by my not realising it was wrong to lose my virginity to such a person. In his broken-down truck. In his hovel. He moved away soon after. The first instance of sexual abuse came from a random stranger, who cornered me in the marketplace and put his fingers where he had no right. I can still picture him looking me directly in the eyes as his fingers prodded my vagina through my dress. The audacity of him to do this in plain view in the knowledge that I wouldn't scream. The pretence that he was sizing up a belt, crouched on the floor as he poked my clitoris, with my back turned towards the crowds so no-one could see. I met a guy abroad, and fell madly in love. He was the dark-haired, dark-skinned, caramel-eyed charmer that stole my heart through emotional blackmail and sexual coercion. It began the second day I met him, and it lasted 5 and a half years. The man who stole my twenties. I used to fly 2600 miles in order to see the most damaging man I ever met, which was never reciprocated. he made me feel guilty as he lived in relative poverty compared to me, but I ignored the fact that his gift of the gab could get him anything - literally. It got him me - I was The Chosen One. Sex toy and money pig. I still am, but that story has ended for him even of he doesn't comprehend, although long overdue. I was engaged to this man and he remains the love of my life. The fire that burned so intensely for him has never fully gone out. I have forgiven, but I shall never forget. I can't forget. I try not to relive but that will take time. He took more than I ever realised, and still captures parts of me and will always have that. To have my best friend come up to me afterwards and tell me I'd changed beyond recognition was and is truly sad - I wish she'd said that years before. It did change me irrevocably. I lashed out at the smallest things and damaged relationships around me. I couldn't see and I didn't understand. Nobody told me until it was too late, and I was too involved at the time to see it myself. With hindsight, I can see it all in it's bitter glory... I shall never forget how I cried every single day, because of hurtful actions or comments. How the bruises on my arms would stand out. The assaults on my mind, my soul, my person. Manipulation of the highest degree. I'll never forget the pain of betrayal. Not being able to cry out because of the full weight of his body on my back that made it hard to even breathe. The words that formed but were never heard over the sound of his own pleasure, as my body was wracked with pain both vaginally and - worst of all - anally. Never any foreplay, lubrication or consent. I'd said no. I told him to stop... I'll never forget understanding - like an awakening - the true meaning of the word 'violated'. The numbness followed by revulsion of self, crouched under the stream of the shower; watching my own blood pool and mix with the water to disappear down the drain. Crying in pain for over a week each time, as I couldn't sit down properly, let alone go to the toilet without it tearing the physical wounds open afresh. Time after time. One time he was even asleep - as was I until it was too late. The memories of him pushing into me without care for my welfare - once should have been more than enough. Any of this should have been more than enough... I loved him with my whole heart, and he abused me so badly that I couldn't admit any of this until I stepped away and began to know myself again. I am still trying to... The first time I told anyone out loud it was a doctor, and it opened the emotional floodgates. It was the start of regaining Me. It took me a few years after we split, but I said it, as I hadn't even had the courage to do in my own company. not even in the written word. The shame still holds me back in so many ways. I had so many chances to walk away, so why didn't I? I became one of those people I said I would never be. Someone who would walk away at the first signs of abuse. In truth, it just doesn't work like that... If only it did! I have a new man - a new beginning. He is the most amazing person, and one of just two outside the medical profession who know. He never asks about it, and when I said I was raped to him, I could feel the sadness in his embrace. He says if I need to talk, he's there to listen but won't push it. Sometimes I wish he would. I need to say this out loud - purge the last of the suppressed emotion to be free in that respect. It'll always be something I carry, but I strive to not let it control me any more. I hope all of you reading this find your own releases. Your stories help me on a regular basis. It's nice - although horribly sad - to know that there are others out there - real people - going through the same emotions and you're not alone. You're all part of my support network, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
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When I was around 8th grade my brother started kissing me. He was only a year and a half older than me. I didn't really know what to do. I just kind of stood there frozen. His behavior escalated. When the family was gone he would ask me to look at something in his room, or play games in the dark that ended in touching. I went along with it, numb. I silenced my orgasms and waited patiently for him to finish. I learned how good a sexual experience can physically feel. I came from a very conservative home, I had no idea how to get help. I knew if I said anything that it would rip my family apart. I remember wiping Q-tips up my vagina to try to clean up and prevent pregnancy. I began disordered eating, my grades went from A's and B's to C's and D's. I became very depressed but couldn't show it. One night after my parents confronted me again about my grades I snapped. I went to their medicine cabinet and took a bunch of pills. After about 20 minutes I felt bad for them and decided to say goodbye. They made me throw up the pills. They suggested therapy (I didn't want to bc (1) I couldn't tell anyone what my brother was doing to me, and (2) bc I felt like everybody else in the world could handle their problems and counseling meant I was weak). They didn't tell anyone about the failed suicide attempt, we just pretended it didn't happen. My brother violated me one more time. I told him afterward that if he did it again I would kill myself. I've blocked much of it out but the whole experience lasted about 2 years. I've pretended ever since that nothing happened. I still have a very hard time telling people 'no'. And often subconsciously make others feel better at my expense. My parents actually forgot that I ever tried to kill myself. I still have big depression problems, and sift through suicidal thoughts. I think my last boyfriend may have assaulted me but its still really hard for me to assign blame to anyone but myself.
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This Thanksgiving I went back home and brought my good friend from college, who wasn't able to go home for the break. She and I spent a lot of time hanging out with my friends back home, including my closest male friend. This male friend and I spent a lot of time together throughout high school, I had opened my family up to him, and he knew about how my father had sexually and physically abused my sister and I. Thanksgiving night, this male friend was over for our family dinner because his mom was at work. He ended dinner by saying how happy he was to be sitting with us and how he felt like my brother. He, my friend from college, and I all went to the kitchen to do the dishes, drinking wine as we cleaned up. Afterwards, we all went up to my room to watch movies and go to sleep. We all slept in the same large bed, and I was more tipsy than either of them. I slept fitfully that night, and I kept waking up thinking that my male friend was grabbing me and moving me around, but I never woke up fully enough to realize what was going on. The next morning I was sure I had been dreaming and carried on as usual. The next weekend my friend college confronted me, saying that she had seen my male friend moving me around, groping me, and putting his fingers inside of me. She wasn't sure if I had been conscious. At first I was just confused and hurt, but as time went on and I thought about what had happened and what I remembered, my heart really broke. I missed two weeks of class because I couldn't sleep at night and wasn't eating very much. When I went back home for winter break, I told my three closest friends about what had happened and said I didn't want to see this male friend anymore. Two of my friends were supportive, but one seemed to think that I had encouraged him by being close friends. This perspective was shared by a lot of people, when they inevitably heard the gossip. He showed up at parties he knew I would be at and I spent the entire vacation afraid he would show up at my house. I began to connect his past violent behavior, including slashing my ex-boyfriend's tires and telling me it wasn't him, with what had happened to me. I'm still afraid that I'll run into him, and I haven't been able to be intimate with anyone since then. It hurts me every day to think that some of my closest friends can justify his actions and put the blame on me. What really scares me is that I don't know if that had been the first time he had done anything to me, or how much he had done. My friends, including him, have always teased me for being a really deep sleeper.
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When I was 19, I was engaged (crazy-- I know) a wonderful fellow nb person and we'd been living together for two years. I had been a self employed student for three years but wound up getting a job that years. It was a high-stakes position, and one that I barely knew how to handle-- a higher up position in a kitchen under a chef in a tiny, expensive restaurant-- and involved twelve hour days regularly. I interviewed for a different position but was hired in by the chef himself-- twice my age-- and we worked together in a tiny, intimate kitchen where he shouted and stomped just as often as he taught and guided me tenderly. The hours alienated my partner, and I started going out for beers after we closed the kitchen to put off the guilt of inevitably waking them up at an ungodly hour crawling into bed. These were often at the chef's house, and slowly we started going there with less people, or staying later until it was just the two of us. We had a very intense working relationship and I relied on him immensely. He was going through an intense divorce and I was experiencing a lot of loneliness. We started talking on the phone and running errands together. My partner hated this, but saw that I'd made an unlikely friend and left me to it. After a few months, he began to tell me how pretty I was or how glad he was that I worked for him. This made me uncomfortable, but as he was my boss and one of my only friends at the time, I tolerated it. One evening, drinking beers alone on his porch, he asked me to come inside and put on a record. We'd have "dance parties" at work when we closed, and I put on a record that we usually listened to at work. We started drunkenly dancing, and I realized he was a lot more sober than me and felt uneasy. I told him I wanted to go home, but he told me I was too drunk to drive and I should just sleep there. I woke up a few hours later to him completely inside of me. I started crying and he covered my mouth. I laid there and all I could think was, "I'm going to lose my job if I tell anyone this happened." He gossiped about it at work and people found out-- as if I had come on to him. He fired me after I told him I didn't want to hang out anymore outside of work and flinched when he was near me. My partner found out and didn't believe I was raped for an entire year after we'd broken up. He texted me on Valentine's Day this year, while i was in the car with a new boyfriend, and told me he missed "how tight I was". I started sobbing immediately and my boyfriend blocked his number for me. It is difficult to believe how truly traumatic and life-ruining this was. An entire year later, and I am just now starting to pick up the pieces and trust again. I was abstinent almost the entire time. I don't want this to happen to anyone else, ever again. But it does. Please speak up if someone does this to you. If I'd spoken up, maybe people would've been more inclined to believe me. Rape culture is disgusting and I hate to think I perpetuated it with my silence. You are so supported and cared for. You're not broken or a bad person or a fuck up.
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When I was 15, I started dating against the wishes of my parents. My first boyfriend, who was a bit older than me, would try and do stuff and I think I let him finger me, but I don't remember ever feeling pressured to do anything more. Then, we broke up and I started dating this guy who was a year younger than me right away. He made me feel so special and loved. The two of us would hang out with my best friend and her boyfriend all the time. One day, we went to my best friends boyfriends house and it was just the four of us. While that put me in a vulnerable situation, and my boyfriend and I were alone in a room making out on a bed, I really didn't want to have sex. He pressured me into it and I was clearly saying no. It took me eleven years to say the words "I was raped." But at that time, I felt like maybe I had deserved it and I had very unhealthy relationships with men from that point on. You see, I've known since I was in 5th grade that I was "different" (I'm a lesbian) but because I came from a conservative Christian family in a small town with close minded people, I hid it. I also thought that there was something wrong with me. Now that I've started coming out over this last year, I've come to accept myself and also dress differently and it's been an amazing and positive thing so far. But I have this fear of being raped again because I know as a gay woman, my risk increases because of the way certain men think. And I know I couldn't handle being raped again. I've been through so many things in my life and other traumas and I'm honestly scared sometimes.
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Two and a half years ago (I was 18) I took a trip to go see my cousin. She was my best friend and I was so excited to see her and her boyfriend I had meant once before, they had been dating for two years. Last time I had meant him I knew they were a good couple and that he was a nice guy, the kind of guy I could never seem to find. At this point I was still a virgin and the most intimate I had been with a guy was kissing. Being that we had all just graduated college we were looking to have a little bit of fun. So us and a bunch of their friends decided to get together and play some drinking games. I never drank much in high school, I was a little drunker than usual. Once it started getting later. My cousin, her boyfriend and I decided that we would sleep in the same bed since there were a limited number for everyone. My cousin had told me previously that when her boyfriend got drunk he would always try to get her to give him a blowjob but was always unsuccessful. While we were in bed I was tired and trying to sleep, my cousin's boyfriend asked her to give him a hand-job and she said no, jokes around and says get her(me) to do it. They start laughing and joking and asking me if I like "hot-dogs" and I was drunk and tired enough to not realize what they were talking about, I just found everything to be funny. While laughing he says hey if you like hot-dogs you should rub this one, as he places my hand on his penis. My cousin was still there and was laughing too, so I figured it was ok. Then he starts giving me directions and saying to squeeze a little harder or go faster. Then my cousin starts realizing that this wasn't ok, says a few words then leaves. When she left he started saying if you like hot-dogs enough you should put your mouth on this one. I kept saying I wanted to go to sleep but he said it was ok and said I would really like it. He proceeded to guide my head to his penis and move it back and forth. My cousin came back to the room and started yelling and crying. I was so dizzy and tired I didn't realize what was happening. She took pictures and went away and I played dead like I was sleeping but he wasn't done so he grabbed my head and put it back on his penis. When he was finally done my cousin came back and laid next to him to go to bed. I went to the bathroom and tried to make myself throw-up. It wasn't working so I stayed there for a while. I went back to the room and laid on the floor and cried. The next morning I didn't know what to say, I loved my cousin so much and I told myself it was my fault this happened. I told myself her boyfriend was a great guy and it had to be my fault. When we finally got back to her house I told her I didn't remember anything from the night before. She kept asking me throughout the day and I kept telling her I didn't remember. Later that day she says that her boyfriend wanted to hangout with just me to talk. I really didn't want to go but I didn't want to tell her. I was scared. Her boyfriend picked me up and we went to a store. While we were there he had told me "what happened." He explained how I was really drunk and I did something very stupid, that it was my fault, like both of our faults but mostly mine. When I got back to my cousin I told her I was sorry for everything that happened, that I didn't mean it. I wasn't at home and I couldn't talk to any of my friends. My cousin said she forgave me. She said she had pictures but couldn't show me because her boyfriend deleted them. (You know as if I wanted to see them). It's been two years and I have learned so much about myself. I found it in me to say as much as I hate what happened to me, I wouldn't change it. I wouldn't change one second of it. It has brought me closer to the person I want to be. I would not be the person that I am today without what happened to me. Sometimes I still fight with myself. Even writing this now, there is a voice saying in my head that I don't have a right to post on here because it was my fault, because I was asking for it, because I didn't say no loud enough. But I know deep down that is not true. Thanks for listening.
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I was with the same man for almost nine years. He was my first big love, and he knew me better than anyone. We had inside jokes, shared secrets, plans for a future. We were engaged. He was also extremely jealous and controlling. He told me that he knew I was doing things behind his back (I never did). He said that if I ever cheated on him, he would kill the guy and me. He wouldn't let me hang out with male friends. I never told him that I'm bisexual because I knew it would mean never seeing any of my friends. It's hard to explain how there were so many aspects of the relationship that felt good and right, and worth it. I now know that what was happening was abuse, but it doesn't mean I can forget how happy I felt with him sometimes. I tried leaving multiple times. He would trap me and cry and scream until I agreed to stay every time, and then I'd adjust and get "happy" again after a while. When we reunited, there was always make-up sex. I rarely wanted to do it, but I knew that showing anything less than enthusiasm would lead to a fight. Once, after we'd been having sex for a while, I asked him to stop. I still don't know if he didn't hear me or just ignored me, but he didn't. After, I didn't know what to think. I never brought it up. I had a lot of sex that I didn't want to have. I tried saying I was sore from riding my bike, that I was depressed, I tried crying. At the time, I didn't think of it as something traumatic. I finally got out of the relationship a couple of years ago. Thinking about it now make me feel angry, but also like I have to be forgiving. I don't know if I've handled it yet, whatever that means. I just wanted to share it.
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Ever since I was little (maybe around 6-7) I had these experiences with sex that I didn't even realise were wrong. I don't remember it very well, and I don't think about it a lot because I am not only ashamed, I feel as if I was stupid, even though I was way too young to know what the right thing to do was. Several times my older brother (by 3 years) touched me inappropriately. I went along with it, because I didn't know better and I'm guessing neither did my brother. These things only happened when I was younger. Then once, a few years later, I had a sleepover with this girl and we played these sexual games where we'd sit on top of each other and move as if we were having sex. The next day we played this game again, but this time my brother joined in as well. That was the last time something like this happened with my brother. However, later on my brother and I, and two of our friends had a sleepover in a tent in one of our gardens, and our oldest friend (all my friends were boys, the oldest one about 5 years older than me) wanted to play truth or dare, and obviously i went along with it. I ended up taking my trousers and top off and sitting on top of this boy who was way older than me. I was under 10 years old. I never realised how wrong this was. After that life just went on. I moved several times, even moved countries. Then when I turned 16 I got a boyfriend who I had sex with for the very first time. He took my virginity, I took his, and everything was fine and we were happy. Then as our relationship went on, after 2.5 years I finally broke up with him. Only after that break up I realised how emotionally abusive he was. Towards the end I didn't want to have sex with him, and at first I didn't even tell him because it didn't even occur to me that I had the right to say no. So then I tried avoiding sex with him by saying that it hurts me (which was true, probably due to the lack of lubrication because I couldn't get aroused). But we still had sex, but only for a short amount of time because I always waited a little to say "I'm sorry it's hurting again, lets stop". I cried everytime I stopped us. Then when I realised I really didn't want to carry on having sex with him, I told him I didn't want to do it. His response was always something like "But what about MY needs?" And he'd get angry and frustrated because he was horny and I didn't let him have sex with me. I tried finding excuses, I went to the doctor, had a blood test, which said I was completely fine. By then I was really thinking about breaking up with him. Not just because of the lack of sexual desire I felt towards him, but also because of his little tricks that kept me under his control. He never liked me having friends. He got upset when I went out. He told me not to drink. When I went away for a month to visit my family he'd get upset because I wasn't on the phone with him 24/7. He told me not to be friends with my best friend. He wanted me to choose between them. He didn't like my parents. He didn't like going out. All we did was sit in my room every afternoon and weekend. I had enough and broke up with him. He cried. A lot. Then I cried because I felt like I was doing the wrong thing because it was causing him pain. Then he'd get angry sometimes and send me disgusting messages, calling me a bitch and a slut. After a while though, I realised that I don't have to be nice to him. So I stopped replying to his messages. Now it's been a year since the breakup, and I only just gathered the courage two months ago to send him a long message about just how much damage he'd done to me. I finally was able to tell him not to ever talk to me again. I finally freed myself, and I met other guys since then, had a bad breakup, found another guy. However, even though things still don't go smoothly with my relationships, I am not stuck next to an entitled, emotionally blackmailing asshole.
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My biggest shame is that I grew to learn the un-importance of "no" to others at a young age, so I didn't say it when I needed to. I was inappropriately touched by my grandfather every time the family came back to visit when I was age 11, 12, and 14. I recently saw him for the first time in about 9 years and he asked me if I was in a Hooter's calendar yet. This not phasing anyone around me. The night before my 13th birthday, my brother's best and only friend wouldn't stop asking if he could touch me, see me naked, and have me touch him. After what felt like the thousandth time I said no, I finally gave in. After everything I changed for bed and he entered my room just to tell me that I always had the power to say no. I cried after that, and still blame myself for my brother losing his best friend. Years went by of reckless sexual habits. A couple of weeks before my 20th birthday I was dragged into a parked van by someone I had met once before and could only shake my head and him and try not to cry when he laid me down on the mattress in back and starting kissing my neck and undoing his pants. He raped me that night and I couldn't even gather the tears I wanted as I lay there covered in his semen. I didn't tell anybody because I thought it would just be seen as slutty. A couple of weeks after my 20th birthday I was hanging out with some friends who were drinking. I felt crappy because I had a yeast infection and a cold on top of that. One guy in particular decided to pay close attention to me throughout the night. At one point he offered me one of the kittens his cat had just had in exchange for sex. Not being interested and knowing full well his girlfriend was very pregnant I told him no. He didn't remember this later when he wouldn't take no for an answer when he crawled in bed with me and another friend. He fucked me, came inside, and I still don't have a kitten. Worst part: his girlfriend pressured me into pressing charges against him, and I did. I wasn't even the person who called this scenario rape in the first place. I didn't understand it to be because I was the one that caved in and stopped actively saying no, acting on my no. He lied and constantly changed his story, I was made to confront him a week after everything, and after a long month of questioning, talking to detectives, I was told the case wouldn't go through. I almost killed myself the day I was told. To this day (2.5, 3 years later), people in that friend group still talk about it and a lot of them say I made it up. My most recent experience I'm a lot more proud of. My friend and I saved a coworker from being stranded at the bar with no money for a taxi. When I walked him to his door he shoved me against the wall and started kissing my neck. I told him to get off of me which made him latch on harder thinking I was playing. Somehow I wriggled a hand free, grabbed him by the hair and shoved him into his front door. I often wonder if I'll ever be okay, or if I'll find a relationship that isn't abusive, if I'll be able to truly stand behind "no". The truth is I'm not quite there yet, but I'll get there some day. I'm already doing a lot better than I was those couple of years ago. I just hope the world grows too. I shouldn't have to walk away with bruises and blood running down my leg to know I've been raped and violated. Thank god I didn't, but I still walked away from every scenario with huge chunks of...me missing.
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My mother was working two jobs and my father was an alcoholic. After leaving me at home alone with a piece of drywall over my crib and the apartment down the hall catching fire, my mom decided that leaving me with a babysitter would be a better option. I bounced around from one babysitter to the next. During this time I had multiple encounters that were either sexual assualt or simply assualt. One boy who was about 4 years older than me told me he was going to beat my face in with a brick. I also got into a physical dispute with another boy who tried to make out with me when I clearly didn't want to. I wasn't interested in boys at the age of 8. The woman who watched my brother and me when I was 7 had several daughters of her own and I became good friends with one of her daughters, we'll call her Ashley. I remember playing with Ashley in her room and her step-father came in and closed the door, then locked it. I remember Ashley's face losing all of it's color and she started to cry. I had no idea why. I don't remember actually being raped but I do remember inappropriate touching. We later found out that he had violated not only all of the daughters but several of their friends. When I was 8 a childhood friend of mine and his best friend tried to hold me down and have their way with me. Luckily we were similar in size still and I was able to kick and bite and scream. As soon as his father came downstairs the boys let me go. That's the last time I went to his house. At the age of 11 my parents were throwing a party and a friend of theirs had apparently gotten "lost" on his way to the bathroom. He came into my room while I was sleeping. I woke up to his hand between my legs, over my clothes, but I still felt so dirty afterwards. My father caught him almost as soon as he had touched me. My dad beat the hell out of him. I felt so damaged by the time I became a teenager that I didn't feel comfortable in anything revealing. I wore baggy sweaters and couldn't wear a two-piece despite the face that all of my friends wore one. I stayed this way all through my teen years. I got brave when I was about 17 and had actually become interested in a guy. I wore a skirt to school one day and was called a slut because of it. I was so humiliated by that and the fact that two girls thought it would be funny to push me down the stairs, causing me to land in senior hallway with my skirt up around my waist, my books scattered everywhere. I remember all of the seniors laughing at me but there was one, we'll call him George, who came forward to help me up. He asked me if I was okay and picked my books up for me then escorted me to the nurse. We became friends after that and he was never anything but gentlemanly. He gave me faith that not all males were bad. I dated a guy when I was 19 who turned out to be quite the abuser - he determined what clothes I wore, if I wore makeup, who I talked to. He was physically, mentally, and emotionally controlling. I tolerated it for 9 months before an ex-boyfriend pointed out to me that the old me wouldn't have taken that kind of abuse. I clearly remember him saying to me, "What happened to you? You used to be such a fighter." I got rid of that toxic relationship quick. I got into my 20's and started dating a guy twice my age. Turned out to be the best decision I ever made. He treated me so well and I finally felt good about myself. I realized that I was strong and beautiful and independent. He really opened my eyes and I finally started to realize that everything I had endured wasn't right. It may have been common but it was not acceptable. I'm no longer with this man but I appreciate everything that he showed me; everything that I learned. I'm currently 26 and I'm with a man that obviously respects me and would never treat me like the ones in the past have. I still feel like I am damaged. I feel like I'm completely broken even though it's been years since I've endured this trauma. I have come to terms with it for the most part but it is a daily struggle to keep my head held high. However, it's totally worth the fight. I love my good days when nothing can make my confidence falter. When nothing from my past can make me feel bad. I'm having one of those days today and I pray tomorrow is the same. I will say that I blame these instances for my depression and my anxiety. I have meltdowns sometimes.... but I'm all right. I hope my story is able to help someone. Give somebody hope. It won't always be bad. Things do get better. :)
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I'll start off with what I have to say to myself every morning before I face the day I was 13 and it wasn't my fault. He didn't always bring me such heartbreak he once brought joy to my life but that wasn't for long. The abuse started when he saw that I was attracted to women. First the occasional slap , tripping me up and beating until I couldn't feel my legs. I wasn't aloud to go out with my friends because he wouldn't be there and he didn't trust me, it slowly started to chip away at me. The first time he raped me I can say ive never felt any pain like that. I was on his bed and we were watching Greese the movie when he started to force himself onto me. Tearing my clothes of my body and prying my arms against the bed for the 5ft 3 girl tgat I am no amount of struggle would of ever been enough. I could not move of speak but the tears that rolled down my face that day we're more then words. The physical pain it felt like a knife constantly stabbing me there was so much blood god there was alot of blood. It happened 28 times after that. I still try to understand why I never left I think mostly because I was so dependent on him no one else was around they had all left. When I finally got the courage to leave he made it his mission to hurt me I was bullied non stop for 6 months. Phone calls at 3 in the morning telling me to kill myself because the world would be a better place without me, your useless cut your wrists. I think the aftermath of it I've had depression, PTSD, anorexia, bulimia and anxiety I probably always will. Tho I am no longer broken I believe that this man who was so much older then me did at one stage kill the light inside me life. I will never be able to touch a man with out panic attacks or flashbacks so while I am bisexual my only relationships will be with women purely out of fear. Well that's my story. Thank you xx
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I have so much sadness inside me. It doesn't come from what others have done to me... it more so comes from the painful knowledge that I was fooling myself back then so completely. Convincing myself that I was the one in control. But I wasn't. And now that I have found a normal, wonderful, loving guy -- and am engaged to him, no less -- I worry that I am too... damaged ... too full of self-hatred .. to ever let myself love him completely. I am rambling. But all I know right now, is that he is being faithful, he is monogamous ... but I am not. I can't seem to let go of some of the self-destructive sexual behaviours that have haunted me since I was ... oh, about 16 yrs old... I can barely function on a day to day basis. I do not understand what he sees in me, to be completely honest. I know that I am loving, caring, giving, funny, even pretty, to a certain segment of the population ;-) ... but ... doesn't he see that I sometimes wallow in depression, cower with anxiety, and rage with unpredictable anger? Or does he see all that.... and still love me anyway? One would think that his steadfast love, not to mention the ring on my finger, would have convinced me by now. But I am having one of my dark night of the soul days. I'm menstruating AND on midnights AND I'm a single mom who just got a call from one of her kid's high school teachers. AND I am broke *af* :-( caught up on rent and hydro and the cash advance place ( aka Satan's Hellhole, grr) ... but about to lose heat, phone, cable, Internet, and cell phone. I feel like a failure at life. I am writing in the hopes that I may someday be able to post again and say, yes, back when I wrote that, I was JUST BEGINNING to accept that I too have been a victim and a survivor of sexual assault. And I am hoping getting over it, well, facing it and mourning it and accepting it and talking about it .... I am hoping that doing all that will help me feel happier, less hopeless, and better able to manage my finances and maybe even give me the confidence to work in a career worthy of my university education. Or at least one where the manager doesn't bully 75% of her staff... But that's a story for another day. Thank you for reading. If you are suffering... well, I'm right there with you, suffering alongside you. Let's do it together and laugh our asses off instead of giving in to the demons, shall we?
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Marriage can fuck with sexual dynamics between people. Really, the same rules should apply, but we've been socially conditioned to think they don't . It's a joke when wives comply with undesired sex. It's a given. A bunch of women can stand in a room and talk about how they do things with their husbands they aren't thrilled about. It's part of the expectation of marriage--a chore with all the rest to be done. I've heard wives compromise and negotiate things so the husband gets sex enough to keep him from complaining about it, and women get to take "advantage" of it in some other way. It's subtler now...not the 1950's ubiquitously understood wife duties, but its still used as a tool, and seen as something more necessary for the man to have, and women go along with the societal expectation. I would bet my money that most married women have had sex when they didn't want it. And they'd never categorize it as rape or assault. But all the things Emily talked about in her famous article still unfold within the marriage. Silently. And years later, it has unfolded into a monstrous wedge between married people with no obvious source . This was my life. Married young, Catholic/religious background . I didn't know better. I didn't know myself enough to say fuck standards and expectations... If I don't want sex, I don't have it. But I didn't know . In a marriage, there's this big fog over whether or not you want to have sex, and when it's ok. When you're raised to believe so strongly in marriage and sex within a marriage, we have sex with our partners .Whether we want to or not. Whether we like them or not. Whether we are IN LOVE with them or not . We have sex because we are told that it's good for us. That it'll strengthen the marriage . That of you're horny, your partner is the person you go to for that, regardless of how you feel about them. We have sex to try and rekindle something that we feel like we are losing, which may have started with sex in the first place . There's that first time you have sex when you don't want it... You're not always left questioning your worth, and feeling like the world ended . You just feel drained from it . It becomes the thing that go on the list of things that cause weight and quiet dread. We shut down slowly. We want sex less. Our libidos turn off. Something is wrong with us. We have sex and start to bleed and it hurts .We don't get wet anymore .Go to the doctor, and the doctor is at a loss accept to say something like, sexual dysfunction is more common than you think, and there's a pill for that. He sees, but he ignores till after the fact .He sees me wince in pain, and he goes on . But then there's the day I say something .The day I puddle into feeling like a victim, but I feel guilty about that .And he feels guilty .. and confused... Because I never said anything before. His guilt shuts him down . So the next time we have sex, if I show any sign of not wanting it, he'll recoil, and I'll tell him I'm ok Because I feel guilty and don't want to be the reason why our sex life dies .But it did die .A long time ago. We just have it now because we think we are supposed to .Both of our libidos are off. And we think sex is how we rekindle it, but it's not . As a woman,I wanted him to connect to me every day .Be playful with me, get me back to a place where I felt safe with him so I could be the sensual goddess I knew I was but it was hiding and afraid to be exposed .But he was shut down. And he couldn't be what I needed .And I couldn't be what he needed .And we never figured out how to do the healing to go back to being what we needed for each other. And the marriage ends . And for me, it was a decade long . It's amazing how long we can do this to ourselves; each other. there's probably a huge revelation in one of the main causes for the end of marriages, or even violence and abuse and cheating and all those hot topic relationship issues when it comes to this phenomena. But for now, it's anecdotal . And my reality. I am happy to say that this did not fuck me up intrinsically . I am very selective with my sexual partners and experiences .I've learned to take charge of those decisions in my life. I feel way more empowered .And I have seen a sexual/sensual side of myself that I kind of knew existed but never seen to this degree . Around the right people,I am not broken .I don't need a pill for anything . In fact, I find that I can be more sexually open than I've ever been .
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My half brother sexual abused me from the time I was 14 to about 17. That's not even the icing to the cake of the story. My brother was my best friend, my father figure, my hero growing up. My childhood revolved around him and solely him. He coach my soccer games, he taught me the pursuit of knowledge, he open up my world to activism. He was my knight and shinning armour that saved me from my chaotic family of 7 siblings and one with autism. My estranged father who would come home every other weekend since he worked in another state. My neurotic mother who was a single mother raising 7 children and an activist for her son with autism. I was the baby. We always get the short end of the stick right? Well he saved me from all that. He showed me love and made me feel safe. Then I got older, made some friends. Rebelled a little. Started drug abuse, started self-harm. I slipped on the surface of depression. You know teenage years, hormones. Then spring break of 08 happen. You crossed a boundary. You defiled me. Made me feel scared, lonely, disguising, embrassed. You name it. My innocence striped away within less then 24 hours. What made you stop looking at me as a sister and then a sex object? The years went on. The abuse went on. The manipulation went on. The self-harm got worse. The drug abuse got worse. We did drugs together. You bought me alcohol for my friends and I. I trusted you around my friends. So stupid. You too advantage of not just me but her. How could you? Why couldn't I see that a 30 year old hanging out with teenagers was wrong, creepy, fucked up. I lost myself. I lost that little girl and I tired so hard to find her before I just let her drown because she was too far gone. I self destructed. But then I found my light at the end of the tunnel. I spoke up. My mom became my angel, my voice, my hero. You sat in jail for years. It tore my family into two. I felt the pain all over again expect twice as bad. I missed the numb feeling. Therapy was dreadful. Hope was a struggle. I felt wrong for missing and loving you. I felt feelings I couldn't even place into words. I moved away to a different country for schooling. My wing healed and boy did I soar. You were released. You were angry. You were confused as to why the family was angry. You didn't learn a thing. I felt better knowing you were safe again but then hatard knowing it taught you nothing. The feelings now are too strong to put into words. I don't know what the future holds, for you or for me. All I know is that I'm waiting for you to find your way back to the family. I'm waiting for myself to let someone love me and to let myself love someone. I'm waiting for my body to heal the way my mind has. I forgave you not because you deserve but because I deserve peace. I deserve love, hope, faith, strength. I am more than a survivor. I am living. I am free. Even if some days are harder than others. I am still free. I am me. I am safe.
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Me and my friend and her boyfriend went to a Halloween party. I got really drunk and felt sick. We went to her house and she had her boyfriend put me to bed. I was passed out and the reason I woke up was because he put his hand in my vagina and was touching it. Once unrealized what was happening he stopped. I am mortified. I love my friend more than I hate him. So I never spoke of it. To this day I feel uncomfortable around him. Is this sexual assault ?
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My first relationship. I was 20 and just wanted to be wanted... I grew-up being very over weight and I was use to guys giving me the look of disgust. I'd ask for something as simple as the time and that look- it kills you a little more each time. I had worked hard and had dropped about 75 pounds but I had no self-worth. He had graduated from college the year before- so I should have seen the red flags... His priorities should not have still been young girls at college. I came from a broken home, my mother had never dated after my father, but he was on wife #4 at this point in my life... I was so lonely, suicidal, and he wanted me. My assaults span over a 10 month relationship. I couldn't give it that name at the time... I could say after that he became my stalker. Then I was able to give voice to the physical violence... and lastly I questioned our sexual relationship. He was my first everything and as I was new to everything- I'd never even held another persons hand- let alone sex. I came from a small religious community and so I led a pretty closed off world. I blindly trusted a lot of his comments on sexual health too. He talked about a women's cycle and that we should not have sex between days 12-15 but that any other time sex without a condom was safe... My first month of being active and I got pregnant. I didn't know what I was doing but I had someone that wanted me day and night and here I was. I did get an abortion and that's when I became trauma bonded to him. I walked out of that clinic and collapsed and cried. My life changed completely, but he was there. I should explain us having sex- I did all the work and his 250 pound body held back for as long as he could. I'd work hard, I'd become exhausted, I'd do things that I hated because I just wanted it to end... He'd hold back cumming as long as possible and I hated it. I started to hate sex very early on. He wanted to do it like rabbits- he'd make challenges of how many times in a day or how many locations in a day or... I fell into a deep depression and I found it harder and harder to talk... He lived about 45 minutes away from campus so I wasn't seeing my friends anymore. I would finish classes, finish work, then drive to see him or he'd pick me up. A lot of times I'd get so exhausted I'd tell him- I'm done. I don't want to go any longer. You should have just cum already. Those are words any partner should pull apart and see all of the problems within them. Most of those times- he wouldn't be able to drop it. He'd start begging or he'd just flip me over and finish in under a minute... He'd drill into me as I'd just lay motionless letting him just use my body. A time or two he put his arm over me like he was restraining me, across my chest... and it was only in those moments that during the relationship- I questioned- is this sexual assault? I feel he had to see it was all a show... I didn't enjoy it, mostly I hated it and felt like he was dragging me to beds/couches/etc. and that I was just his rag doll preforming... By the end he would just talk and talk, we didn't share any interests so I would just sit bored trying to stay engaged. I knew I wasn't happy, it was turning physical- but he'd do it in a joking manner so I also never knew what to call that... but I had never broken up with someone either... I questioned is this really so bad? Could I live with this the rest of my life? He had even proposed at a point and I had tabled the conversation and in my words- "until we are a few months farther into our relationship". I was able to end it... He did become my stalker and I ended up moving to two different states trying to put distance between him and I. He couldn't let me go but I had found my voice that said no. I hated it, I fought inside myself as it all happened, I went inside myself many times during- I don't know where that time went... but I couldn't term it sexual assault until many years later. He was my first of everything and it's the baggage I carry. I have such deep scars from all of it- I just hope I'll heal some day from all of it. I've thrown myself into other bad relationships, I still beg for someone anyone to want me, I let myself be hurt by partners- emotionally/financially/physically, I've also spent years being single hating how much each one hurts me, but... I've never been able to find solid ground since. It's been about 11 years since the start of our relationship, 10 years since I ended it... but I still cry myself to sleep because of scars he carved.
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When I was 17 I went to a friend's birthday party. Except he was more of a close acquaintance than a friend really, but we had known each other since we were five. Just like everyone in my town had known each other all our lives, because we went to a very very small school in a very very small town. That night almost everyone got too drunk, but I got really really drunk because of some family issues that been happening in my life. I remember before the night even started thinking to myself that I wanted to get so drunk that I forgot everything that was going wrong in my life. Boy, do I regret that decision now. Since I got very very drunk I only remember pieces of the night and other pieces people have told me since. I do remember getting into a shower because I just needed to block everything out (before that night showering/ bathing had been a coping skill of mine). I remember my recent ex-boyfriend getting into the shower with me. Well really, I remember seeing his hair getting wet while I was in the shower. I don't remember if I had asked him to join me or not. I remember waking up face down on the shower floor by myself. I remember waking up to one of my friends (who before this night I had been in an argument with) helping me get dressed. I remember waking up to my ex-boyfriend not being able to pick me up off the bathroom floor (once I was dressed). I remember another kid doing it and placing me in a bed. I remember waking up and having two different friends in the bed with me (including the female friend who had dressed me). I remember waking up to the male friend being told to leave the room. I remember the friend who's birthday (and bed) it was coming into the room. I remember him lying next to me... The next thing I remember was waking up to the feeling of a hand down my pants. Those fingers inside of me. I remember freezing. I remember not know what to do. I remember pulling the hand out of my pants. I remember rolling over. I remember trying to fall asleep. I remember him trying again to put his hand down my pants. I remember pushing his hand away. I remember him kissing me on my mouth. I remember me not wanting him to, but being so drunk I couldn't say anything to stop it. Even if I could I remember being too scared to do so. I remember him forcing my hand on his penis. I remember not wanting to do that either. I remember feeling defenseless, because I was. I remember pulling my hand away. I remember trying to get up. Trying to move my body. I remember not being able to. I remember passing back out--not being able to stay awake. When I woke up what I think was a few hours later it was 6:00 am. I remember the relief I felt when I was finally able to move my body. I remember running to the bathroom. I remember puking again and again and again. I remember wanting to get it all out of me. I remember my female friend (who had helped me put on my clothes) coming in and telling me to go back to bed. I told her I couldn't. Because there was no way I was going back into that room. I begged her to take me home. She obliged. I snuck into my mom's house that morning and crawled into my bed. When I woke up I remember wishing that I had instead gotten alcohol poisoning that night. I remember wishing that I instead I had died that night. Those feelings lasted for a long time. The next Monday at school I had people coming up to me asking me about that night. There was one girl who told me the birthday boy had been telling everyone "we hooked up". I remember one of the most popular kids in the school telling me that he had heard "I was THAT girl at the party and he was sad he had to miss it". I remember feeling defenseless for a very long time afterwards. I felt confused. I felt sad. I was not someone who casually hooked up with people. I had only had sexual experiences with my then ex-boyfriend who had been my "first everything". I felt guilty. I felt regret. I felt angry but more so at myself for letting that happen than at the kid who did that to me. For a very long time I felt I had allowed this to happen. It was something I kept secret for a very long time. It was something that I didn't know how to process. I remember wanting to forgive myself for what had happened, but not knowing how. The first person I told was my ex-boyfriend months later. He was surprised but relatively supportive. I felt such a rush of relief in that moment, but I also felt so dirty at the same time now that someone knew what I had happened to me. After that over the next couple of months I eventually told a couple more of my friends who had been there that night. When I left for college in the fall I still had some really bad feelings about the situation. I remember finally being able to tell a couple of my closest friends my freshman year. I had felt so ashamed that it even took me an entire year of therapy until I finally worked up the courage to tell my therapist what happened my sophomore year. I remember feeling so ashamed. But she told me all the things I had needed to hear for a long time-- that it wasn't my fault and that what had happened to me was sexual assault. And I finally started to believe that. Some of the experiences I have had telling people have been bad. When I told one friend my sophomore she explained to me that those situations are really tricky. That she had a friend once who slept with a guy while drunk but the next morning decided she regretted it and called it rape. I was so angry. I explained to her then that what her friend experienced was rape. That she didn't "just call it that". And just because she was drunk doesn't mean she asked for that to happen to her. I remember being able to defend this other girl but not myself. Needless to say we aren't friends any more. Another negative experience I had happened my junior year when I told another friend, but she was supportive throughout my telling her. It was until years after the fact when she was telling me that another friend of hers had been raped she described it as "experiencing something similar to me but worse." I remember feeling the literally sting of her words. It felt like I had physically been hit by what she said. Her words hurt so much because for all those years since the assault had happened I wasn't sure what I had experienced was "bad" or was "sexual assault". I was finally beginning to work through these doubts and then I had this friend tell me something that confirmed all my worst fears--that what happened to me wasn't that bad and wasn't something I should be upset about because it could "be worse". We're not friends anymore either... Since I left my hometown, I have seen my attacker only a couple of times. He knows how I feel about him. He even asked me at a part once why I hate him so much and all I could muster up in response was "you know why". I'm still not sure if he understands that what he did was wrong. I do know that I think he is not a very good person because of it and some of the other terrible things he has done. So even if he does know I didn't want what he did to me that night, I'm not sure he would care. At this point I try to avoid seeing him at all costs. I even avoid the mentioning of his name. I never told my mom or my sister or anyone in my family what happened. I still haven't since even though it's been almost five years... I don't know why that is. I'm not sure if I'm too ashamed of what happened because a small part of me still feels like it is my fault. Even though I've told myself a thousand times and plenty of other girls since that their rape/sexual assault wasn't their fault. That they didn't ask this terrible thing to happen to them. Or I'm not sure if I don't want them to know because I don't want them to feel sad about what happened to me and for not being there for me when it did happen. I don't know if I will ever tell either of them. I don't know if I have the words to say it. It's been almost five years since the assault. I have made a lot of progress, but I know there is still a long ways to go. I still feel embarrassed/ashamed when I tell people what has happened to me. And I still only tell select people. I have never confronted my assaulter or told my mom/ sister about it. These both feel like they would be big steps to take in moving past this experience. However, I no longer hate myself for what happened. And most of the time now I'm even able to talk about my assault without crying about it. But I would be lying if I said that this still didn't affect me. There are still things that trigger me. For a long time after my assault I refused to stay the night anywhere if there were guys there. I would even leave despite it being dangerous (regretfully, I even drank and drove in high school to avoid these situations). Once when I finally slept at a male friend's house my sophomore year of college a friend of mine woke me up in the middle of the night to ask "if he could try something". I mumbled in response a "huh what". He then kissed me. In that moment I felt transported back to my assault. I got up off of the floor and walked out the door. I didn't tell either of my roommates were I was going but they angrily followed me home. I explained to them once we got home why I couldn't stay there any longer. They understand as much as someone who hasn't been assaulted can... I remember feeling so stupid again because I felt I put myself in the position to be assaulted. I put myself at risk. Even though I was sleeping in a room full of people, including having one roommate right next to me, I felt I should have known better. Now, I am more comfortable sleeping in a house with men in it because I have been with my boyfriend for two years. We share most of the same friends, so I know they will respect him enough to try anything with me (how fucked up is that?). And so far no one has since my boyfriend and I have been dating. But now we are doing long distance... Sometimes guys get a little too close for comfort at the bars and I wish more than anything he was there to protect me. And when my roommates and I have male friends who crash at our place, I still lock my bedroom door. I would like to think that they "wouldn't do that to me". But I didn't think my assaulter would do that to me either. So I would rather be safe than sorry. Even trusting my boyfriend has been a challenging journey. But he is very respectful and understanding and our relationship has come a long way. I feel very safe with him, which isn't something I've ever felt with a man before. Although it feels like this experience will always be a part of me, I know now it doesn't define me. For a long time it felt like the assault had broken me, but I realize now it has made me so much stronger. And although I know I have a ways to go before I'm "over it", I am so happy with the amount of progress I have made since it happened almost five years ago. I do not know if I will ever forgive my assaulter. Most of me feels he doesn't deserve forgiveness, even though that goes against the way I try to live my life.
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I was 18 and went to a frat party with my best friend. We were drinking on the front lawn and met some guys and chatted quite a bit. I was wearing heels and they kept getting stuck in the mud and so I was falling over a bit. I'm guessing I appeared to be more drunk then I actually was. Anyways this particular guy started talking to only me, things got kinda deep. We talked about our passions and what it's like to be white or black. Then we went beside the house on the steps of an outdoor stair case and started hooking up. I was a virgin and pretty naive, I thought we'd just make out and I'd get fingered. So when he suggested going up the stairs I said okay. So we get up there and I tell him I'm a virgin and want to wait/save it. He whips out his dick and I'm like disgusted and kind of cringe. Then he asks me to bend over, and I said no! Please don't go in! And he repeatedly asked me to bend over. Now I was a considerable amount smaller than him so I felt like I had no choice. It went on for a few seconds before I realised what was happening and started to think of what I could do. I wasn't sure if it was a good thing or how to get out of it. So I said I felt like I was going to throw up, so I stood up and said I needed to go see my girl. So I went down the stairs and found my best friend. She asked me where I'd been and I said I don't know and asked if we could leave. Now she says that she could tell when I came back that I had changed. I was very confused about how to deal with this situation because I was the one who actually complied and bent over. I couldn't tell another for a month. It's been a difficult process of blame, guilt and judgement. It's way too common for occurrences of sexual assault to happen.
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The first time I was raped was down the alley way by my house. I was 11. There were five men four white one dark skin that's when I first lost my verginity because I had my period at 10. I wasn't meant to be out so late but I was a troubled kid and went for night walks to calm myself down and hadn't had problems before....I no longer stay out past 9 and name myself everyday. The second time was by an ex of mine who was my boyfriend at the time we were drinking and I'd only had two. He followed me to the bathroom and stopped me before I could get in pushing me up against the wall. He didn't look like himself his eyes glazed over bags under his eyes he even sounded different he'd had to much to drink. That night the first guy I was in love with (I know I was young (15) ) held me down by the throat and raped me. Even when I cried no. When I tried to push him off. I bleed for two weeks after and I had marks all over me. This one wasnt sexual but my ex (bf at the time (16) ) elbowed me in the face. Not on accident. He held me against the wall and watched as he impacked my face dislocating my jaw. I tried to kill myself when he broke up with me because I loved him I adored him so much. I could never wish a broken heart on someone. Not even the people who did me wrong. A broken heart is the worst thing... And this last one was a friends friend, at her bf's house we had a few drinks and I knew her and her bf they were lovely people and I trusted them. The night went on and I got tipsy so I stopped drinking and went to bed. About and hour later her friend (not bf) comes in and shuts the door behind him " this is where****** and I are sleeping" I said " I know" he hummed. Then he forced himself on me he wasn't big but he was stronger. Idk how long it was until my friend came in but she opened the door watched for a little then just left. I had tears streaming down my cheeks while he continued until he had cummed. I've been battling depression, anxiety, being anorexic and being suicidal since I was really young non of this helped along the way but I look at myself today and think " anyone would be damn lucky to have me." But I'm not going to settle for just any one. No sir She/He has to be worth it to. Everyone's worth it but how you treat me I'll treat you <3
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I was 6 years old. In a moving truck with my moms husband at the time. It was just me and him in the truck. We were traveling across the country because my mother thought there was better job opportunities. I couldn't tell anyone how far along we were on our travels. I remember him looking down at me and then he asked me to do him a sexual favor. A type of favor that i have never heard of before. He kept repeating that it would help him feel better but it had to be a daddy/daughter secret and the fact that all dads and daughters do this type of stuff. He continued this life for me for 12 years. My whole childhood. In between the 12 years, he told me that I was never going to be anything. He commented on my weight and looks. My personality came in the mix as well. As you can tell, he had an amazingly awful mental grip on me. Any time anyone got into trouble at my house, I was scared and I didn't want my "step-dad" to abuse my brothers the way he abused me. So i ALWAYS took the blame. I got mentally abuse. Physically abused. Sexually abused and emotionally abused. He made lots of people in my life believe that i was a liar about many different things. I didn't say anything even close about the abuse i was receiving until after everything stopped. Before then though, He made everyone believe that i was mental and needed medical attention. I got so numb because i had no friends and i didn't have any kind of support system, That i turned to pills. I became an addict. I started drinking to the point were i couldn't move. I smoked weed because it helped me focus on other things instead of focusing on the hurt and pain ive been threw. I was so numb. Most of my days were just a blur. This messed up man made me believe that it was okay for a many to have sex with a child. I know now that, that man was so messed up in the head. I felt sorry for him. Douche-MCDoucherson is what i like to call him. I finally came out with everything around the age of 18. It was tricky though. I had to tell the cops how to bring him into the station because i knew he would have ran. He tried to run. But the police caught him. I had to go to court for over a year to hear his final sentencing from the judge. Some idiot put my business in the paper when everything was said and done. I got harassed at school. Students saying that I was lying to get attention. Others were feeling sorry for me and wanted to be my friend because i was so "broken". I dropped out of school. I couldn't handle anything anymore. I've always thought about suicide but ever attempted it. I've always convinced myself that my Brothers needed me. Which is a good thing now that i didn't leave this earth. The judge sentenced 9 years to life. Its coming up to the 9 years mark and i found out that for good behavior, he gets a parol hearing..... Am i okay with this action???? UMMM NOO. People say he changed in prison. He very well may have. But i only know the man who abused me. He knows how to get into peoples minds and make them believe what he wants them too. He told me in the past that if i ever said anything, He would kill me. I am very much scared for my life. About 2 years ago I have been clean from all drugs. Found a church that I love and i do my best to be the best person i can be for myself and others. I found my eternal companion at church and we are due to get married next month. So i guess the things that douche-MCDoucherson said to me before were not true. I am beautiful. I am loving. I am loved. I matter. I have made some friends who we just love and adore each other. I make a difference. He will never be able to bring me down again. Yes, I was a victim. I learned to become a survivor on my own. I am now an over comer. This man thought it was okay to do what he did. It is never okay to take away a childs innocence. Believe me when i say, I will face that bastard in a few months. I WILL give the judge my opinion about him being able to be in society again. This whole experience sucks!!! But, I have become who i am today because of it. I just hope i am strong enough to assist those who need my help to become beautiful inspiring women one day. To those who read this. Alot of us "over comers" are not looking for your pity. We carefully share our story to hopefully inspire those who need an angel. We want to assist those who need a voice. And sometimes we can be their voice. Being a woman who now has a voice and isn't afraid to use it is such an inspiring and beautiful thing, just be smart and don't abuse it....
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My brother molested me from ages six through ten. My family still thinks I'm the crazy one for feeling anything about it. At eleven I got my period and "slut" was my second name until I lost my virginity on my fifteenth birthday to my first boyfriend. When I was fifteen I was raped repeatedly by someone who I'd thought would be the only person to love me, my first boyfriend. I thought I deserved the assaults and pain that I was going through since I was six years old until a little bit past my twentieth birthday. It is really hard to get out of the cycle of thinking I deserve the pain. It has been hard to distance my present experiences with my past assaults.
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I wrote a letter to my sexual assaulter who posted this article for his male friends to ponder. I noticed you posted an article about sexual assault the other day. Someone I knew had liked it and so it randomly appeared on my facebook feed. I started reading because I liked the title, something like “what I learned from dating women who had been raped” and I like to think of myself as some sort of feminist. I was also intrigued by your quote of the authors, referencing her statement that, her own suffering mattered. I started reading the article and immediately identified with the author’s experience of being sexually assaulted, having had a nearly identical experience. Because during my freshman year at bethel, when we were hanging out and occasionally fooling around throughout a couple of weeks, I had just come back from a week in Haiti and I wanted to debrief with you. You were somebody who I thought had an extremely expansive world view and I was really interested to see what your thoughts were on the immense poverty and economic instability facing Haiti. I invited you over and made you tea. I didn’t realize you were high and that you thought this was a booty call. You tried to kiss me and I made up the excuse that I was sick. You said that was okay because there were other things we could do. We sat on the couch and you started touching me, trying to tickle me, and then you were on top of me and putting your hands down my pants. It all happened very quickly. I told you to stop and got up and asked you to leave. You asked me, are you serious? I pretended I had homework; you scoffed and left. I stood in the middle of my dorm room for a minute, not really understanding what had just happened. I went to leave and you and my ex were standing on the steps talking, you had your finger by your nose, the one that had just been inside of me, and I wondered if you could still smell the scent of my vagina. At the end of that year I transferred schools. I wrote an article about what had happened for a friend’s compilation of women’s stories. I mentioned what happened to a few people but never made a big deal out of it. But truthfully it wasn’t okay. And I wasn’t okay. We haven’t ever talked since then, and I un-friended you on facebook. The only reason I even saw your post was because a mutual friend of ours liked it. And I thought the piece of the article you quoted at the end was very poignant. More than any explicit action, this societal expectation for me to provide nurturance to the very people who resent me has poisoned me. It requires my complete effacement, for me to deny the value of my own experience. It has required a betrayal of the most personal kind, and to recover from it necessitates re-learning one of the most basic human instincts. My own suffering matters. You can respond if you want but I’d rather you didn’t. I’m telling you because I didn’t think you would have remembered that this happened. I just needed you to know that it did. And I shouldn’t be the only one of us who knows that.
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It happened about five months after me and my first boyfriend broke up. I was hanging out at a friend of a friends house, watching basketball on the tv and lounging on the couch. My friend's, friend's older brother (sorry, a little confusing) had just walked into the house with a few other guys. One of the guys offered me a drink, and that's where the night took off. Hours passed as we gulped on our vodka orange juices and I was passed the point of tipsy. My friend pulled me aside and told me that the one guy who offered me a drink at the beginning of the night thought I was really cute. She also mentioned that he had a huge penis. Surprised, I asked if she thought I should have sex with him. She excitedly said yes, and I, to be honest I was excited too. He seemed really sweet and I felt like I needed to have sex with someone new since the breakup with my ex. I panicked realizing my pubic hair wasn't shaved and went into the bathroom upstairs, grabbed a razor from the shower, and drunkenly shaved my pubic hair. After that I was ready. We had sex in the downstairs bathroom while my friend and his friend were fooling around upstairs. It was drunk and sloppy, but I wanted it so it was ok. And I didn't regret a thing. After having sex, we sat at the kitchen table discussing life and such when his friend came stomping down the stairs interrupting our conversation. "You need more shots," the friend yelled pouring me a hefty amount of vodka into my empty cup. The guy I had sex with said he was tired and he went up to bed. I stayed downstairs and drank more with the other guy, who I thought had sex with my friend. I drank more and more and got drunker and drunker. He asked me if I had sex with his friend and I told him I did. When I asked him if he had sex with my friend is when things took a turn. He said they didn't have sex because she was on her period, but she gave him a blow job that apparently wasn't very good. Things begin to get blurry in my memory, but he mentioned how he thought I could do a much better job at making him cum. I joked around agreeing with him, but was not being serious. I would never had guessed that a some guy would want to bang another guys sloppy seconds, but I was so wrong. Somehow his hands made his way under my shirt, I pushed away but he was too strong. He took my hand and pulled me along side him to the bathroom where I had sex with the other guy less than an hour before. I stumbled into the bathroom and he ripped off my pants and bent me over the bathtub. I tried to say something to stop him but it happened so fast, he was already inside of me. I tried to speak, but no words could come out of me, I was beyond drunk, and was being fucked from behind unwillingly. I stopped to turn around and tell him to stop. I saw that he had his phone out and was filming himself having sex with me. I had never been more disgusted and humiliated. I woke up the next morning at 5 am sleeping on the floor next to the bed of the man who raped me, which I didn't admit to myself for more than a year after the incident. I quietly snuck out of bed, woke up my friend and told her we needed to leave immediately. I remember coming home and sitting in my shower feeling so filthy, like there was a dirt on me I couldn't scrub off no matter how hard I tried. I wanted to cry or scream or something, but all I could do was sit in silence. I never saw either of those guys again, and I doubt I ever will. Even though it's a memory I wish I could erase, and I couldn't have any sort of relationship with another man for over a year after that, I'm proud of overcoming it and not letting it define me or my sexuality.
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I got really drunk and started vommiting. I couldn't walk or move. This black guy was like hey, no one go after this one, she is too far gone. I'll never forget him sincerely trying to keep me safe. Another dude took that as an invitation, picked me up and took me away to get fucked while telling others he was going to help me. Something in me snapped. I laughed the entire time he was removing my clothes. Screeching laughter. The loudest I think I have laughed in my life. I spat while laughing in his face while he tried to fuck me. Laughed while i fought and he fought me. Laughed while he raped me. Everything was spinning and heavy, nothing made sense and my hatred was obscene. Laughing at everything he ever thought about himself. What i thought about the world. everything. I was sick of rape and I couldn't believe it just keeps fucking happening.
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I was 19. I met this man at a film screening. I was just discovering I was somehow perverted, and had gone to the screening of a fetish film. Afterwards I was amazed to finally meet some people involved in the kink community. I was awe-struck that they went to parties, and called all their friends Master or Mistress someone-or-other. They were really nice to me. I felt like they were a gateway to this world I wanted to join. There was a man, who took an interest in me. He had a goatee and wore a black hat. He was probably in his 50s. He told me he wanted to be my "mentor", and said he would take me to a fetish club. One of the women told me I could trust him, he was a good guy. I was so wide-eyed and excited, I agreed. I met him at another film screening the next week. I was all dressed up in a coat, with lingerie and a petticoat underneath, ready for my first fetish party. I noticed he had whips with him. The thought crossed my mind that maybe he planned on playing with me at the party. I didn't really know how to feel about that. On one hand, I'd never experienced any "play" before and I so wanted to. But also he was so much older than me. It just seemed wrong and weird. It was unnerving that he would assume I was down for that. We caught a cab to the party. He used to be a cab driver, apparently - for disabled passengers. Weird the details I remember. Inside the party I was so amazed to see people walking around in latex, and getting spanked, and dancing in leather harnesses. It was a total dream-world, like I'd never seen. He took me around and introduced me to some people. A man who liked to be trampled with bare feet. "Master" who ran the party. They all greeted him like they knew him, so I assumed he was well-trusted. He kept bragging to me about all the people who knew him. We sat down and watched a performance. A man was tying up his very beautiful girlfriend. He told me he couldn't believe she dated him, that she was so young and out of his league. I thought it was a bit obnoxious for him to think *he* deserved to be there with me as a 19-year-old after saying that. We watched for awhile. He told me odd stories. He mentioned he had been arrested for possession of weed. And that an ex-girlfriend of his had taken him to court for assault. Somehow it literally didn't even cross my mind that those were massive red flags and I should get the fuck away from him. I feel so stupid. I just nodded along like it was all normal. Out of nowhere, he started twisting my ear. He started pushing pressure points on my face, whilst bragging to me about how he knew just where it hurts. I wasn't sure if I was enjoying it or not. I just let it happen. He pulled my hair. Suddenly he pulled me up and threw me down face-first on the table. He got out his crop and started hitting me with it. He hit me with a horse-hair flogger too. It really hurt. I knew I was a masochist, and I'd been fantasising about spanking. But not with this man. I was just so confused. Because on one hand, this was what I wanted...right? But on the other hand, I had never imagined it happening with this kind of man, who to be honest I found pretty repulsive. Having my "fantasies" finally come to life masked my feelings of uneasiness. And I was so stunned by the situation, I just let it happen. When I think about whether or not I wanted all this to happen, I think about this next bit, which I definitely had never wanted. He grabbed my throat, and started squeezing. He was choking me. He held on for long enough that I started to panic, then let go. He did that again and again. He stopped after awhile. I don't know how long he had been choking and hitting me for. I sat there in silence. He told me I looked like I enjoyed it, and that he noticed I had particularly enjoyed the choking. He put his hands on my neck to demonstrate. He said "it really excited you". He asked if I wanted marks. For some reason, I said yes. I guess I didn't really know what I was asking for. He pushed me down again, and started hitting me over and over again with the riding crop. He hit the insides of my thighs as he forced me to make eye contact. I could see purple marks all down my legs. He bent me over the table. And without warning, plunged fingers inside my vagina. I remember just feeling really disgusted and wanting it to be over. I remember thinking this wasn't allowed at the party. At some point I think people were watching all this happen, and a small crowd had gathered, unknowingly witnessing my assault. He choked me again. I can't remember if he kissed me or not. I think he did. Somehow it all ended. I sat for awhile. Didn't say too much. I decided to leave. In the cloak room he told me to take my underwear off. I obliged, I don't know why. He dropped me home in a taxi, although I told him to drop me a few blocks away as I didn't want him to know where I lived. When I got home he had texted me asking to meet, and for me to write an essay of what had happened that night. I took a photo of my marks. I was weirdly excited to see them. I'd never had bruises before. But I felt weird. I met him the next week, at a strange cafe I'd never been to before. Apparently it was his regular. I had psyched myself up to talk to him about consent, and how I didn't feel too great about the situation at the party. We small-talked for awhile, got into a feminist debate, and then finally I gave a weak version of what I had intended to say. He told me what it would be like to be his slave. I told him I didn't want to play with him again. He argued with me, and told me he didn't believe in safe words because he can read people. Eventually I left. I walked away feeling slightly triumphant, but still a bit sick. Awhile later I found his profile on a fetish website, completely by accident. He had hundreds of erotic photos and writings. Worst of all, I found one about me. He had written a recount from his perspective, of what had happened that night at the party. He made it sound like an erotic experience. He described me feeling "excited" by the choking. I remember he said "I don't know if slavery is for her...she didn't want to submit fully, couldn't bring herself to orgasm". Ugh. I messaged him, and asked him to take it down. He agreed begrudgingly. I didn't even think about the fact I was "assaulted" until a few months later. And then I thought about the choking, and the fingers. Everything else I may have confusingly wanted, but in those moments I definitely felt invaded. I feel dramatic going on about this, because compared to a lot of people's experiences, it wasn't that bad. I didn't cry or say no. How could he have known, really. But then it's fucked up that a 50-year-old would choke and finger a 19-year-old without asking first. That's wrong. My main emotional scar is a fear of people touching my neck. I can't bear to watch anyone struggle for breath. I look away in films if anyone drowns, is strangled, even just breathes too loudly or too raggedly. I feel short of breath now just writing this.
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When I was on a date with someone I would eventually fall in love with, get cheated on and hearbroken... our first date I got a call from my ex saying I needed to be there now, he was going to kill himself. I panicked, left, raced over, ran red lights etc. Made it there and he was just drunk and basically said if I didn't fuck him he would kill himself. Knowing my first boyfriend did kill himself and how much it hurt me.
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a few years a go i used to date a guy named g.. i was going through a hard period in my life and i didn't want it to be too bound. after few weeks we've started dating, i moved to another city. so we only have seen each other once a week or so and it was an open relationship. i never really knew how he felt about be, he would never tell me and i was too little confidante to ask, so we continued like this for some 8 month or so. he used to work at a bar, doing night shifts so sometimes when i came to visit him i would stay and wait for him to finish his shift at night and then we would get to his place. i guess i knew it for the whole time that he was having an affair with his best friend's girlfriend named o., but i didn't really cared about it and he never told it to me straight. that night i came to visit and stayed at the bar on his shift, it lasted forever and i was really tired, there were only 5 people at the bar: g., me, some guy, o. and her friend. everyone was pretty drunk and i was a bit stoned and very tired. so i kept waiting for them to leave, for him to close and for us to go. it lasted forever and we ended up walking out there at 7 am. while we were walking to his place o. called him up and wanted to go on partying and he talked her to go to her home and party some other time. when we arrived to his place all i wanted to do was to go to sleep, so we lay down in his bed and he starts this big conversation with me about me not caring for him, not listening to him sometimes and that he wanted a break. i said ok, let's have a break. i was feeling a bit strange but i wasn't really capable to make a decision or process any information on the matter, cause all wanted to do is to get a bit of sleep. i don't really remember how it rolled down to us having sex. g. had this strange manner of not asking or talking during sex, he would just try to do thing and if i acted like i didn't want it he would try to do something else. this time he tried to put his penis inside my ass. we never had anal sex before, so i was a bit surprised why now, when it might be we're breaking up it's supposed to be the perfect time to do it for the first time. he just went on trying to stick his dick into me, not even using any lube. i knew i didn't want to have anal sex, i was 100% sure about it. but i was afraid to say no, like if i wouldn't be good to him he would break up with me right away, kick me out and i won't get any sleep never. i know i should have left, but the only thing i've done was to ask him if he's got some lube. he brought baby oil and entered me from behind. that was really really painful. and i know, i could really feel it that he was doing that to me as a revenge, because his feeling were hurt, because his confidence went down because of me, so he wanted a revenge, he wanted to make me small. he wanted to fuck my body as if my personality had not been attached to it. after some pushes i found courage in myself to tell him that it hurt too much, so he told me that we don't have to do this, as if it was something that we both wanted to do. we finished up having regular sex, he came and i finally could fall asleep. next day i woke up feeling a bit strange, sad, distracted and terrified. i left really quickly telling him we'll talk about everything later. i remember myself walking and wanting to cry, i remember myself feeling hurt by him, but i thought it was because he wanted to break up with me. i broke up with him a couple of weeks later, for another reason. we had some sex after it as well and he made a tattoo on my leg. i remember i felt really strange about this tattoo for a long time and i couldn't understand why. it took me few months to understand that what happened that day was not all right, it took few month to tell our mutual friend about what happened and it took me over a year to get used to the thought that i have a tattoo on my leg, done by a guy who assaulted me. it happened 3 years ago. it took over a year for me to not think about what happened for 3-4 days in a row each time i saw him. i'm happy that i don't get to see him at all. i still thing about what happened that day and i really hate myself for asking for the lube instead of saying that i don't want to do anything aside from sleeping, i'm furious for not leaving his place. i would get more sleep in past few years, if i would just leave.
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I met him at Uni, but he was dating someone at the time. He was a tattoo artist. Years later, I found out he had moved to the town I was living in, overseas. We met up because he was looking for help with his portfolio, and I could help. I was hoping to get a tattoo in return for the help. After meeting up once or twice, we got drunk, and he came home with me. We spent the day and night together, we slept together about ten times. He told me it was great to meet someone 'like him'. A few weeks went by and we kept going on dates, seeing each other. I took him to my favourite museum, there was a great exhibition on and he really enjoyed it. After about three weeks of this, I noticed a girl writing on his facebook wall. I asked him about it one weekend. He said it was just a friend. That night while we were sleeping together he asked to try anal. I said I wasn't interested. He forced himself in me anyway, saying 'relax'. It hurt, I cried stop, and managed to get my left knee up and to kick him in the stomach, across the room. Afterwards he came back and carried on as if nothing happened. I let him. The next morning I left, and a week later I found out he was seeing the other girl. I wrote her a letter on facebook, telling her about us. She got angry, and I got an angry text message from him telling me I was childish. A few months later, I received another message from her telling me he stole some money from her and basically cheated on her. I was in therapy, and it took me about a year and a half to talk about this experience with my therapist. She explained that what happened to me wasn't right. She explained to me what had happened. She also explained to me the fact that I had to go to the doctor afterwards and get medicated to heal up wasn't normal. I had no idea. I only started dealing with it all about two years after it happened. I'm okay now. But the last boyfriend I told about it just got angry and said he would 'kill him if he found him'. When we broke up, he said "I broke us" when I told him about what happened to me. I'm still single. I think I'm okay now. I believe there's nothing wrong with me, and I think there are still good people out there. I have hope.
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I am sixteen, and have spent the majority of my sophomore year being verbally abused and emotionally manipulated by someone who I once thought of as one of the most amazing people I'd ever met. He ignores me for long periods of time, and I am desperate for his attention. He's so interesting, and when he's not making me miserable he makes me really happy. It is the last month of my junior year he gets me to tell him that I like him. The next day is my first kiss, he makes out with me for half an hour and touches me everywhere and tells me he wants to have sex with me, and that if I want to have any kind of relationship with him that has to be part of it. I have zero interest in sex but decide that if I directly refuse he'll stop talking to me again, so I am vague with my response. I enjoy kissing, but I never wanted him to finger me. It was scary and uncomfortable. At one point he told me that we had to stop doing things because it felt disloyal to another girl he liked, one who lives far away. A few nights later he texted me and said that he wanted to meet me early in the morning, one last time, and then it would have ended for good. I shouldn't have gone to meet him. After everything he'd done to me, I should have refused. But I went. He took me into a closet and we kissed and he told me to strip. He tried to have sex with me but it didn't work, thank god. However he said I still had to satisfy him in some way so I ended up giving him a hand job because I refused to blow him. It was disgusting; I remember sitting on the floor naked and rolling my eyes as I did it, and then laughing about it with him on the walk back to the dorms after. He texted me and said maybe we could continue doing things. That I was "handy" to have around. And it continued, and I hated it. One day we were kissing and he wanted me to give him a hand job but I refused. He said I had to do something, told me to strip, tried to do something to me from behind. I broke down crying and he stopped, told me to put my clothes back on, spoke about how guilty he felt, how he didn't want to lose my trust. I told him it was fine, that it really didn't matter, that I still trusted him. But I didn't. And after he graduated, as time went on, I began to hate him. He destroyed a year of my life and left me with social anxiety, so much overthinking and an inability to make small talk because of how panicked I would become. I was just a sex toy to him, and he never cared about me that way I cared about him. Over the summer we skyped twice, once for a long time. He told me that if things didn't work out with the other girl, he would come to me. That he wasn't sure what would happen so I should keep loving him for at least the next year, so that he had something to come back to. We only spoke once after that, where he apologized again for hurting me and thanked me for being such a good friend. I didn't say much. By this time I had processed everything that had happened, and how wrong it all was. At the end of the call I blocked him on all forms of social media and never spoke to him again. He tried to get in contact with me, spoke to my other friends about how much he cared about me, how well I understood him. He visited school once and I saw him, but we didn't speak. I told some of my friends about what had happened and for the most part, they have been an incredible source of support. One friend wasn't. He lost respect for me, and I told him that was fine because he couldn't disrespect me any more than I had come to disrespect myself. This boy was someone who liked me in the past and sounded almost jealous of the things my abuser had done, which was disturbing. As it nears the end of my senior year I'm so much better. I rarely think of him. I have a boyfriend now, we haven't kissed yet but I like him a lot and feel comfortable around him. In general, I don't like being touched. It makes me more uncomfortable than I'd like to admit, physical contact, and it's sad. I have forgiven myself for what happened, but I will never forgive him for taking advantage of my care and love. He abused his power in a way no friend ever should, destroyed my ability to trust people and left me paranoid of relationships with the thought that all guys wanted was sex. Maybe that's why I haven't kissed my boyfriend yet. I'm afraid that if I do, everything will change. That he'll want sex, and I won't. And then it will be over. I'll be honest, and I won't let myself be taken advantage of again. I won't become desperate. I'll take care of myself, and so should you, because no one deserves these kinds of relationships.
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It was about a year ago. I had been seeing this one guy but broke it off when he became verbally and mentally abusive. Things were fine I still saw him due to we had the same friend group. I had just moved thier out of state and not very good at making friends. One night a couple of my female friends said they were all having a bin fire on the top of the mountains. It was too late for me to ask if I could go so I had decided to sneak out. Not the first time with this group. And when we got up there I found put that he was going to be there. Okay what ever nothing is going to happen because there's the whole group there, about 20 25 of us. Things were going fine nothing very exciting was going on just hanging out. Then I see him walking around to people and wispering in thier ears..okay odd but again I didn't think much of it. Then people started looking at me and stopped talking to me. Then he came up to me and said "I'm sorry for what happened between us. Can I talk to you in private? " okay on edge but okay due to there were other people around. So I follow him a little away from the fire and to the far side of his truck. He kept saying how sorry he was and if I would take him back I said no and tried to walk away. He then proceeded to open the door of his truck and thow me in on my stomach and then...well you know. I was screaming and yelling and crying for someone to help and no one did. Then when he was finished with me he then grabbed me by my hair and threw me out of the truck into the snow and mud with my pants around my ankles. And called me a dirty sluty and to stay where I belong. I got up and crying trying to get someone to drive me home and even listen to me they just ignored me. And I had to walk about 4 or 5 hours home in the snow in the middle of the night down a mountain. I got home and jumped in the shower and tried to do anything to get the feeling off of me. When I got back to school the following Monday everything was okay but then guys would push me up against the lockers and shove thier hands down my pants while another covered my mouth. This went on every day for about 3 weeks. Then I finally found the courage to tell someone. But by that time it was too late I had no one to help me or believe me. I switched schools. It continued. I switched again. To a continuation one. It continued still. People in church looked at me differently. I stopped going there. I went into private school. Then when I felt strong enough to go back to another Continuation school it happened again. And then when I was walking after school to the bus I got jumped by 3 guys from my class, they had actually been the only ones who would help me and stopped other guys during school, they jumped me tapped my mouth shut and dragged me behind campus and all three rapped me in the snowy muddy gutter and when I tried to fight back they broke my nose and gave my a black eye then left me there. I didn't come home for 3 weeks until it healed. I went back to the first same very school and a guy from my old group raped me. I couldn't take it. I didn't go home until late that night. I couldn't face my family. I felt so dehumanized. I tried to kill myself. I was in a mental ward for a month. Got released. Went back to home study and church. Then someone from church raped me. I then moved back to California. I can't sleep on my stomach without getting nightmares. My current bf and I can't do anything if I'm on my stomach. I have panick attacks. I am more cautious around men now I used to walk so proudly. It had taken just over a year for me to walk proudly again.
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As a part of my job I often listen to people’s stories about sexual assault and I do find it concerning that I have heard more of these stories are from females. Often when I would hear these stories I would relate them to myself and think: "I haven't had it that bad", "I am glad that hasn't happened to me" or even just "What can I wear/say/do to avoid these kind of people?". It is always seems to be turned on the victim, because of the way you advertise yourself it means you are asking for it rather than actually listening to the words one is saying. When I look at it now I think about how lucky I am that I have only really had a few encounters. When I was 16 I had my manager at work come onto me. I don't remember much anymore but I remember it started with a 2am conversation while watching cricket at work, I made a single comment about their butts. Later my manager walked outside to the bins with me and asked me if I wanted to touch his erection. I can't remember if I did or not. The night got worse though when one of my work mates approached me too. I remember that when work finished at 4am he and I went to the petrol station toilet across the road where I gave him a blow job. What sticks in my mind, is that I did all this before I had had my first date and my first kiss. After this, the manager was waiting for me to walk me home. We got to the front of my house and he asked if I wanted to “See more”, he suggested the bushes outside my neighbor’s house. I managed to get out of it my making an excuse that my mother was still awake. I remember the next day the manager came up to me and asked if I was going to tell anyone. I remember that later it got a bit too much and I told one of the girls at my work who said she had a similar experience. It wasn't until I wasn't the only one that I reported it. One, I never saw as breaking into my sexual boundaries until recently. I believe that if it had continued, I would have lost a part of me. I had been dating a man for a year, it was at this point he opened up to me that he would like to try a threesome. The issue here is I am a bisexual, this made me feel like I should be willing to go through with it. Clearly, I am not being satisfied sexually by this man because he is a man and my bisexuality therefore means that I need a woman. You apparently can't have a monogamous relationship if you identify as Bi. I remember I went home that night and cried a lot. I thought about how I couldn't possibly make him happy unless I went through with this and that my own happiness was somehow so deeply linked to his that when I initially said no, I was hurt. A week later I approached it like this: We might as well try it because if it doesn't work out then we break up, and being bisexual meant that I would find pleasure in the woman company anyway. As soon as I said that his face lit up and he started listing off people we could approach. In his mind this was to be a pre-meditated affair that needed a lot planning and discussion. I didn't want to talk about it, I wanted it done so we could go back to being just us. I figured if I gave him this, everything would be alright. After that every time we would talk about it I would get upset, I clearly did not want to go through with it even though I agreed and I am certain he knew that. Yet, it wouldn't stop him talking about it. He admitted a little later during a conversation that it was something he wanted to try bad enough that he wouldn't be able to date me anymore if I didn’t. A part of me wishes I had had the courage to call it off then. I then had to move to the country for a job and we went to having a long distance relationship. I dated him for about 2 and a half years total before I called him out on how uncomfortable he made me feel for more than half of that. When we broke up, he started crying. The first words he said were about how he was going to hate being single again. After the break up, perhaps in retaliation, I got very drunk in the small country town I was in. I found a girl and she and I left the bar together only getting as far as the empty road round the corner before having sex. Since then, I have had the joy of dating another man who has not only listened to these stories but has shown nothing but acceptance towards me and my feelings. Making me feel like a whole person sharing time with another whole person where emotions are shared but not tied to one another. I made a conscious effort when I started dating him to not mention my bisexuality as often anymore, to attempt to change the way I display myself to others so they wouldn't get the idea that I would want sex from anyone else. This has not stopped these things still happening though. I went to a gathering where I met someone for the 2nd time. He was new in some social circles that I had only recently touched base with again. We talked in a group and everyone got to know each other a bit better. He offered a shoulder massage to people, we made joke, we changed topic. It was a light atmosphere that I felt comfortable in. After massaging my shoulders a bit he rested his head on my shoulder and tickled my sides. I was stunned. I had no idea what I had done to give this impression to him but I was not comfortable but felt powerless to say anything. The gathering wrapped up and asked if he could walk with me back to my car. I wasn't keen on the idea and asked "Why?" rather than just saying "No". He wasn't being outwardly offensive and I felt I had no reason to say no. I felt I had to have an excuse to say no. I managed to get away from him for a brief moment where I told one of my close male friends that he was making me uncomfortable, he joined us on the walk to my car. Despite that, I was still unable to reject the pressure of giving him a lift to a place a few blocks away. I started driving and he placed his hand on my leg, I moved it. We had a short conversation about nothing in particular before I pulled over to drop him off where he then rested head on my shoulder again. I froze again, determined to give him no response in the hope that he would see how much I didn't want him to touch me. He fumbled around for a little while before he finally walked away from my car and I drove away. As it stands I feel myself less inclined to go to gatherings where he might be. I am worried that if I go drinking and he is around he will try something else. Even after recounting all that, the worst feeling I have is still the thought again that: "I haven't had it that bad"
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I was 24. I'd been casually dating a guy for about five months. He was exploring his sexuality and rolled with a crowd that was into a lot of kinks that I was unfamiliar with: BDSM, partner-swapping, group sex, etc. I was fairly inexperienced when we started dating (I'd had one partner prior, and it was short-lived), and he often pushed for me to try things I wasn't comfortable with, but was respectful when I said no. He was effusive with "I Love You's", which I found odd, given the situation. Our relationship was sort of winding down - it wasn't so much a breakup as a fade-in-progress - we both knew we wanted different things and weren't right for eachother, but we liked eachother's company and were having fun, so we'd kept hanging out, and messed around a bit. He was actively pursuing other relationships, which I was okay with. After being out for a day with other friends, I went back to his place and we played some video games - well, mostly he played and I watched and drank a lot of water. I was incredibly drunk. I trusted him to look out for me, as we'd previously had sex when I was really drunk, and he'd been really upset afterwards and had felt like he'd taken advantage of me, even though I didn't feel that way (I hadn't blacked out, I remember the encounter.) Around 3am we went to the bed to sleep, and he started grinding against me from behind, and I could feel his erection. I don't remember if I said no or just sort of groaned and shook my head, but I'm sure it was pretty clear I wasn't interested. He pulled my pants off and continued grinding against me. I'm not sure if I just wrote it off as him shifting to get comfortable, or if I blamed it on the drunk bedspins, or what, but I left it alone and tried to fall asleep. He removed my underwear and rolled me over on the bed and sodomized me. We had never engaged in any anal play before, and all previous times when he'd asked (there were MANY times he'd asked) I'd said no, unequivocally, and that it was something I had no interest in doing. I cried. He didn't stop. When it was over he rolled over and fell asleep. I did too. The next morning, he drove me home. I remember saying "thanks for the ride", and he winked and said "no, thank YOU for the ride" and a piece of me felt like it died. I closed the car door, went into my apartment, and said nothing else. The day after I was raped I drank beers on a patio with my friends. We joked about how drunk we'd gotten the day before. I told them I'd gone back to (guy's) house. I framed the whole night as a funny sexploit, made blue jokes about "butt stuff". I decided if I made it a joke, just another funny sexcapade, it didn't matter, it would go away. I smoked pot for the first time. We watched a movie. I went home. (Guy) and I kept in distant, but friendly, contact. I had been depressed while we were dating and had become more depressed after he assaulted me. I had started dating again and would get so scared and nervous before dates I found myself drinking rapidly while on first and second dates to calm my anxiety (unsurprisingly, third dates were a rarity since I was such a mess). On one date I got so drunk I could barely walk, and actually called my rapist to ask if I could stay with him, because he lived across the street from where my date was. I spent another night in his bed. Nothing happened. Months later, deeply, deeply depressed, I was hanging out with my best friend and told her the truth, that I'd been raped. Bitterly single, she responded "At least somebody wants to fuck you." I sat quietly, said nothing, gave a vague nod. We talked about something else. (Guy) was still in contact with me, sending me links he thought I'd be interested in, making idle conversation on IMs. I responded. We talked a lot about my worsening depression. I was very self-conscious, and felt I couldn't be honest with my "real" friends, that I would be judged. I put a lot of effort into maintaining a facade, and with him, I had no shits to give. My rapist felt like the only person I could really talk to. (Ugh.) One afternoon, I mentioned that I was afraid of him. He asked "Did I rape you?" If you have to ask, you know. We never spoke again after that. I (finally) started therapy. I opened up to my friends. I met someone new at an event. We flirted. He asked me out. I said yes. We went on a date. It was one of those dates where the conversation is sparkling, and you feel a real meeting of the minds. We talked for hours that felt like seconds. I drank at a normal human pace. I felt comfortable. The energy felt platonic, the flirtiness dissipated. It was 2am and pouring rain. He offered to walk me home. I invited him in. We talked more, the energy still platonic, he'd never once touched me. When I came in from the kitchen after making a fresh pot of tea, he kissed me. It was sudden. It was unexpected. It was lacking in chemistry, neither of us seemed into it. I told myself I should just go along. Maybe I just needed to "get back on the horse." Dispassionate kissing followed. We ended up in bed. He told me he was erect, said I should touch it. I declined. He pushed again. No. Again. No. Again. He wore me down. He'd barely penetrated me when I started crying. He stopped. He put his pants back on. He tucked me into the blankets. He put the kettle on, looked around for tea. He sat on the edge of the bed and said "If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to." I tried to play it off as nothing. I tried to laugh. I remember feeling grateful. I hate that I felt grateful, to someone who coerced me. To someone who easily could have been a friend and chose something else. When my therapist asked the next week about my date, I said it was fine, but we weren't going to see eachother again. I didn't want my therapist to think he'd failed.
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When I went to the house of my best friend in high school, her dad always demanded a big, sloppy kiss at the door. He did it to all the girls, if I remember right. It made me uncomfortable-- it was disgusting and wet-- but if I tried to avoid it, it was all: "don't you love me anymore?" and guilt trips and him blocking my access to the room until I gave in. It probably won't surprise anyone when I say that this same man later progressed to touching my breasts under the pretext of "checking what the logo on my shirt said", and putting his hand between my legs (sometimes just thighs, while I sat there tense and terrified, legs clamped together in a vain attempt to keep his hand from moving higher; later with his fingers rubbing my crotch and coming back even after I shoved them away; the last time with the phrase "does this give you funny feelings" which will forever be burned into my memory). At an event we all attended, I managed to avoid him for most of the day, only to have him catch up to me and lean in and say "I've been trying to touch your ass all day" in my ear. I was-- what, early teens? I don't even remember. Young enough that I didn't know how to say no. That I didn't even fully realize what was happening or that I should be saying no to it. I knew that I didn't want him to be doing those things, but I didn't realize that it was wrong until many years later. Partly because-- well. He did this stuff right in front of his family. If they didn't think it was wrong, then how could it be? My best friend was in the car with us one of the occasions when he was rubbing at my crotch. She didn't say anything. I don't see how she would have not seen it happening. Years later, she told me that one of their neighbours had charged her dad with rape, and she was so damned indignant over the whole thing, like how dare this woman, her dad would never rape someone, he was just being himself, being affectionate. Clearly that woman (young woman; more like girl) was lying. Yeah. Clearly. I didn't consider those experiences to be assault for a long time. I still have trouble thinking about it in those terms, since I wasn't actually raped, he never went beneath my clothes, he never got violent with me. But what he did made me feel scared and helpless and trapped. He was a grown man who used emotional manipulation and my own naiveté to touch me when I didn't want to be touched, when I was too young to know better. So yeah, I'm going to start calling it what it was.
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I went on holiday with my boyfriend, who had previously been my friend for a few years (now I think of it, there where times in our platonic friendship where he had made sexual advances to me, which I had tried to politely reject and ignore, and maybe even the beginning of our relationship was me just 'giving in' to his advances) We had had an argument that day about me trying to talk about an instance of sexual assault I had experienced with someone else, a conversation in which he had called me 'stupid' for bringing this assault upon myself. Back at the airbnb he was trying to get me to have sex with him, after kissing for a while I decided I just didn't want to, to which he complained that he was now aroused and that was going to be uncomfortable for him. I said I just didn't want to have sex or be sexual and he said he wanted to go to the (shared) toilet (the toilet was also close to the room- I could have heard everything) and masturbate. When I said I didn't want to hear that he said he would do it in the (private) living room, which I said would be a bit gross for the poor woman who's house we were staying in to clean up- maybe I should have just let him masturbate but it felt like it was somewhat pointed at me and in all honestly I thought that he probably would wind up unsatisfied and take that out on me by being moody and unpleasent. In the end he started to just masturbate in front of me, with me in a totally un-sexual state and with a bad atmosphere in the room. After a while, and for much as the same reasons I guess as above, I ended up participating in getting him off, pretty much just to get him to cum so that the whole experience could come to an end. I also guess I thought I may as well try and get some pleasure/power out of it if I was going to be forced to watch anyway. To try and participate to make myself less of a victim in the situation. I decided to break up with him that night but I felt I had to wait till we were back from holiday, and I proceeded to wait a couple of months after that. I am still angry and hurt from this experience and also sometimes toy with the idea of telling him how this experience was for me, I just don't know if it would benefit him to hear this- he's the kind of man who believes himself to be the 'nice guy' who girls don't go for.
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In my first year of college I started dating a guy who was 7 years older than me. I was still a virgin. I made it clear to him that I wanted to stay that way until I was married. I was fine with making out and even doing it "dry" in our underwear, but I didn't want any penetration. One day we were making out in our underwear and he started kissing my stomach and moving towards my underwear. I got a little nervous and asked him what he was doing. He said nothing and kissed the fabric along the area covering the clitoris. I got more nervous and asked him again what he was doing. He sort of laughed like I was being silly and told me he wasn't doing anything and asked if it was okay to kiss me there. I said it was fine as long as he didn't go under my panties. He gently moved my panties aside anyway and started tonguing me. I lurched away, feeling instantly violated. I didn't understand what he did, but I knew it felt different and was overstepping my boundaries. He was totally casual about it like it was no big deal. We broke up not long after that. My second year of college my boyfriend was emotionally manipulative. He disapproved that most of my friends were men, which wasn't a problem when he was my friend. Once we were dating though, he would brood and give me the silent treatment after I had hung out with one of my guy friends. Like many others, if it had been an emotional outburst or if he had directly confronted me about it, I would have clearly objected. However, I was more worried about his feelings than about mine and slowly I stopped hanging out with my friends. As I did so, I began to lose my identity to my relationship with my boyfriend, because I had no chance to see my friends who confirmed who I was outside of that relationship. By some miracle I realized it or get fed up, something snapped. At 1 year together I wanted to break it off, but he promised to change and he begged me to stay and give him another chance. I did. I stayed with him another year but nothing changed. This time we broke up for good. Another guy I met in college was making out with me. We were still relatively new intimately and we started to undress each other. He actually stopped me mid-makeout because he said my panties were a turn off. They were orange and white. He said they weren't very sexy and made him feel like he was making out with a kindergartener. I was once engaged and when things went south and we broke up, I was in a really rough place. I could hardly understand my own feelings and what happened and because I ended things I looked like the bad guy. We were both unhappy and we both knew it, yet when I suggested we break up he really dragged me through the mud with every emotional tactic to shame me. Sometime after the breakup I started seeing a guy. He was the best. This is my only positive story. This man, who self-admitted to being something of a womanizer as a teenager had hit rock bottom in college and completely changed the way he looked at relationships and women. This man was extremely sensitive to my emotional struggle, never pressured me for physical intimacy, and his acceptance, patience, and kindness really helped me recover. Unfortunately, for reasons that could not be rectified, our relationship didn't work out. I was devastated. I put too much trust in a close friend, a man, at the time. He wanted us to date and even when I wasn't sure I agreed to because he was so confident about it. I trusted him to make a decision that I should have made for myself. We kissed before I wanted to and I feel like he tricked me into it by baiting me. It's hard to explain. Anyway, we dated for a few months and my misery and longing for my ex endured. I realized I couldn't get over him while I was in a relationship. I tried to talk it out with him several times but he was adamant that we could push through it. What he didn't realize was that his desire to stay together was suffocating me. What I didn't realize was that giving him the power to make my decision for me was suffocating me too. We finally had a breakthrough in which we agreed to break up and go back to being friends. However, despite this he continues to be rather physical with me. I think he tries to disguise it sometimes as hugs and even as back rubs, just to find a reason to touch me. Recently he was tickling me when he had me pinned in such a way that my leg was pressed against his groin. The first time I let it slide, but he ticked me again with the same strategy and I was fucking fed up with it and told him to stop (which he did). Do guys think girls don't notice when you hug them from behind and lift their breasts with your arms? Or don't notice that when they hugs us we can feel when they try to press their crotch against us? Or this whole tickle fight bullshit like we don't notice that part of us is in contact with your groin? It's maddening as hell and through conversations with a female friend and, strangely enough, reading about Kesha's recent struggle, I started to realize how wrong this all is. It seemed harmless, but it made me uncomfortable. I didn't say anything because I didn't want to hurt his feelings. HIS FEELINGS? What about MY feelings? Why shouldn't I say something when I'm being coerced into sexual positions under the guise of something else? The deceit is just disgusting. What I realized is, it may be on the lesser end of sexual assault, but this is where it starts. It's on the same spectrum, just on the less intense end of it. Sexual coercion is a real problem in my life. Realizing it about this recent scenario connected the dots with the many other incidences I've experienced and was absolutely heartbreaking and mind crushing to realize.
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I was 11. My mom had left to go to work (she worked nights) and my step-dad right away started drinking. He was a scary drunk to me. Not violent but to my 11 year old mind very strange. I remember once before this he'd told my infant brother to "grab her boobies! Grab em!" While drunk. I hardly had any - after that I never wished for them to get bigger. Anyways, this one night he got plastered and came into my room, told me to be a good girl, that he'd "take care" of me and that I was so sweet and innocent and pure. He got his hand into my pants and was starting to pull them down. I was terrified and frozen. I thank any deity listening that my mom came home early that night. She hadn't felt well so left work. He ran, I pretended to be asleep and he got yelled at for being drunk (he was supposed to quit). I've never told my mom. He never got to touch me again. I never let myself be alone with him after that. I played an online game at the time (called Puzzle Pirates) and shortly afterwards I met someone on there and he and I became friends. We played together and one day he started "touching" me...or well, my avatar. He was trying to role-play sex. He'd asked my age before - I lied and said I was 14. To me that was SO much older. He was 24 he said. He told me if I wanted to be left alone by my step-dad I needed to not be pure. I needed to take my own virginity and play with myself - don't worry it would feel good after a little bit, he said. I listened. My step-dad scared me and this guy was my friend. He wouldn't lie. He told me that making myself dirty was the best way to be safe. I still feel dirty. It's getting better now...but there are still times I catch myself thinking I don't deserve pleasure during sex or that I need to be punished somehow or make sure I'm doing well at all times. I find myself echoing my 11 year old self...someday I hope that stops.
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I was 15. My ex-boyfriend raped me, anal, with knife to my neck, in the back of his car. The following week I fought a strong urge to commit suicide. It's been 5 years. Every boy I've dated since my rapist, I have at some point been repelled by because I see some aspect of my rapist in them. It's nothing personal, I wish they would understand that. The masculine sexuality has a way of disgusting me. I've never had problems with women. I'm now 20. I have a new boyfriend, the first one in a while. I think he understands. For the first time in 5 years I am hopeful.
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I have been sexually assaulted three times all by men who were active in activism and called themselves feminists. To this day I have not had a consensual sexual relationship and most recently realized that 5 years after the fact I still shut down when a man touches me and freeze completely. These men justified their actions because they "liked" me, so when friends suggest changing our relationship to dating, I shut off completely. These men are still my friends on facebook, still would say hi to me on the street, and would never say that they did something wrong. I have only told two people and now in my newest relationship I will tell him this week so he understands why I can't kiss him back just yet.
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I don't know if this is appropriate to share, mainly because I'm afraid of causing any further pain to anyone. But I'm a man, and I'm guilty of having been what I've learned is called a friend-assaulter. When I was younger, in my late teens and early twenties, I dated and slept around as much as typical men do that don't necessarily have a "great game". Self esteem and not wanting to play the asshole role in relationships meant that I wasn't the most successful guy in my dating life, as much as I wish the asshole bit wasn't so effective. "Nice guys finish last" they ALL tell us. ALL OF THEM. I've always been the "nice guy". Even when I was the asshole, no one saw me as the asshole in comparison to the REAL assholes. I've been the nice guy, the empath, the artist. I've come to learn that those were talents I sometimes used to manipulate people, especially women. In retrospect, after much reading, talking with women who have been violated, and working on myself, I have learned that I have coerced and even assaulted more women than I can bare to admit. I'm not talking about a forcing of myself on someone kind of assault. But I do recognize, that even though I never slept with a girl that said no, or even suggested a no (I've been VERY careful in my life to listen for that), sometimes the no is not said directly or indirectly and I know there were a few would have said that if they were comfortable. It's normal for women to abide men/boys in our society without directly protesting. I know this now, but I was never aware of the perspective of my female counterparts in these situations when I was younger. One night, I remember getting really drunk in college at a bar with a fellow employee. I'm not sure what circumstances led to it, but she walked me to her house to stay the night. I remember being in bed with her, and doing the "typical" playbook of "making the moves". She didn't protest, but she wasn't interested physically. I thought, in my hasty drunken state, that maybe she just wasn't yet "in the mood". I touched her, I put my hands under her clothes, and when it went nowhere, I passed out. It was very awkward the next day, and I felt very ashamed. I left, sulking out of the house. At the time, I was sulking because I was rejected and felt pathetic. Now I sulk from that because I realize I violated her. I ruined our relationship as friends and coworkers. I don't remember her ever talking to me again. If I could see her again, I'd tell her that I feel incredible shame and regret for what I did to her. She'd probably do her best to make me feel better and comfortable, even though I assaulted her. That's what she's been wired to do in this situation. I was wired to do what I did in my situation. But it was wrong, and I don't think I would have ever realized that, acknowledged it, or even started working to right the wrongs I've done if it hadn't been for reading through and hearing more stories that women have experienced. It's only now that I see there have been many situations that I was pushing the limits with girls in high school and college. It was always about me. I can never know what negative impact I've had on others, I can never know how many situations I talked girls into that they didn't want, how many sexual encounters were not asked for but abided while I got what I wanted. I don't live with regrets like people tend to talk about. I don't regret the big moves I've made in my life like my career, or my partner, or whether or not I should have tried to make it as an artist. I do live with regrets about what pain I might have caused in acting like a "typical male". I regret the pain I've caused women, any coercion I've engaged in, the manipulation, the slut shaming of past partners, the rejection of female emotional experience, or even just the blind ignorance that I and most men have. Our mothers, sisters, daughters and friends are all experiencing horrific psychological, emotional, and physical abuse by those of us that should be there to help support them. How do we treat them so poorly?! How do we abuse them at our own hands?! How do we protect abusers and not victims?!!! Our society breeds sick men. Sites and stories like these help fix them. I didn't have a disease or illness caused by my society, I had a choice. I just never took the time to learn nor did I ever have a teacher to show me what women experience daily. How many of them are abused. We need more teachers around this. I will do my part to help teach and guide men through my experiences. I will show them this site and continue to share more stories I hear and read. I will do everything I can, and I hope this can help, in some way, to correct my past wrongs. Or at least to prevent future ones for others. I hope reading this hasn't caused anyone any further pain.
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Currently I'm angry at myself for putting up with behavior that, while motivating (sad, I know, that I need that to fuel me), makes me feel bad about myself when there's no reason for me to. I don't have any hangups with sex. I love sex, and don't mean to do that annoying "I was assaulted but I'm sex-positive" shaming thing that is mostly used by men who are secret misogynists and appropriate those happy ending examples for their own delusions. Sometimes I just remember things that men have said about the smell of pussy, or body hair, and general sex-negative bullshit perpetuated by people. It gives me a nasty feeling in my gut and makes me feel like a small child. Even thinking about it makes me want to cry sometimes. I really hate it. Such rhetoric also makes me distrust men altogether. Even guys who seem okay can say something that will bring up this well of passionate anger. I hate that I hate fuck men like that, and enjoy it. Recently, my boyfriend (sigh, I can't find the courage to just up and break up with him, and I'm also just like whatever my friends hate him anyway and he doesn't care, let's just not think about it) made the point of highlighting exactly what's going wrong with my life, the way an emotional abuser does when they are losing control. Even the other night one of his friend's girlfriend's said something about it. Moments like these make me wonder why I can't find anyone who genuinely appreciates me at my best. It seems that I almost thrive off of being thought of as less than. Being into BDSM stuff, I've been told I would make a great dominatrix, but I recently realized that I'm not just a masochist in the bedroom. I don't know if it's a defense mechanism, but I actually thrive off of pain. When I got a second degree burn at work, I felt this incredible high and became hornier than I'd been in years. It's very telling that I'm just talking my way around the most painful moments. I can't even acknowledge them as being painful, I just feel shame, and I can picture some guy somewhere laughing at my trauma and how there were multiple men in multiple places doing things to my body while I just sort of tuned out and experienced Stockholm syndrome. It's the stuff of slut shaming and rape jokes, but when I am in control of being dominated I feel incredibly erotic and powerful.
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When I was 18 I was pseudo-dating a friend of mine. At this point I'm not even sure if we were ever actually friends or if I just felt so sad and sorry for this individual that I said yes to damn near everything they asked of me. I made sure they were clear on the fact that we weren't dating, because the mere thought of dating anyone had made my stomach turn then, but they still kept requesting to take me on "I swear it's totally platonic" dates and buying me gifts and kept track of things like the day we first talked or became friends or our first "date". I could tell they thought of me as much more than a friend but I didn't do anything about it because they were suffering far worse than I was and they said I helped. Any thing I did helped, except for when I would take my own time and space away from them. They were my first kiss. I was 18, I was curious, and here was a more than willing individual who wanted to kiss me. I didn't mind it, the first couple times. It was when it became an almost safety blanket for them that I didn't like it. I didn't like the kissing and the making out when it became a thing that they would turn on me for if I didn't do it. They would give me the most wounded puppy dog eyes if I didn't give them a kiss goodbye and would later send me text messages that were hateful to me, but then hurtful to themselves. Manipulation in the simplest definition, and I allowed myself to be manipulated because I felt responsible for this soul who had invested so much in me. A couple months later we were making out on their bed and they wanted to do more. I said yes because we were already making out with some heavy petting so why not. I would be crazy if I said no, right? My first sexual experience wasn't so bad. It was cut short and neither of us reached orgasm, but I enjoyed myself. It was after that experience when they kept asking if we could do it again. I always said no but they would bring it up almost every day. It made me uncomfortable, but I didn't want to crush them and cause them to hate themselves and do something horrible, so I never voiced my true reasons why I said no. One night I was over at their place and I just gave in. I didn't really enjoy it but I put on a show like I did. I could find it in myself to do anything back so I claimed I was tired and was able to fend them off with that for the rest of the night. I couldn't sleep. We were in the same bed and the only time I was able to sleep was when they got up to go play video games in the other room. We had a falling out not too long ago. We've had several falling-outs but I think this one might be final. But that doesn't change the fact that even though I have been given the chance to kiss, date, or even have sex with people I find attractive, I have turned them down. I'm too afraid to be emotionally manipulated like that again to get close to anyone. I used to have novel-length conversations with people over Skype or text, but now I can't stomach more than sending a couple sentences in a day. For the longest time whenever my phone buzzed I was terrified to pick it up because I was afraid it would be them. I've even lost most of my close-knit friend group from high school because they were a part of it, and I don't want them to have another way to me. I'm better without them in my life, but I know I don't touch as much as I used to or communicate as much unless it's in-person. Don't ever let someone manipulate you into being with them in any form. Don't. You may feel guilty for a short while, but it does not compare to the lasting damage it may cause if you give in.
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I didn't have sex until I was 23. I had a lot of anxiety about it-I had never been a big dater, and I'd never had a boyfriend or girlfriend, and by 23 I was determined to not still be a virgin in my late 20s. I just felt that the longer it went on the more awkward it would eventually be. I started seeing a guy. I'd had a crush on him for a while, and one night he got really drunk and we started holding hands and making out and I got it into my head that he could be relationship material, if I could just get him to like me when he was sober. A few days after the drunken makeout session, we went to the movies, then drove to a field and had sex in the front of his truck. It was...fine. I kept reaching out to him, trying to establish some kind of base for a relationship. I thought that we could be great together. We fell into a pattern of watching movies and having sex about once a week, and it was never great, but I'd heard it wasn't uncommon for it to not feel earth-shattering. My only hard line was that I would not have sex without protection. If we were naked and he wanted his penis in the vicinity of my vagina, he needed a condom. He resented that. He said that it didn't feel as nice, that it wasn't dangerous to start out without a condom as long as he put one on before he came. One night we finished a movie and went into the bedroom to have sex, and once again he asked about putting his penis inside me without a condom. I told him no. He said it would be okay for just a minute. I told him no again. We continued making out and touching, and he rolled on top of me. I felt him position his penis at my vagina and I shoved him off the bed and onto the floor. Then he put on a condom and we finished having sex. Then I stayed and cuddled for a bit. Then I went home. I think I slept with him another one or two times after that. It didn't occur to me that it was assault. About two years after he broke things off I finally realized that he never should have tried it, but it felt so normal as it was happening, like, of course he would want and try to have unprotected sex. Of course I would have to stand up for myself. It's only been in the last couple of months that I realized that I should never have to push a partner off the bed outside of a role-play scenario. I haven't been with anyone since he broke things off. I don't want to put effort into someone else who won't respect my boundaries.
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I started seeing a therapist a few months ago, mostly to talk about all the intense professional work that I do. I did not expect my stories of sexual assault to be uncovered. So I was telling her about my lack of serious romantic relationships all my life, my intimacy issues, my emotional numbness, and my casual sex life which almost never meant sober sex. And then I mentioned what happened the last time I was 'sexually active' a couple months prior and said that I had decided that I can no longer have casual sex with someone who does not care about me, respect me, know me, appreciate me. Sounds normal for some people, but the idea is revolutionary for me. I was used to having sex with guys who did not really give a shit about me, and who I also usually never gave a shit about, because it made it easier. I told her this story of what she then told me was "assault." She used the word "terrifying" to describe what happened. I was confused. I then told her, well, if that's assault, then what about this story? I then told her the story of a time a couple years ago when I was essentially lured into a staged gang rape. Now, this happened in another country, which happens to be serious historical enemies with the people of my cultural background. It was my first time in that country, and my family was afraid for me to go there in general, but I was sure I would be fine. I don't like to be held back by that idea that it's dangerous for women to travel alone, and I knew my family was just closed-minded about meeting 'the enemy' anyway. So when I met this guy while out, who I initially wanted to have sex with, and before I knew it, I was in a cab, and then at some house with this guy and two others. None of them spoke my language very well, but I'm sure they knew what 'no' meant. It was painful to sit down for the next 10 days. But the following morning, as I began to tell my friend what happened as if I had just gotten some action and made sexual peace with the enemy, she told me it didn't sound right. So I never repeated the details again, and just told friends from then on that I had had a foursome, in a way as if it was something to be proud of. Other wild things happened during my trip there so I attributed the change that I had felt within me to those things, and never thought this incident had anything to do with it. I told my therapist this story, too, and she used the words "gang rape" and "violent." It took me a long time to accept that I had become powerless in that situation, that it was not my choice. I still catch myself blaming myself every now and then. I then realized that, hey, if this and that are rape, then I guess I was raped another time, too. In that same 'enemy' country, but by a person of my same cultural background. I met him on my next trip there, maybe 2 years later, a few months ago, and wanted to sleep with him. We hung out that night and then went back to his place and smoked. We started making out, but it made me was too tired to have sex, and I told him this. I told him I couldn't. But then I felt him inside me, without a condom. I again re-wrote this story in my head before telling my friends to make it seem as if my choice was not taken away from me. The day after I spoke to my therapist about all this, a 'friend' was visiting my city from out of the country and needed a place to stay. I had a sexual history with him, but told him I did not want to have sex during his visit, but that he could stay in my bed because there was no other place for him to stay. I explained to him what was going on with me and why I did not want to have sex with him. First, he told me what happened wasn't rape. I got pissed, and taught him a lesson, but not sure it really clicked. We sort of 'made up' and I let him cuddle me because it felt nice to have someone cuddle me -- I literally never cuddle. I only really learned how to cuddle a year ago. Sad, I know. But then he started groping my boobs and getting hard and I told him to stop. The next day, he wanted to see my new tattoos, and I told him okay. He sat on my back and started getting all sexual, getting hard and starting to dry hump me. I was frozen underneath him and could not believe he was still trying. I finally told him to get the fuck off and get the fuck out. He looked at me as if I had done something wrong and started to pack up his things and go, even though he had nowhere to go, so I felt bad and tried to talk it out as 'friends' - though he was clearly not a friend. We got drunk that night and I blacked out and woke up naked. He told me he had taken my clothes off so I didn't fall asleep in them. He left the next morning as according to his plan. I later messaged him telling him he is a disgusting piece of shit who doesn't know what 'no' means and essentially told him that he is a potential rapist. He responded by telling me that it's my fault and that I blame men for everything, then I blocked him. It has been about 9 months now since I have had sex, and this weekend was the first time I made out with anyone in the same amount of time. We were drunk dancing at a bar and his friend-of-friends I met once before started making out with me. I almost feel guilty for enjoying it so much, and I question if I really wanted it even though it was so good, or if I should not have set that 'rule' in the first place about not sleeping with someone who doesn't really appreciate me, or if I am being too hard on myself. How will I learn how to be in a healthy, healing sexual relationship if I do not discipline myself a bit?
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I was raped by a stranger when I was 17. I did not tell anyone for 4 years, until my best friend was stabbed to death during what we presume was an attempted rape by her 15 year old neighbor. I went to a rape crisis support group after that. I will mention it to friends and have "come out" publicly on social media with no specific details. I'm about to turn 50 and I cannot think about the event with more than a skittering thought - like skipping a rock across a frozen lake. It remains a defining moment in my life and I will not call myself a survivor in more than the physical sense. I could easily have been a body dump, but I was not. Psychologically it scarred me. I am not a survivor in that regard. I have the me before the rape and the me after the rape. It has colored my view of men and power in sexual and non-sexual heterosexual relationships. I do love men. I have an amazing boyfriend at the moment. Ultimately, deep down, I have no trust in them though. I find myself thinking about how weak they are. It makes me sad.
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One night I woke up and felt a heavy weight on my back. I was a front sleeper. The body on top of me kept moving on me and when I was fully awake, I came to realize that my older brother was sexually violating me. I moved and faked waking up to get him off of me. I was at the mere age of 10. I am 19 and yet to forget of that night, and know that there were many nights similar to that. I do not know when my body stopped being violated but I do know that I will never forgive my brother, the one person who was meant to protect me from these occurrences and from predators just like him. He was at an age where he would have known right from wrong and that is what saddens me. He has yet to apologize and I am never to forgive, because he broke me and a simple sorry will never be able to fix my broken self.
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When I was 9, my brother would try to catch me changing clothes and one day he held me and touched my breasts. I spent many years trying to help heal him. He would ask me personal sexual questions. I thought it was too minor to be sexual abuse and felt so guilty and responsible to help him. I realize that it contributed to me accepting a low standard of care from men while i tried to be their helper. My brother would talk about sex with me until i was a young adult. I wanted my own sexuality so I tried to have sex and date many men. I've dated many guys who were coercive with me and I struggled with saying no. One guy pushed my head down multiple times when I declined to suck his dick. Once I was in a room with multiple guys who were all touching me and trying to get me to touch and suck their dicks. Once a guy I liked put my hands in his pants and made me touch his dick even though I told him I wanted to go to sleep. But I liked him and continued to date him. He coerced me into sexual acts when I just wanted to hang out with him and get to know him. I'm learning now how to say yes and no, how to protect my energy, and that my sense of comfort and safety is the most important, not a negotiable.
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I was raped while I was intoxicated by a person i had consensual sex with earlier in the night. It took a while for me to comprehend what had happened so I didn't report it immediately. When I did report it the detective on my case said a jury would have no reasonable doubt to believe I was raped because I had sent him naked photos and he had a photo of us in bed together (which I have no recollection of). I think that hurt more than the assault did, that no one would believe me.
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I was raped by my then husband just 7 days after the birth of our child. He put a pillow over my face and held it there so he didn't have to hear me cry while he forced himself inside of me. When he was done he told me he just couldn't wait any longer for sex and that it was unfair of me to have expected him to wait as long as he already had. After that I spent 6 more demoralizing years married to him. I never desired sex with him again so he had sex with other women. If those women weren't available though he would force himself upon me, then complain that I was not giving him what he needed.
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I've been stalked, assaulted, harassed, raped. I didn't know any of this before recently. It didn't seem to matter. They were small incidents, and I didn't feel anyway. So I told myself (and the part about not feeling is true! I really didn't, very much or on the whole). I had depression for a while. My whole life, maybe. Well, probably not my whole life. I think when I was young, very young, I must have been happy. When I was three, for example. I used to like watching steam come out of the sewer grates near where I lived. That is a happy memory. I think I don't have a very good memory. But anyway. But that's related to depression to. And/or some precursor of it. And depression is related to why I've had... all the problems I had, specifically in re: what I said above! Well, in re: being stalked, assaulted, harassed, raped. (Sigh.) No parentheses. Sigh! I don't know how to tell these stories, because I'm usually seen as funny, and this is very unfunny, or so I've been told. And so it is. I don't even know why I'm talking this way. It's hard to tell. But let me try to tell it, at least a little. I was raped. But I'll start with something else. My head is all in shards from depression and other problems. I might have autism, too. I might have Asperger's (a form of autism). ("High-functioning" autism, as some say -- or that I am (or would be, if they had to "evaluate" me) -- a "high-functioning autistic" or "person" or something.) Anyway. Yeah, I go into detail about the wrong things sometimes. Who decides what the right kind of detail is? I don't, apparently. That's a problem. And that's related to why I went crazy after I had sex for the first time. Or, I should say -- because it's accurate, and I value truth -- after I was raped. Which is also -- the same thing as ------ when I had sex for the first time. It was non-consensual sex. This is why I say I was raped. Duh! Rape is non-consensual sex, no? But mine was not so easy to define. I'm worried someone will read this and know who I am. I doubt they will. But I'm a little paranoid sometimes. Sometimes it comes off as charming (or so I hope). But I am, truly, a little paranoid. And I was definitely -- Well, maybe not paranoid. But anxious, anyway, and I'd say with good reason! I'd say that in retrospect. --in re: the night I was raped! Sounds so formal, doesn't it. So official. "The night I was raped." Oy. I don't know how to talk about this. Except by talking about how I don't know how to talk about it, I suppose. Okay, on with the story. So I was raped. Then I went on a second date with the guy. He was a nice guy. Everyone agreed. And by "everyone" I meant my mom. And me, actually. And probably other people. I told one of my friends about him. The day after ... No, when was it? Well, I can't quite remember. But I talked to my friend (from college) sometime after I had sex with this guy (read: after he raped me!). And I described him (the guy -- my friend was (and still is! as far as I know...) a girl) as a nice guy. I described him in positive terms, I was going to say. Because I did. Describe him that way, I said. And I said it was very nice to spend time with him, and very normal to lie around naked and touch each other and have sex with another person, and I thought sex should be a normal thing between two people. I thought, I mean, that sex shouldn't be a taboo subject, basically. Shouldn't be so strictly monitored or ... hm. Well, I guess taken so seriously? No that's not quite it. I didn't think sex should be taboo. End of story. I liked being casual about it. As I perceived -- yes, "casual"! -- our "sex" (rape!) was. It was casual, in a way. First we were on this sort of grassy path, out in the wilderness. By a farm. Near where I live but closer to where he lived. Actually I don't live in the same place anymore. But nearby, still. I think that's important, actually. I'll get into that, later. In this post (duh). (Where else would I get into it?? Where you'd be able to find it???) He said there were a lot of mosquitoes around. It's true; there were, in my recollection, too. Um. We kissed at one point. It was really boring. He had a hard-on. I didn't know I was gay then. (Amazing, that, to me! That I didn't know, I mean. And I was already 24! Almost the age I am now (I'm 25).) Of course, if I'd known I was gay I wouldn't have assented to a date with him. I decided to give it a try. He was so nice to ask me, I thought. He said he would love to take me on a wonderful date. Something like this. He used the word "wonderful" for sure, and the phrase "wonderful date" for doubly sure. Or whatever. He definitely said it. I have the text to prove it! Anyway. Yes, he asked me on a date via text. Weird? I don't know. I wouldn't know. I'd never dated! And that was one reason I said yes. I'd never been on a date before, not even with someone boring or/and whom I didn't like! I thought I would try it. I like trying new things. I like to think I'm open-minded and generous, and like to take people up on their offers when they are kind enough to make them! That is what I thought, at the time. And I used to think (i.e., thought at this time) that my sexual orientation was... how do I say... nonexistent. I mean, no, that's not quite the... right phrase. I thought I didn't give a fuck about people's gender. I didn't even know what the fuck gender was. (Pardon all my "fuck"ing, please! I don't usually use that word. It just came out! I assumed it was truth or something or the real story, anyway! Or part of it. Otherwise I wouldn't use that word, I assure you, but like I said I value truth (or I think I do, usually).) Well, not knowing I was gay -- all the gender-ambiguity stuff instead (or gender-unsureness stuff? Not sure what to call it) -- I had no reason, really, to say no. In my mind. And it's not like I had friends or something. They all left me! Boo-hoo. I sort of thought of it that way, though. Not knowing I hadn't had any ever to begin with...! But that's sad, and not where this story is going. Not that I'm against telling sad stories, but. I'm not telling that one yet. But it contributes to why I was raped. I didn't know what good relationships were -- from a lifetime of not having friends. And not having any developed relationships of any kind. Part of this is because I'm autistic. Is it???? My goodness. I have no idea! I sometimes think I became autistic, to any degree I did (because, after all, I'm not entirely sure I'm autistic! I just suspect I am, or at least used to be???? If one can unbecome autistic to any measure) (and if anyone is able to become something entirely different from what they were, it's me!) (Or so I like to dream, believe, think, hope!!)........ BECAUSE (continuing that sentence) I didn't have any close relationships in my life. Ai, ai, oi. I don't know why I'm talking like this (again). It's all intertwined for me. Hard to separate. Various ways in which I'm oppressed, specific circumstances that happened to me (or that I was in), and... well, my family. And my culture, too (beyond my family (of origin)). (Which is the only family, of course, I have. Although I don't have them, either. They're dead to me, I hesitate to say -- but it seems real, accurate. So I'll say it! They're dead to me! I have no family, baby! How 'bout that!) So this guy. On a grassy slope/trail/hill/walkway thing with him. Boy, I'm eloquent, eh? He thought so. Amazing, that. I'm not eloquent, as I hope you can tell. Just kidding. Kind of. He thought I was a great conversationalist or something. He said something like this. Well, I was feeling confident that day (evening) (as confident as I could) (relatively great, for me). My friend had just forwarded me a video about radical body acceptance and I had totally watched it and felt great about it and applied all the concepts as well as I could and was applying them like a demon, baby! Like, really well is what I meant. (I like demons. Sue me.) He must have noticed my... confidence. I sure noticed it. He picked me up in his car. He came to my house! Apartment, really. Rang the bell. I came out, greeted him......... it was awkward........ I'm not going to get into details...... We had some conversations in the car. Then and at other times. They weren't very interesting, I have to say. Although I was feeling very confident (for me!) and enjoying that. And I enjoy people. I like talking to people. So that part of it was fun. And he was nice enough, like I said. He raped me, though. So how does that work? How can he be "nice" and also have raped me? That was a big part of why I didn't know it was rape, for a while. This was about a year ago. Actually, more like a year and a third ago, or so. Roughly. Actually almost a year and a half ago! Wowwww. Hard to reconcile. The truth of what happened and also how long ago it happened. How short ago, really... I'm just rambling. I'll try to write better. So... I smoked pot at this guy's house and then thought I was going crazy. It was some pretty... dope-ass pot. By which I mean... was there dope in this pot?? By which I mean... was there something other than marijuana in there??? Because I really thought I was going crazy, losing my mind! and all. Not fun. I've never felt that before, either. Before then, I mean. And I've felt it once since then. In an episode kind of related to that. Well, everything was related to it. Being raped destroyed my life. I won't mince words, baby! I don't know why I keep saying "baby". I use it as a term of affectionate endearment! (Is there any other kind?) But I'll stop saying it, because it's kind of annoying. Okay. I think I'm trying to soothe myself and that's why I keep saying it, maybe? Hm... Well, pot affects me very strongly. I smoked it once in college. I was high for 24 hours afterward, no kidding. The entire next day. People didn't even believe me, but I was definitely high the entire next day (it wore off by evening, as I recall). (So about 24 hours or close to that.) I have no idea why it affects me like that. But even so! Well, maybe -- the night I was raped -- it didn't affect me so much more than the first time, but... Oh wait. I didn't smoke pot the night I was raped. It was on the second date I smoked the pot. Yes, he offered it to me. After I said I'd like to go home (and was exhausted (I said, too)). He was going to drive me home... and thought he would smoke some pot first? What a weirdo. What a scumbag. I don't say that just because he was smoking pot (like I care!). And to be clear, I have nothing against scum. It's just an accurate label, as I see it. He was full of scum. He was a bag of scum. I like scum okay -- I don't judge a pond for having scum, and I even like scum, to be honest (and even love it at times!) -- but I don't want to hang around it, to be honest (again). I don't want to hang out with scum or bags of it like he was, and perhaps still is. (He's still in the area, last I heard.) He convinced me he'd be fine to drive. I wanted to trust him. I'm pretty trusting or was working on it, on being more trusting. I thought that was a virtue, after all. I'm trying to make this understandable. Because I don't really understand it. So, he raped me. On the first date. To be clear, I said yes to having sex. Which means it's not rape, right? Wrong!!! I said no with everything but my voice. I barely had a voice. So underused from dearth of relationships and dearth of honesty... (from me, I mean. Dearth of honesty from me). Whatever, I don't know how to talk. Case in freaking point! I didn't know how to say "no" either. Well, I did. I didn't want to say it. He was so kind to take me out, after all. An opinion I could only have -- I think -- because no one had ever asked me out before. They had propositioned me for sex (or one person had -- an extremely awkward boy I suspect no one else ever talked to that much?) (other than his girlfriend, so maybe my impression was wrong. Yes, he had a girlfriend during the time he propositioned me. Oy, again). They had stalked me (as I mentioned at the top of this post). Harassed me (mentioned). Not many, but enough to be seriously fucked up!!! And annoying!!! And everything else! Anxiety-producing. But, see, I lived in such anxiety to go with my depression all the time that I didn't register it. I mean it didn't register to me. I was nervous from the second this guy (the one who raped me) (and there was only one, thank god) (or thank the gods or whatever) (fuck that, I'm thanking no one) (for many reasons)...... talked to me. I blocked it out. I didn't think he was good news. I think, if I'd noticed or known I was feeling nervous or anxious from the second he talked to me, I wouldn't have gone out with him. Or even talked to him that much. But it didn't register. It was more of the same -- what I always felt. It sort of blended into the ambient anxiety and nervousness of my general consciousness, I think, and I didn't notice it, didn't think about it or vocalize it. I said I was bad at talking? Yes. I didn't even know I didn't want sex. I thought I wanted it. I suppose it was something new and more exciting than what I was doing with the rest of my life at the time. I liked the idea of sex. I'd never had sex, as I said. I thought it would be nice with the right person. Even with the wrong person, maybe. Well, not really. But I had some fucked-up ideas about sex. Did i? Eh. Excuse my... casualness? I'm usually a little more formal. I was trying to loosen up with him. This guy (let's call him Tim!) (a fine name.) (I hate that name.) (I have nothing against people named Tim, I just hate the name.) (And now I hate this guy's name, too. The guy's real name, I mean.) (No, I don't hate his name. Just him. Really? Do I really hate him? Yeah, I do. How surprising! Because I pretty much never say I hate people. But I really do hate him. What a scumbag! :) ) I'll never tell my mom I was raped. Never! Oh my god, what is wrong with me? See how I kind of made myself go crazy? Wrong: I didn't make myself go crazy. Even kind of. It wasn't in my control. I didn't even go crazy. I just came close. Dangerously close. I thought my mind was destroying itself! Good grief. I think that's all I need to say. Rape destroyed my life. Yup. Shattered it. Beyond-shattered it. I was a bag of glass. Before, during, and after. But before, it was shards of glass. During, it was shards of glass. And after, it was shards of glass. But different. Different shards each time. First, they were bigger. Then they broke down smaller. Then even smaller. No, is that right? It is. Hard to distinguish the shards. Shards from one era to another. I've had so much trauma in my life, I mean, it all blends together. There was no one big catastrophe for me, you know. Well, there was... But my life was in shambles before then, too. I just didn't know it. Because of depression. And autism and all the problems that caused (if indeed I had it. And if not, then something else closely mimicking it, all or almost all its symptoms). And this society and how it causes problems just because you're different from the dominant culture in any way! From dominant groups in any way! Well, I don't know much about this. I don't know much about "society" or oppression or anything like that. My experience tells me to be careful. I wish I didn't have to be. End. No. Not yet. Now. End. NO. See? Some resistance there. Surprised even me. I'm doing better now, thank you for asking. And I think I've talked long enough. I tend to talk too long in general. One of my flaws. Luckily you can stop reading if you want. I've had a lot of problems with men. One reason I decided to become gay. What? I didn't decide it. One reason I don't date men. There we go. Thank you. For the truth. I thank myself, I guess. Well, well, well. Is there something I'm leaving out? No? I think there is. What's that? My fear. No, we covered that. Ooh, almost said my name there! That wouldn't be good. Yeah, I was afraid of people knowing me. Still am. Afraid to admit I was gay, too. If I'd known, in high school, say, that I was gay... I probably would have killed myself. Not even kidding. I was a serious homophobe. Still am, maybe. No, not as much. As much or at all. I may not even be a homophobe anymore. But boy did I grow up with some homophobic bullshit around. Maybe it wasn't homophobic in particular as much as scared in general. I was racist as all get-out, too. I was ableist to an extreme. I was transphobic like nobody's business. Boy, I was scared of everything and everybody! Even myself! Especially myself. I like to think that I'm less scared, but I'm not sure. But I think my body was protecting myself. My body? My mind? A little bit of each, or both together (what is body? what is mind?). (We could say psyche, if you want: both together, no? At least in the archaic sense?) (The etymological sense of the word "psyche", I mean? I don't actually know that. Sue me! Or better yet, look it up yourself! :) ) Something in me protected me from killing myself or being seriously injured psychically or psychologically. Let's say psychologically, it's more current. This page is called "reclaiming love"? Really? Oh, it's not. It's "reclaim.love". What does love have to do with sexual assault? Or painful sexual experiences? I'm sure it does, I'm just too numb to tell. I sometimes just think I'm really stupid. Could be, could be. "Stupid": shares a root with word "stupefy". Like, you're stunned. Like in Harry Potter. "Stupefy!" But actually in the English language, too, -- the two words actually share a root. Pretty cool, huh? I think I'm stupid as in stunned, sometimes. And can't think very well. I don't know. You can't do anything really well when you're stunned, can you? Wow. I have no idea what to say now. But I sense this is finished. It is. Weird, huh? Life. Rape. Sex. Autism. Depression. Family. Society. Oppression. Culture. Men. Women. Genders. Non-binary people. Panoply of genders! And so much more. (DUHHHHHH.) I'm a little disabled, too. But that's not too relevant. Apart from the depression, I mean, I'm disabled. I don't count autism (if I even have it) as a disability. I count it as a superpower!!!! Woohooooo! But maybe if I hadn't had it, people would've asked me out sooner. I wonder. It wasn't just that, of course. I actively gave people signals that I didn't want to go out. Because I didn't. They were creeps and I was scared of them! As I saw it. Hm. I don't know why rape happened to me. I try to understand it, but I can't. And that's the last line. Or is it? Evidently not. Was there a lesson here? Oh. Let go. I guess so. I guess not. I don't know any lessons yet. So, that's all.
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First off, this is a beautiful project. I've never felt comfortable expressing these things. I'm still not comfortable; but I need to get it out. When I was in second grade, a boy on the bus put a water bottle in his pants told me that was how I made him feel. I was in third grade the first time I was told I had "dick sucking lips." When I was in middle school, a guy in my class reached into my jeans and snapped my thong when I was bending over to pick something up. I was a fifteen year old freshman in high school when my boyfriend forced himself on me. I lost my virginity to my high school boyfriend in a mundane way. He was sweet about it and told me he would wait until I was ready. There was no foreplay, just about two minutes of him not fitting into me, him finishing, and then me finding out I'm allergic to latex condoms. It was only a month later that it all went to hell. It was the day after his junior prom, and we had both been up all night. We were cuddling in his bed. He started to initiate sex and I said no. He kept going, but this time for anal. I said no again, I said stop. I'll never forget how pathetic he sounded when he whispered "but it feels so good." I stopped saying "no" and we had anal sex. I never thought anything of it. I didn't see it as traumatic at the time. In my head, it wasn't rape. Sex education didn't include sexual coercion in my high school. I had said "no," but I didn't fight him off. I didn't hit him or scream or cry. I just let it happen, unimpeded. That's really how it went from then on. He would coerce me into passively accepting things I had explicitly said no to initially. Once he was choking me during sex and I pretended to pass out just so he would stop. I knew telling him to stop would just trigger a cascade of him trying to convince me to change my mind. I did a lot of things out of guilt and insecurity. He cheated on me consistently and would somehow convince me it was my fault. The first time it happened I was away at church camp. I had to leave my driver's ed class because I couldn't stop crying after he texted me at 5 am confessing another event. He was "sick" on my sixteenth birthday and missed dinner with my family. I made him soup and brought it to him as a surprise. He was in bed with another girl. My birthday in on Christmas eve. I thought I wasn't pretty, maybe I was too fat or not sexual enough. I thought I might have been boring or bad in bed, and if I let him do what he wanted to me, maybe he wouldn't cheat. I thought, he wasn't like this at first, he's just going though some shit, I know how he really is, I can get him back to how he used to be. We were at a going away party for a girl he was cheating on me with when he hit me. He slapped me in front of a dozen people and then continued to verbally abuse me as I sat there, stunned. No one moved. Everyone let him yell and I silently cried and texted my sister for a ride home. A girl at the party told her what happened when she arrived and she broke his jaw. He blames me for that. I'm sure he still does. He used to throw things at me, but never to hit me with them, just to scare me. Remotes would hit the wall by my head, his fist would pound the bed next to me. He said I pushed his buttons, that I made him angry and he wouldn't do these things if I would just stop making him so angry. Once he was sad about losing a family member and punched his windshield and it shattered. He told his mom he did it because I was "pushing his buttons." Apparently being physically aggressive because your girlfriend is annoying you is more socially acceptable than having burst of anger over the inability to deal with grief. One time he left me at his drug dealer's house so he could take a girl he had cheated on me with a bottle of rum she left in his car. We broke up a lot. Once we were broken up, and he told me to go to his house and wait for him to get off work, that he missed me. I fell asleep on his couch. At three in the morning he woke me up to kick me out. Apparently he had tried to text me, he brought another girl home and needed me to leave. I broke it off and decided moving on was the best idea. I had never been with anyone else and he had, so maybe sex wasn't a big deal and that was what I was missing. I had been flirting with this guy at work for a very long time, and he asked me out. We started dating quickly. My ex found out and texted me that he hoped I wrecked my car and died. He also said his life would be perfect if I had never been born. Meanwhile he was shacking up with the girl with the rum bottle. The new guy pulled off the condom during sex without telling me, and acted surprised when I got angry, like I had no reason to be upset. When I noticed I asked if he was clean and he told me he might have herpes, he wasn't sure. He was cheating on me with a girl who had herpes, but she told him he couldn't get it if she wasn't having an outbreak. I became severely depressed and couldn't quite put the reason into a cohesive idea. I thought men hated me, that I was unworthy of love and deserved the abuse. I checked myself into a psych ward and was put on suicide watch just before my eighteenth birthday. When I got out, he acted very concerned that I hadn't spoken to him in a few days, frantic even. When he found out I was on antidepressants, he called me weak and said the pills were a crutch. I didn't realize the source of all of my anxiety and depression was sexual assault, varying levels of abuse, and sexual coercion until college. I was single for almost three years after we stopped speaking. The next guy I dated had a manic depressive episode after we broke up amicably. HE told me he loved me and that I was satan in the same breath. He said I hurt everyone I come into contact with. I almost believed him at the time. Another two years went by and I dated another guy very briefly. We knew each other for years. We talked everyday, but we live in different towns. We had sex and suddenly the talking stopped. He started lying to me and standing me up with ridiculous excuses. He called me controlling when I told him he needed to call me if he was going to cancel our date so I don't wait around for him like an idiot. That was just last month. We don't talk at all anymore. Each relationship I've had is shorter than the previous one. Each is slightly less traumatic, slightly less offensive, slightly less toxic, slightly less scarring. I think about my first relationship a lot, but not consciously, more of the whirlwind of emotions and the things I learned. By age 18 I knew everything I would and would not accept from other people, and I knew I would be miserable until I started demanding respect from partners. I try really hard to forgive my past self for not leaving, for trying so hard to make everything work. I want to forgive her for thinking that deep down, everyone is inherently good. I want to forgive her for falling in love. I want to forgive her for being passive. I want to forgive her for staying, for going back. I want to tell her why she's so sad all the time, and that it's not her fault. That she's beautiful and kind and smart and worth an equal amount of love. I want to tell her one day she'll find the right man, but I'm afraid of lying to her. I'm still learning it's not my fault. That is wasn't because I was ugly or mean or dumb or a bad girlfriend. I know that I don't bring pain to everyone I meet. I'm trying to convince myself to trust new people, but 8 years of manipulative and abusive relationships have made me wary of trusting new people. 8 years of being discarded after sex has made me self conscious. I haven't been able to orgasm during sex (without the use of drugs) since my first boyfriend. I'm really not sure how to fix this, or if its something that needs to be fixed. It is what it is. I haven't fallen in love. No one has fallen in love with me, either. Maybe ever. Even though he told me consistently that he loved me and he always came back to me, you don't treat the people you love with such reckless disrespect and hate. He hated me. He probably hates himself. Saying "I love you so much" doesn't justify making someone uncomfortable or scared or feel pain. I really hoped by the time I got to the end of this, that it would be relieving, light a weight off of my chest. It isn't. It just is there now. Its not bottled up, but I still feel it. I still feel uncomfortable with what happened to me, and I feel shame for letting it all happen over and over again. Being sixteen and in love blinded me to my situation. Being 23 and relatively numb has given me insight I couldn't see when I was there. It's like getting hit by a bus but not realizing it because the headlights were blinding you three inches from your face. I don't know if anyone will ever read this. I'm not sure if this site gets any traffic, or what sort of people visit here. I just want to let you know that you are going to be okay. Eventually. You deserve better. Respect yourself and demand others do the same, but please forgive yourself for the things that happened to you. It is not your fault, and it's not fair that it's your burden to carry. It's not fair. It's heavy and damaging and emotionally traumatic, but it's not your fault. Try very hard to forgive yourself for the things you didn't realize, the things you couldn't control, the things that happened to you. Know that you are not alone. And that I love you.
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the first time it happened i was 16 then again at 21 then 22 now i am 25 and i know i am in an abusive relationship that is so hard to get out of. he yells at me and tells me he loves me and that is the reason he is yelling at me. i try and try to give him the benefit of the doubt, play to his intelligence, intellectualize it for him. he knows the definitions of the words, he speaks the code of "feminist"/"activist", yet constantly fails how to recognize these traits in himself. and somehow i feel like it is my responsibility to teach him. most recently he picked me up in his car and then drove to a parking lot where we "talked" which consisted of him telling me how angry I should be at the systems that are fucking me over, yelling at me for not responding to a shitty thing that happened at work in a "radical" enough way, and telling me that the reason he did all of this is because he loves me, while simultaneously telling me I hurt his feelings and that I was an oppressor. while we were driving home he pulled over to another street and told me that he was scared I would leave him without wanting to talk to him again, and then tried to grab me. I have been sexually assaulted many times, which I have, like the author of this piece, denied their happening and tried to turn them into something else, instead of being able to come to turns with them or face them, but while reading the authors writing and then thinking of the way I reacted to his touch/grab - so intensely, so immensely angry and so quick - yelling " don't touch me!" loudly in a car, my reaction made complete sense as someone who has gone through sexual trauma. Sometimes I even shock myself, when I think of who I was pre-attacks and assaults, and how I imagine who I was in terms of sexuality and sex, I realize that today I am a completely different person than who I was in those parts of my life. I am sad that this has happened, that my body being touched is so shocking and painful to me sometimes that I react so LOUDLY that it even surprises me, but I am also proud of myself for realizing that touch IS important and my body IS important and so i am allowed to be loud if my body has been violated, even the slightest, without my want. I am queer, and dating this man was the first time I had been in a hetero relationship since I was 16 years old and in an abusive relationship in high school. I am so angry that my experience at 25 has mirrored so closely a relationship I had almost 9 years earlier because I deeply believed and wanted this experience to be different…I do feel like my queerness is a partially a result of being sexually abused and assaulted, and that my first chosen relationship with a man after dating queer and trans people for so long in between, is again an abusive relationship that still feels hard to get out of. Even though I am educated, well-read, experienced, and feel like I have a general higher awareness than 16 year old me, I still am shocked and sometimes feel like I cannot breathe with the tightness that comes from being treated unhealthily in a relationship and not being able to exit that safely. I need to continuously remind myself that if I he does not care about my feelings, than I do not need to care about his. When he says that I make him sad or that he needs me, or that he treats me "like this" because "he loves me", I need to know that those are tools of manipulation because of his need to control me and the situations around him. I am sad even writing this, because he deeply believes in transforming the world, but doesn't see how he is hurting the people closest to him. It is a hard line to walk. It is hard to feel, but I am thankful for sites like this and people like all y'all who are contributing and the author for being so brave to share her story. lots of love and liberation. <3
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These memories are splinters, but I think I was four when my best friend and I started experimenting. Somehow, a group of older boys found out. I don't know what happened first... my memories are broken. The friend and I were following some older kids. They confronted us about it and made us get naked (if we didn't they were going to leave us there for the boogie man to find us). Then there were the games of truth or dare. I remember pain. I was maybe 7 or 8 when a boy who was five years older started to molest me on a weekly basis. This continued up until I was around 13. Another boy, 7 years older, found out about the other boy who was molesting me. Instead of saving me, he pressured me into having sex with him. I became a toy. I was passed around, compliant, but scared that I was "going to get in trouble". I was certain that God knew, and I was going to hell. I was the only girl in a cabin up in the woods. One by one, I was forced to perform oral sex. The other boy who was still molesting me, he "showed me" to two cousins, and later to two other boys (again, older). I had sex with them all. Sometimes I was forced to have sex with more than one at a time. This is what "I was for". I knew nothing different from this. Because he was in vo-tech, he rode the elementary school bus home every day. every day. We were the last two off of the bus. The bus ride was an hour long. When they both graduated from high school, it stopped but I began to act out sexually. I was afraid to say 'no' because I knew exactly what happens when you say 'no'. I had sex with anyone who tried including a 22-year-old, a 30something-year-old. When I was 19 I slept with a married man who was 42. When I was 17, I moved to another country as an exchange student. After my boyfriend failed to pick me up, I decided to walk down to where I thought he would be drinking with some friends. A drunk man saw me and was hiding behind a tree. When I walked past, he jumped out at me, and began to ask if I wanted sex because "I looked like a slut". I started to half walk / half run. I was afraid to panic or escalate the situation because there was no one else around. When he grabbed me and pushed me against a building, I shut down. He began to kiss me and press himself up against me, eventually putting his hand down my pants. When he left his guard down, I broke free and ran as fast as I could to a busy street. He was running behind me. I ran out into the street and was almost hit by a car. No one would stop. I stood in the middle of busy avenue for what seemed like forever. Eventually, a woman made her husband back up and she opened the door and pulled me in with no questions. She knew. I have dedicated my life to trying to understand why this, any of this, happens. I don't have a choice.
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I want to post this partly to draw attention to the fact that abuse happens in female/female relationships as well, and that it has taken me an especially long time to unpack that experience because the dominant and familiar cultural narrative is of male abusers. It's also more common to talk about people forcing themselves on you physically, when it happens all the time that people force themselves on you by emotional persuasion and making you feel guilty or wrong if you don't comply. So much of the resistance was just in my head, and I was locked in there suffering all by myself, not feeling like I could say how much I wasn't enjoying things, but outwardly showing total ambivalence, sadness, disconnection and disinterest. Emotional coercion permeated the whole relationship--her feelings were always in emergency mode and she needed protection, which meant I had to put down whatever I was doing and run to her at all hours. It was a long relationship, so here are just a few examples of how the coercion manifested in our sex life: She wanted to spank me. I never expressed any interest in that. I never acted excited about it. But because she wanted it and enjoyed it, I would give neutral responses instead of the negative ones I wanted to make. Looking back, it absolutely blows my mind that she could have spanked me and gotten no positive reaction and kept going, always getting harder and harder. If she noticed something was wrong, she usually got annoyed with me and asked basically, "what's wrong?" but what was implied was, "what's wrong with you/ why are you ruining this?" She got a dildo and wanted to fuck me with it. I didn't like the way it felt and said it was too much. She said "you can take it." She was slow with it and didn't put it all the way in. But she always wanted to fuck me and I never liked it, and she always said I could take it. I would be like, "really, are you sure?" And she would always say, "yes, you can take it." In hindsight it's so obvious: that was not up to her! The only person who decides what I can take is me. : ( At one point she told me she really wanted to try it with a male third. I said no. She had been my only sexual partner to date, so introducing someone new was a huge deal for me. On the night of, I was drinking and smoking to excess, which is totally unusual for me, just getting wasted. It was the only way I could handle it; I was afraid. She should have seen that and been like, that is an indication my partner isn't ready for this. Obviously I am responsible for my own choices. But now that I'm examining that whole situation, I'm asking myself if I would ever bring that into a partner's life when phe wasn't ready for it? The answer is no, I would never push someone into a threesome. Our sex life together morphed over time so that I would keep my clothes on and just pleasure her, every time. I didn't want to be touched. Multiple times towards the end when she would actually touch me, I would be crying. In my head, I would be thinking about how I didn't want her, and feeling incredibly guilty about it. I would be focusing on the other person I was interested in, wishing I was with him with all my heart. That made me feel just completely evil, to be thinking about him while I was with her. Now that I look back on it, it's not wrong to want to be with someone else. It was just what I wanted. What was wrong was the fact that she would keep touching me when I was emotionally wrecked. That's not okay.
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A couple of years after college I reconnected with a friend that had had a crush on me throughout high school. He had been in the military but we both wound up back in the same area. Despite not wanting to date him we had always been close and after we reconnected I wound up intertwined with his friend group. I went to a party at his house and everyone got pretty trashed. I had been spending time with one of his friends and it became pretty clear to everyone there that the friend and I and the friend's ex-gf were heading towards a threesome. Before we left he came up to me and said that if I needed a place to go later I could come crash in his room. Predictably the threesome got awkward eventually and I was so grateful that my friend had been looking out for me, so I went up to his room. I was so wasted I could barely stand. His mattress took up most of the floor so I laid down and nearly passed out but he started trying to get me undressed. I kept saying no over and over and over. I said no and stop and sort of flailed at him as he took off all my clothes except my underwear and then dry humped me until he came. I remember being like "please just don't come on my underwear". I was so glad it was over I just went to sleep and snuck out in the morning. A few weeks later I confronted him and told him that maybe it wasn't rape because there wasn't penetration but I definitely felt violated. He didn't say anything. I told him never to talk to me again and that was it. I thought I had dealt with it but looking back over the last 12 years I realize that I have only had friends with benefits and it mostly involves them doing whatever they want to me.
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I was 18, and it was orientation week at my college. I was hanging out with some new friends, drinking wine and smoking weed. The guy sitting next to me kept passing me the wine bottle, and I kept drinking from it. I was lonely and scared and two thousand miles from my parents and home. When he started to touch me, run his fingers along the top of my jeans, I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to make a big scene in front of these cool new college friends. He asked me to go back to his room with him and I went. I thought maybe we could just make out for a while and then I could go back to my dorm, but of course it quickly escalated and he started undressing me, asking me to have sex with him. I said no again and again. He was rubbing his penis against me, getting it closer and closer to my vagina, but I kept saying no. He didn't force it into me. Instead he came all over my breasts just before his roommate came back. He quickly wiped his semen off me with my bra and told me to go into the closet while he talked to his roommate. I shakily got dressed in the closet and left. All I could think was, thank god I wasn't more drunk, or it would have been worse. When I tried to talk to my closest friend, who is male, about it a few days later, my friend said that the guy didn't mean anything by it, and that I was making a big deal out of something that was just a misunderstanding. I believed him.
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When I was travelling in northern Brazil with a girlfriend, I met this Columbian guy who was really cute. I was attracted to him and he was attracted to me. One evening we started making out in the forest near the outdoors spot where everyone was sleeping. It was great but I didn't want to go further because we didn't have any condoms with us at that moment. He didn't care, he said he would pull out. I said no several times, I physically tried to stop him. But I didn't run away, and I didn't cry to my friends nearby for help. I was turned on by the situation, even if ultimately I really did not want to have unprotected sex with him. He eventually forced me down in the sand, quite violently, and despite my repeated nos and my trying to get away from under him, he forcefully penetrated me. It was good, but I wanted him to stop. I kept telling him to stop and trying to get out, but he wouldn't. He pulled out and came. I didn't tell my friends about it later, and we even spent the night cuddling in the same hammock that night. And every night that week. And he did it again. Once I said no because it was too public. Another time because he didn't want to wear protection again. We also had protected, consensual sex in between those occasions. What I was feeling is still hard for me to recognize. I felt violated, yes, but also turned on, and guilty, and privileged, and ashamed. I felt responsible for not being able to impose my conditions on him. At some point I even stopped trying to stop him, because I knew it was no good. Eventually we left town and I never heard about him again.
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When I left for college, I was coming to the end of a three year relationship that lingered into my first few months of the semester. This relationship, though long, had not been very sexual in nature. We never had sex in many senses of the word mainly because we lacked much sexual desire. I felt out of control at that point in my life. I restricted my eating and had a compulsive exercise habit. I was an athlete and had a 25-hr a week job on top of school. He was a place of rest for me, mostly because he was clinically depressed and therefore unthreatening, safe, and not sexually coercive. Mostly raised by my father and brother, at school I made mostly male friends, and when my relationship ended, I had several suitors. I wasn't interested in any of them, but felt the need to pick one. I began dating a kid two years above me who had just gotten out of a three year relationship with HIS girlfriend who had followed him to college and was my roommate. This isn't something I'm proud of. It was a really terrible situation for all parties. Anyways, he expected sex and I told him I wasn't interested. He told me eventually I would have to or why would we be dating? And again, I somehow thought this was reasonable and kept putting it off but told him that yes, someday I would want to. I lost my virginity on my 19th birthday, a few months after we began dating. I somehow felt I owed it to him after being so patient with me. In my 7 months with him, we had a lot of sex, some of it was consensual. But a lot of the times, it really wasn't, and it explicitly wasn't. I would say no over and over again and he would beg me until I would say "fine". One day it was particularly bad. I said no over and over again and he begged and finally settled on a compromise, that I could just lay there. I was in such disbelief, that I said fine and as he fucked me, I felt lifeless, I had fallen limp and escaped in a way I can't describe. Mentally. I transferred schools the next year (not because of this) and he was very harsh and verbally abusive to me when we broke up at the end of the summer. When I arrived at my new school, I would find I was dissociating constantly. I began dating a boy, a virgin, who was soft and kinda and nonthreatening and I felt I had sexual agency when I was involved with him, but it did not stop me from dissociating during sex. I sought therapy, took an abnormal psych class, I just wanted to be fixed. We eventually broke up and I started seeing another guy--older and cooler than me but I felt he respected me enough that I was safe and I was. He also had some problems with abusive behaviors towards the end of our relationship but has worked on it a lot and it has not been a problem in over a year, and he really does try and work on these things and I think he is a good person. Once in our relationship though, I experienced a flashback so terrifying during sex with him and it was at a shaky point in our relationship and he got mad that I was being so indecisive with him and I spent 10 minutes shivering and consoling him, telling him I'm sorry. I kind of regret that. I wish I'd just told him to get out. I never really got to process those feelings, because I had to throw them away to make sure he wasn't mad. I have now lived in a house of all men for 2 years and sometimes it's hard. None of them know many of these stories and I feel like I can't be true to myself without them knowing because we are so close and I feel like it is such a significant part of me. They are respectful, well-meaning people but they do things/say things sometimes that really upset me but I don't even know how to critique it because they don't know my experiences and so I just get bothered and they think I'm being reactive. Mostly with language that blames women or when one of them touches me but I don't want him to and I do tell him, but they doesn't understand and sometimes he keeps tapping me jokingly after I say it. He thinks it's funny but it makes me want to throw up. That I said no and that he thinks that is funny really makes me just want to throw up, because I've learned to control my dissociation, but that means I have to be present in a moment that's so upsetting to me. I try to be mindful because it's the only way I don't totally lose in the situation but it's really hard. I want to tell my housemates because they support me and love me and this would really help them tailor some of the behaviors and language they use around me but at the same time, I am a strong young woman and I don't want to be seen as broken.
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I did not realize I had been raped by my own boyfriend until about six months after it was over, after I had moved away and joked about my ex's "sleep fetish" with some male friends and they all had horrified looks on their faces and told me it sounded like I had been raped. I didn't even think you could be raped by someone you loved because somehow our culture only thinks of rape as violent and malicious and ignores the more passive, but still very real and very traumatizing alternatives. My ex once told me that because he didn't like the fact that I would go out drinking and partying, he felt that sex with me after I had passed out at home was the only thing he got out it. Like it was his consolation prize, that because he didn't agree with my college party lifestyle, I at least owed him sex while I was unconscious. There are countless times I didn't even know anything had happened until the next day when he would excitedly ask me if I had woken up at all, because he got off when I had no idea what was happening. I felt disgusting and used and violated beyond repair and it got to a point where I was scared to go to sleep next to him (while at the same time, mind you, being equally as scared not to. This is what codependency does.) Sometimes I would wake up to him touching me and would just pretend to stay asleep until it was over because I got so sick of getting into fights when I would wake up and tell him I felt uncomfortable. It just became easier to let it happen because I was scared to loose him. I was scared to tell anyone because I thought they would chastise me. Because relationships are complicated and I didn't know what to do. Because you assume that someone you love and who tells you they love you will respect you whole-heartedly, will respect your space and who you are and what you want. Because you assume... and now I know never to assume.
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I was 18 when I first fell in love with my ex boyfriend. I truly felt like he cared about me after being together for about a year until he began cheating on me. I confronted him a few times and after we couldnt come to a positive place we broke up. Meanwhile we were about to have sex when he told me he no longer loved me. At this point I began to cry hysterically and the ex started to penetrate me as I cried repeatedly no and honestly didnt have the emotional capacity to push him off of me. He literally did not care or listen to anything coming out of my mouth. My tears meant nothing, the STOP meant nothing. I couldnt believe someone who I thought cared for me would rape me. Many people don't consider what happened to me rape, because he was my boyfriend. Hell, I didnt even come to terms with what happened or want to acknowledge what had happened to me. I ran off to his bathroom right after crying my eyes out and he just stayed in bed looking satisfied and not the least bit concerned. I FELT LIKE I DID SOMETHING WRONG, I just wanted to feel normal and act like everything was fine. So, I cleaned my tears and returned to the room and became the loving/respectful girl I had always been, though I was clearly a mess. I will never forget that feeling, my mind and body felt so disrespected and I feel a gross feeling just looking back at it and I'm 23 now. My sexual experiences have felt warped more so ever since.
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It was the beginning of my Junior year of college and I had a pretty regular group of friends. Two of my guy friends were rooming together in a one-bedroom and they invited some people to hang out. I went over, drank, talked, and had fun in the same way I had fun on countless other weekends. Everyone left eventually, but I stayed not wanting to drive home after drinking. Me and these two friends stayed up a while and smoked a little before bed. I trusted them. This is why I felt comfortable sleeping between them (fully clothed) in the bed that they shared (because they were broke college guys). When it happened, I thought I was dreaming. Or maybe I convinced myself it was a dream because I couldn't believe it. One guy was still very much asleep. The other had his hands up my shirt and was playing with my breasts. It didn't escalate past that and I started to become fully awake. By the time I opened my eyes, he was gone (this was another reason it was so easy to convince myself it was a dream). I would have kept on telling myself it was a dream if he hadn't called me later that day to apologize profusely. This was a "good" guy. The kind of guy everyone wants to be friends with. The kind of guy who never has a harsh word for anyone. Because of this, I said "It's okay. Thanks for apologizing. We don't have to tell anyone about it." Aside from me telling a close friend and him telling his roommate (which I found out much later), nobody else knew. I couldn't imagine telling people I was "assaulted" or "molested" by this guy. I couldn't imagine getting him into trouble. I also knew there would be a lot of victim blaming and shaming that I wasn't ready for. So instead, I told myself "it's not like he raped you" and "at least he apologized". This is just one of times in my life where someone has touched me in a sexual way without my consent. These experiences added up and made me numb to disrespect and violation, but I am not broken.
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I was 13 and lived with my sister and her boyfriend who were alcoholics. I had just lost my father and was pretty much numb. I drank with them to feel cool and more grown up. They had a friend, Chris, who was known for being promiscuous, also an alcolic, who was much older than me but still always expressed his attraction towards me. After a long day of poolside drinking, we 4 went back to my sister's. She and her bf went to the liquor store for more alcohol, leaving me alone with chris. Pretty much immediately after the front door closes, he starts kissing me. In my young mind i had thought he was cute, but never thought about having sex with him, but i kissed him back. Soon after he started kissing me he took my shorts off and his pants. I said no but he just kept telling me i was so beautiful and how bad hed wanted me. He forced himself inside me. Id had sex with one person before, but this still hurt really bad. He kept fucking me, pushing my lifeless body into different positions. My sister came home, he heard the door open and put my panties and top back on, but it was obvious what had happened. She freaked out, but not in the way id thought she would. It was as if she was mad at both of us. All i remember from the rest of the night was crying hysterically and being too humiliated to tell her. The next morning, it hurt when i went pee and it smelled bad. I felt complete disgust and humiliation. I knew something was wrong, that hed given me an STD. but i still didn't tell anyone, too embarrassed. I went about 2 years with untreated chlamydia because i was too embarrassed to tell my mom or seek treatment. I felt dirty and ashamed. I cant have children now as a result. I have seen Chris many times since and he always is drunk and says the same thing "Please don't hate me" i do fucking hate you and also myself for never speaking out about it. To this day, i haven't told anyone.
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I grew up as an independent kid or latch-key kid, at the age of 6 or 7 taking care of myself after school until my single mother got home from work. From the years of 10+, my mom was a bartender (and alcoholic), and I spent a whole lot of time at home alone. A neighbor "friend" that I grew up with from the age of 4 started taking advantage of that when I was about 11, making me look at and eventually touch his penis and groping my developed but young body. I hit puberty at a young age and he was around to notice--and also know my living situation and my schedule of being alone. He started sexually assaulting me (touching me when I would try to fight his hand off or get away from him) when I was about 12. He would finger me while I said "no" or "stop" or "please" or any combination of those on repeat for hours and then when we was done we would presume a "friendship" and watch a movie or do whatever it is that normal friends do. I was always terrified to tell other friends (and I know when it progressed, that a few actually DID know) or my family around me for fear that no one would believe me or that he would hurt me, let alone not knowing how as a young girl to get those words out of your mouth. When someone close to me committed suicide, he then started raping me at the age of 12 (literally within a week of the death he moved from sexual assault to rape, knowing that I was emotionally worn down). This sexual control was the most painful thing I have ever experienced, both in a physical sense and an emotional sense. I felt hopeless and powerless, I felt that my own body was not under my control (because he had control of it). I lost my virginity to him, or I at least struggle with that concept even to this day. Can virginity be taken? Or was it mine to give to my first consenting partner even though I had already been penetrated? He was the first person, the first male, to ever penetrate me but I did not consent--in fact I begged and cried for him to stop. It was the most painful thing in my life, but it also was the most numbing. I felt numb after a few of these experiences, my body, my heart, my mind. I felt dead inside when it would happen and then I would feel an overwhelming guilt and filthiness when it was over and he was gone for not being physically strong enough to pry him off or emotionally strong enough to believe that someone would believe me. I was raped for 3 years every few days at a very important time in my young, maturing life. I was so very confused how someone that I thought cared about me could hurt me so badly, or I often wondered if he realized that he was hurting me or if he was too numb from some trauma he must have experienced to not notice what he was taking out on me. It got to the point that he would message me or try to knock on the door to come "hang out" and I would hide or lock the door or did everything I could to avoid it. He would come through the window that was unable to lock (which he knew) even if I had the door locked, so even if I was "locked away" I knew I was never safe--I was never safe from him. I could be in the shower or taking a nap and he could "come get me." That fact for a very very long time led to an insecurity of never feeling safe, like someone would literally come through the window to attack me or hurt me--or rape me. To this day I still triple and quadruple check the locks on doors and windows and still question if they are actually secure. For many years I hated him, I hated the thought of him, I hated what he had done to me, I hated what he had took from me, I hated that I could never get it back, I was depressed and heart broken. I would physically stick pins or scratch myself until I bled to feel physical pain to numb the emotional pain that I couldn't subside (I still have scars to remind me). And I hid from everyone around me the actual physical scars I caused myself as well as the emotional scars no one could ever see. I started dating my first serious boyfriend when I was 15, and only then did the abuse stop permanently. My abuser and my now ex-boyfriend knew each other and the abuser respected the man I ended up dating for 8 years, so he all the sudden stopped one day. My abuser did not respect me enough to stop for me, he stopped for another person. In the beginning of my consenting relationships, I was uninterested and even afraid of sex because of what sex meant to me. I did not want touched, and I was afraid that it wasn't my decision. This was at least until I realized that my first experiences with sex were not the "norm" and that sexual experience could be a pleasureful, positive thing instead of the dark, painful, sickening thing I had been taught. When I start to date someone new, I have always felt the need to disclose the fact that I was sexually abused / raped so that they understand where I'm coming from with my emotions and when entering a physical or intimate relationship. I have reached a point in my life, several years ago actually, that I no longer "hate" my assailant. I feel pity for him that he could make another human being feel the things he made me feel, and I feel bad for whatever he went through to cause him to harm me in that way. I have forgiven him, because by holding that pain, by holding that hatred, I was only hurting myself and my current and future relationships. It was when I let that anger and pain go that I accepted my body and accepted myself fully. I have been wronged by more people in my life than this one person from my childhood (in different ways that sexual abuse), but I have learned that by letting go you can move on and be truly happy. I can talk openly (with very selected people) about my trauma and about what happened to me for a span of 4? years over a decade ago without feeling emotional. I am now 26 and I was abused from the ages of 11-15. I can talk about it like it was from another lifetime, like I am retelling the story of someone else. But the memories are still there. I can remember so many specific details that I know it was my story, it was my life. Only writing this story have a cried for the first time in a long time about this experience. Thank you for letting me share my story.
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age 2-10 i don't understand this game. what kind of game is this. i don't want to play sex games. leave me alone, mom, dad, help. age 14 i don't think we should be doing this. i don't feel comfortable doing this. okay, fine. age 16 i just need a place to stay. STOP. it hurts. age 20 i was so drunk, i didn't understand what was happening. i couldn't remember it. age 23 if you love me, you won't complain. age 25 stop it hurts. i'm almost done. but it hurts. i'm almost there. i've been groped, i've been harassed, i've been called names, i've fallen in love with rapists, my childhood was stolen from me by rape & assault. i'm not broken.
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age 2-10 i don't understand this game. what kind of game is this. i don't want to play sex games. leave me alone, mom, dad, help. age 14 i don't think we should be doing this. i don't feel comfortable doing this. okay, fine. age 16 i just need a place to stay. STOP. it hurts. age 20 i was so drunk, i didn't understand what was happening. i couldn't remember it. age 23 if you love me, you won't complain. age 25 stop it hurts. i'm almost done. but it hurts. i'm almost there. i've been groped, i've been harassed, i've been called names, i've fallen in love with rapists, my childhood was stolen from me by rape & assault. i'm not broken. i'm strong, resilient, bad ass. but this cycle needs to stop, and it begins with assaulter.
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About a year and a half ago, I was a senior in high school just about to turn 18. I’ve always been a flirty-flighty kind of girl, but in a very confident way. A guy friend that I’d been semi close with all through high school just got out of a long relationship with this other girl. We’d always had this sort of chemistry, but never acted upon it. He was the kind of guy that didn’t really obsess over my nonchalant attraction to girls too and I really appreciated that. One night, a friend of ours was having a halloween party, and there was this guy there that I had a thing for the previous summer and he totally rejected me. So I latched on to this friend previously mentioned, he was newly single, had only ever dated this one girl, and I was annoyed that this other guy wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to me. When we left the party, there was a group of us that were walking to our other friends house and naturally we ended up kissing, that’s how this thing all started. I was straight with him from the beginning, I did not want a relationship, I just wanted a casual thing, basically a friends with benefits situation (which rarely works, but that’s not the point). At first it was great, the first time we had sex, he kept asking me if I was okay and what I wanted him to do, which I did happily. Then I started sensing that he wanted more, and so I ended it after about 2 or 3 weeks of having great sex almost every day (at first the sex was great). I had been explicit with him about not wanting anything more and if he was getting feelings we should stop before anyone got hurt. We still saw each other everyday in school and I couldn’t help but fall back into it a few days later against my better judgement because the sex was so good. This time around though, it started to get a little weird, he clung to me at school, following me around and constantly wanting to sneak off for a quick fuck. I would go over to his house and just want to hang out and watch a movie and he would persuade me to go upstairs and have sex. He got really excited about the idea that I was going spend the night one weekend and he suggested the upcoming weekend. Over the course of the week I kind of forgot that we had planned for that, I was getting a little antsy about his clinginess. That night, I can’t remember if it was a Friday or a Saturday, it was super busy at the restaurant I worked at so I was exhausted and by that time, I had completely forgotten about our plans. There were a few of our other friends hanging out at his house when I showed up, which was not abnormal. I also was living an hour away, so when I get there I mention to one of my friends that I’m just stopping in to say hi before I head home because I’m so tried. He overhears this and comes over and sits next to me and is all upset that I’m not staying. I say I’m sorry, I’m just really exhausted and I just want to sleep in my own bed. He's persistent though, he talks about how he's just upset that I’m bailing, and he keeps repeating that same thing over and over again. At this point the other friends have exited the room so it’s just us. And I’m saying I have to leave, but every time I try to get up, he grabs my waist and pulls me back down onto the couch. Then he starts kissing me and putting his hand down my pants. I keep saying I have to leave. I felt so gross, so trapped, he just wouldn’t let me go and made me feel so terrible for bailing. I was planning on being there for 30 minutes tops and he kept me there for at least an hour and half. I finally get up to go and he does too, but then he sits down on this chair in the living room and pulls me onto his lap. I think I apologized for bailing, but everything is sort of fuzzy and he tells me I should send him nudes when I get home since we’re not having sex that night. I cried the entire drive home. It got so bad at one point that I had to pull over because I couldn’t see. I didn’t understand why I was so upset. I felt like I was overreacting. Like it wasn’t a big deal and I was just being overly emotional. It wasn’t until about a month or two later when a friend of mine put on a sexual assault education forum for the girls in our grade, that’s when I realized what had happened to me was sexual assault. When I realized that, I tried to talk to my best friend about it and she just couldn’t comprehend it, because she had never experienced anything like that. So I bottled it up. I acted completely cordial to the guy everyday in school because we had all the same friends, even though it made my stomach twist and turn. A few moths later, my friend that had put on the sexual assault education forum was sexually assaulted by another of our close guy friends. I had kind of hinted at what happened to her before. Unfortunately now I had someone to talk to about it that understood. She went to rigorous therapy all summer and I started being extremely sexually promiscuous, trying to regain that control I lost. I have not had sex without being relatively drunk first since that night. I only just realized that. I’m starting therapy this week.
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I was assaulted by a drunk female coworker at a small party in a studio apartment, in front of another drunk friend who did nothing to stop the situation. I'm a trans man, which everyone in the group was aware of. She tackled me onto the bed and I didn't really know how to react to the shock so I just laughed nervously and didn't move as she held me from behind in a headlock and smelled my hair. I have an anxiety disorder in addition to gender dysphoria that is easily triggered in sexual situations and I was just kind of paralyzed and unable to process the situation. Normally she didn't misgender me but she was drunk enough to be saying things like "I want to experiment with a woman" which made me incredibly uncomfortable. The other friend left the room for a liquor store run to enable this and I let her kiss me a few times but she kept biting my lip hard so I kept saying stop but she just kept doing the same thing and my bottom lip was bleeding. I tried to talk to her and get her to slow down, saying I didn't want to do anything because our friend was coming back at any time and there was zero privacy (this was just one reason, but it was the least uncomfortable one and I thought it would work) but she wasn't really listening to me. She forcefully shoved her hand underneath my binder and touched my chest without asking, which I was very uncomfortable with, and after I pulled her hand out while saying that I wasn't comfortable with that, she slipped her hand into my jeans and underwear. I finally got her to realize that I was uncomfortable but at that point I had spoken up explicitly at least 15 times in addition to nonverbal cues like pulling her hands off of me. At some point our friend came back and was obviously aware something was going on because he stayed in his kitchen area. I got up off the bed and watched 10 minutes of a TV show with them then said I was tired and walked home by myself. When I got home I remember spitting blood into the sink. I saw her many times after that and just had to deal with it silently, without any acknowledgement from anyone else that it ever happened.
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I was 13. I was depressed, my hormones where up and down and I didnt have many friends. I was seeing a councillor but things weren't getting better. I met a man on the internet. He was nice, he said nice things to me and we talked very day. He became my best friend. We called , we texted , i skyped. Hé started telling me He loved me, then asked me to do things for him on my webcam. I knew it wasn't right but I did it anyway. I liked having a friend, a man who liked me and loved me. I was still sad and had councilling. I felt worse. But when we talked it was the only bit of my day I didn't feel sad. We talked for 2 years but I never told anyone. not even my councillor. I grew older and stopped talking to him as much. I stopped doing things on webcam for him because I knew it wasn't right. He would call and text telling me how depressed and sad he was and would tell me that without me he'd be suicidal. It worked when I was 13 but as the years went on and I started to get my own life I stopped listening. I stopped seeing my councilor as much. But time to time I still felt sad and didn't know why. I got my first boyfriend a few months after I removed the man on the internet from my life. I blocked his number and him from my social media. When we started to get intimate I felt sad. I felt dirty and like I was a bad person. Not because of my boyfriend but because of what I'd done for the man on the internet when I was younger was wrong. I was a bad person. I even bought a new laptop and smashed up my old one as I wanted nothing to do with him. I remember cutting circles out of my school art work because they reminded me of the man on the internet. When my family asked why I'd destroyed my work which was hanging in our family home, I couldn't tell them why. But there it was - this reminder of him hanging there, reminding me every day of what a bad person I was and the bad things I'd done. Me and the boyfriend broke up. that was years ago. I'd say I'm over it all now, but every now and again I remember. I thought I'd think about the bad things I'd done every day and let them haunt me forever.But it's only now and again that I feel guilty over it. I've never told anyone the full story of how I was groomed on the internet. Still to this day 8 years on from being 13 I wouldn't be able to say the words out loud. I wouldn't want anyone knowing what a bad person I am and the bad things I've done. I've tried many a times, I think talking about it would help. But every time I've tried to say the words my voice stops. I'm my own person now. But I still have down days, I still cant tell anyone. No one can know. But I wish someone could. I wish someone could have told 13 year old me I didn't need the man on the internet.
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i went out to dinner with my roommate and her friends. it was just an ihop and the whole thing was chill, though the other people did get kind of rowdy and loud. but like, it seemed chill. it was an ihop? you don't meet rapists at ihop? so there was this cute girl there and i was finally starting to realize i'm gay around this time. we flirted a bit, jokingly talked about the weirdest porn we'd seen, talked about anime, stuff like that. my roommate's friend (who drove us there) was friends with this cute girl and they lived together, in what was positioned to me as a roomie thing. so the friend who gave us a ride + cute girl + me + roommate went over to their house. this was like, midnight probably, maybe one or two in the morning (it was a long ihop party, i guess). cute girl invited me upstairs. i thought this was going to be a like, hold hands thing, or a touch each others boobs through our bras thing, you know. baby lesbian thoughts. i was definitely not expecting sex. so we get to her room and there's a guy in there, who had also been at this cursed ihop, but who i hadn't paid attention to because he was a) obviously ten or fifteen years older than me b) a dude. cute girl tells me hey, this is my partner, and i'm like, uh, okay? she tells me she's in a poly relationship with him and my roomie's friend (who drove us) and another woman i hadn't met. then she starts telling me her Relationship Rules in detail. i am dead tired at 1am, i thought i was just going to maybe kiss a girl?, i'm wildly depressed and dealing with massive stress elsewhere in my life, and i'm like, okay. she goes on about how their Rules say she can have sex with me (sex????) but only if the guy is present. i am in a daze. i say sure, we should hang out together sometime, because i want to leave and this is uncomfortable and i have zero sexual interest in men. but also, you know, it's kind of flattering to be told someone is into you, sometimes. especially when you're exhausted in the middle of the night and depressed and feel unloved. so yeah. this turned into multiple visits to their house, repeated groping, verbal sexual harassment, etc, all of which i never reciprocated or participated in. i was certainly into the movies we watched and video games we played, but unresponsive to everything else. anyway this ended up with me being raped like three times by her and her boyfriend in the same room we'd had that conversation in. i said stop a few times and they thought i was being cute. they literally called it "cute." i still remember so much of it. i can't wear pink underwear anymore because i remember her commenting on how cute mine were. i can't stand seeing the word "ot3" or hearing about poly relationships, even when it's one of my good friends. i get freaked out when i see two people talking over a third, or treating them like an object or like something Special, or when couples start talking about how cute someone is. for months i didn't think it was rape. they stalked me afterwards, she literally pushed her way into my dorm room to try to drag me out of it to go back to her house with her once, i felt like garbage, i was traumatized, but i didn't think it was rape. it definitely was. coercing someone into sex under false premises, using your relationship status to manipulate them, hooking a vulnerable 17 year old up with your 28 year old boyfriend, that's all fucked up. not stopping when someone isn't responsive is fucked up and it's rape. and none of us deserve to have our consent, our comfort, our ANYTHING ignored for someone else's sexual gratification or power trip.
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i was 13. he was 16. he was my friends boyfriend. he was the first guy in my life to pay attention to me. i was on the verge of death and so was he, so i guess you could say we hit it off pretty well. we shared some common interests, he tolerated my angry moods and my Bad Days, i told him to eat and to hydrate. i guess i was a motherly figure for him or whatever. so we started talking. it was nice. he paid attention to me and made me smile. he made me giggle and laugh and chuckle. i guess you could say that at that moment in my life he made me happy, what a sickening thought. he went to a different school than me so i didn't get to see him everyday, but i talked to him everyday. my parents were pissed at me for texting so much. so he made me feel pretty, beautiful, etc. i guess i never felt like that, struggling with all of this shit in this world, so i accepted it, loved it, thrived on it. it was awful of me, i know, but i was naive and innocent and this was the first boy in my life to show interest in me. all of the other boys made fun of me. i got too angry too quickly and too loudly and i was too violent for them i guess. so we hit it off. had shared interests. we got really close. i told him about my insecurities. how i didnt like my body or my face. how i felt fucking ugly and terrible and hated every bit of myself. he told me that that couldn't be possible. i was too beautiful. i was gorgeous. i had a great body, but of course, how could he know without proof? it didn't happen right away. it was gradually. i would keep telling him stuff like this and he'd slowly answer it with "Oh? Can you show me?" or "Oh? Are you sure? Could you send me a picture of yourself so I can disagree?" and I did. Because I didn't know better y'know. i didn't. i was young and i wasn't taught not to send boys pictures of yourself. i sent so many. and there was so many so so so so so many. i dont even remember them all. how pathetic. i remember one with an orange bra w/ white polka dots. one with a pink sports bra and black shorts. one with a black bra and purple/black striped underwear. thats all i remember. i dont remember any and its making me mad its making me disappointed. why cant i remember them all. why cant i why cant i why cant i he kept telling me things. he kept saying he couldn't live without me. that i couldn't leave him like everyone else. i was trapped, i didnt know it but i was trapped my friend broke it off with him. i didnt. i kept talking with him. i couldnt stop. i couldnt stop talking to him. i couldnt i couldnt i couldnt she told me she told me she told me that he was a monster that i should be careful that i should stop i didnt listen i didnt listen i didnt listen i couldnt i couldnt i couldnt then i did for whatever reason, one i dont even remember, i did. just stopped talking to him. i didnt want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that my brain was blackened and it was dead and ruined by him. i didnt want to let him know that he turned me into another suicidal mess. so i just stopped one day he texted me out of the blue and i told him what he did to me. i dont remember his reply. i dont i dont i dont somedays are better than others. somedays i dont even think about it. other days its all i think about. its a gross thing because somedays i think that it wasnt bad enough. some people get touched. i didnt. i let him hug me. how sickening. how pathetic. somedays it isn't bad enough. because why am i crying why am i yelling why am i wishing for death if he didn't touch me he just manipulated me thats all he did it wasnt bad enough it wasnt it wasnt it wasnt its bad though because i tell people and then i feel like i cant talk about it anymore because its just the same thing over and over again other days its a good day where i know that i can grow other days not so much some days i want to drink my life away because maybe then for an hour will i forget and then maybe ill die happy. or maybe do drugs. dont think they'll help though. just fuck my life up more. i think the worse thing is that i didnt stop.
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I was in my early 20's. I went to a party with a big group of my friends. By the end of the night, there weren't enough beds/couches to sleep on, so a lot of us just hunkered down on the floor. I ended up lying between two of my close guy friends. We were all drunk, so everyone drifted off quickly. Except the friend that was right behind me, that is. He must've thought I was too drunk to function, because after about a grand total of two minutes, his hand was up my shirt and under my bra. I froze -- didn't even know how to react. My drunken brain couldn't keep up with what was happening. It's been years and I still haven't spoken to him. The only sexual experiences I've had since then have been with strangers. I haven't been on a date in over a year and a half. I'm uncomfortable when people touch me. I'm no psychologist, so I have no idea how much of that is attributed to me versus his actions, but, personally, I think he fucking did quite enough. To this day, I wish I had hit him in his fucking backstabbing face. So much damage done because another fuckboy couldn't keep it in his fucking pants.
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I am 6. The babysitter's son was some number of years older than me. We had built a blanket fort. We were laying down inside together when he asked if he could put his hand down my pink shorts. I said no. He kept asking, I kept saying no. He kept asking why not. I didn't really have a good answer, just a vague understanding that this was a "nono", so I said my parents probably wouldn't like me doing that and he shut up for awhile. But then he offered to let me play his video game if I let him touch me. I had been begging to be allowed a turn to play for weeks. I agreed to the terms and he stuck his hand down the back of my shorts (I was lying on my stomach), under my underwear, and ran his fingers over my outer lips. It made me feel like I had to pee, so I said that and went to the bathroom. It also felt kind of good, so when I came back I asked if he wanted to do it again. He declined. Later I was allowed to play his video game. It wasn't as fun as I thought it would be, but he had other games he might let me try later now that that we were friends. My mom came to pick me up and she and the babysitter stood in the hallway asking how my day was. I started to babble about how me and ___ were friends now and he let me play his video game and... then I saw him standing behind them frantically waving his hands in a signal to shut up. I shut up, and immediately felt ashamed. That's when I realized that what happened really truly was a nono, and that he knew it too, and I could never tell because I had agreed to it and so was a bad child. I pushed this memory down so deep that it almost didn't exist for many years beyond a general distaste and refusal to wear pink clothes. Then one day a boyfriend stuck his hand down the back of my shorts while I was lying on my stomach and it all came rushing back. I had a panic attack. It's still confusing to me how much of that was normal childhood exploratory play and how much was exploitation. I am 9. The preacher's highschool aged son would sneak me off to hidden corners of the church to pick me up, pin me against the wall, and kiss me. I thought it felt awesome and meant I was really special. I am 9. My friend from class and I agree to a "I'll show you mine and you'll show me yours" pact. I show him mine. He refuses to show his. I feel betrayed. I am 11. My mother, brother, and I had moved into her father's house. My grandfather was retired and watched us during the summer while my mother worked. One day my grandfather asked for a hug. Oddly, the hug required that I be laying on top of him for it. We lay there for what felt like a very long time. It felt wrong, but I didn't know how to climb off of him. That feels stupid to say, but I felt trapped in that moment. We were lying on the couch in the living room when my little cousins came in and asked what we were doing. My grandfather told them I was taking a nap. I stared at them with what felt like huge terrified eyes. They looked at me, then walked away. Over a period of time, he began calling me into his room when he was changing his clothes. First he would just change his pants, then it moved to getting completely naked to change all of his clothes. I never saw any reason for him to be changing out of completely clean clothes in the middle of the day, nor why he had to talk to me right at that specific point in time. He was a silent man; he never simply made conversation with anyone. But now suddenly he had to call me in to ask me how my day was? It made me very uncomfortable and I would always try to end the conversation as soon as I could, looking anywhere but at him. I began to dread hearing him call my name from across the house. One day we were running an errand when somehow he managed to work "I scratch your back, you scratch mine" into the conversation. Only he said it wrong- he said "scrub" instead of scratch. It set off all my alarms. We got home and I was on high alert. He went into the bathroom and shut the door. I heard the water in the tub run. It was wrong though, because it was the sound of filling a bath instead running a shower and he had only ever taken showers before. Finally the water turned off. I was sitting in the kitchen feeling like I would explode, waiting to hear him call my name. Long minutes passed. I began to believe I was safe. Then he called for me. I felt like lead but somehow walked towards the bathroom. He was standing just outside the door, naked, covered in soap suds. "It's time for you to scrub my back," he said. "No," I said. "But that's what we agreed earlier isn't it?" he said. "I-it's just a phrase," I stammered. "Oh, so it doesn't mean anything?" he asked. I nodded. He turned and went back into the bathroom and shut the door. This event finally made it clear enough to me that everything he had been doing was in fact wrong, and not just weird, and I should talk to someone about it. So I spent days screwing up my courage to talk to my mom. I had doubts she would believe me as no one wants to believe that about their father. But finally one day I asked her "did grandfather used to walk around the house naked and talk to you when he was changing his clothes when you were a kid?". She said "No..." and the expression on her face I interpreted as one of disbelief/"are you crazy?". So I choked and she didn't follow up and that was it. We never spoke of it again. But I spent every day and night in terror. None of the doors in the house had locks, so I showered as quickly and infrequently as possible out of fear he was going to come get me. I couldn't sleep out of fear he was going to come get me. He had a habit of saying "get in the car" and refusing to answer where we were going, so each of those events was a new terror because I was afraid he was taking me away to do something to me (never happened however). But after the bath incident he stopped walking around naked or calling me to his room and after awhile I let my guard down some. I was enrolled in some sort of class and he would drive me to and from it. One night he offered to let me practice driving on one of the deserted back roads and he'd take over again once we got to a regular road. Of course I said yes. That's when it turned out that I had to sit on his lap in order to actually drive. He'd work the pedals and I'd steer. I hesitated, but I so wanted to drive. And that first time, and many times after, nothing happened. Then one night while "I" was driving he put his hand up my dress and ran it over my underwear several times. I lost my mind. I wished for an oncoming car to crash into. I wished for a tree to steer into. There was nothing, and I was afraid we weren't going fast enough to kill us, that we'd just run off the road and then I'd be stuck in the middle of nowhere with this man. I went blank. But the next time he offered to let me drive I declined. He asked why and I couldn't answer. He asked if it was because I felt uncomfortable sitting on his lap. I grew suspicious, but nodded. He said it made him uncomfortable too, to have me sitting on his private parts. My mind exploded. That statement was all it took to make me doubt my understanding of everything that had happened. I began to wonder if it was all real, if he really had bad intentions for me, or if I was sick for thinking so. It took years for the clarity of my understanding, knowing that yes it was wrong and he knew exactly what he was doing, to return. It took more than a decade to make the connection to why, when I'm feeling suicidal, my first choice of method is by car. I am 13. I am far too drunk, but happily making out with a friend of the same age. He leaves to go to the bathroom. Suddenly another boy, who is 16 and who I've rejected several times before, has shoved his hand down my pants and is fingering me. Then he disappears and my friend returns and I'm too shocked and wasted to say anything. A couple years later I tell a boyfriend about the incident and he swears if he ever meets the guy he'll kick his teeth in. One day I point the guy out to my boyfriend and my boyfriend does nothing. I am unsurprised. I am 14. I am walking in the woods with a friend from class. Suddenly he asks me to show him my underwear. I refuse. So he reaches out and undoes my pants to take a look. I freeze. He touches my underwear and says, "Why do girls always say no then let you do it anyway?" I wanted to murder him. I shouted in my head "BECAUSE YOU ALREADY PROVED YOU ARE PERFECTLY WILLING TO DISREGARD OUR WISHES SO WHO KNOWS WHAT THE FUCK ELSE YOU MIGHT DO TO US. ASSHOLE." But I didn't say anything and just avoided him from then on. Later he spread a rumor that I blew him. I am 14. I am wasted with two friends, one a couple years older and one almost two decades older. This night will be the first and last time I've ever gotten blackout drunk. I'm laid out on the couch when the oldest one asks, "What are your nipples like?" I'm trying to figure out how make my mouth work so I can tell him that's none of his business when he shoves his hand down my shirt and into my bra and pinches my nipple. "They're small," he announces to the other guy. Then they start discussing the different ways they'd like to fuck me. I am phasing in and out of consciousness. There seems to be a plan to tie me to the bed with guitar strings. I am being carried to the bed. I am on the bed. I try as hard as I can to regain enough function to say no. I wake up under the bed with no memory of the night before. I feel perfectly fine and go home (there is no evidence of anything happening at all, and to this day I believe the guys changed their minds). I call up my friend later to ask about hanging out again and he's acting weird and avoidant, says he thinks it's a bad idea. I am baffled and ask why. He says I got far too drunk and bad stuff almost happened. I instantly become ashamed of myself and start tearing up. He says he thinks I need to take a break and to call him in a week. A week goes by, my memory returns in chunks, and we resume hanging out like nothing happened. The memory of that night remains fragmented. I am 14. My 17 year old boyfriend and I are out late, making a love nest in the tall grass by the pond. We have had several discussions about how "far" I am willing to go and it is understood that I draw the line at penetrative sex (I am a virgin). I blow him, but instead of letting me finish him off right away he says he wants it to last awhile and instead puts me on my back and kneels between my legs to finger me. His version of fingering me more closely resembles punching my groin and I'm soon out of my mind with both pleasure and pain. He pauses and I hear him say, "Wow, I bet you'd really scream if I stuck my dick in you." Before I can figure out what kind of statement that was he does it. My only thought is, "Oh, well that's that." He starts moving and I have what might be described as an out of body experience. My mind flees and I don't feel my body at all. I am barely aware of the fact that I am lying completely motionless. There is no sense of time. My eyes are fixed on the stars and that's where I am. The next thing I'm aware of is that he has stopped and I'm violently shivering. He takes me home and I go to the bathroom to clean up. I'm still numb. I can't tell if he came inside me, but I'm worried because he didn't use a condom. I wait a long time before going back downstairs, hoping he'd just leave and I wouldn't have to face him. But he's downstairs when I return, even says "I wasn't sure if you were coming back", and we just sit quietly. I can't look at him or say anything. I don't know if he thinks he did anything wrong. Because I was brought up in a religious household where the only version of "the talk" that existed was a one-liner about "wait for marriage" I believe that no one else will ever want me now, that I have to make it work with him, that I have to marry him. We have sex many times, never with a condom because he tells me he's infertile (turns out not to be true, I am lucky I never got pregnant or caught anything because after we broke up I was informed by someone that he had been sleeping with other girls the whole time). He is always incredibly rough with me, often making me bleed. After sex my inner labia, which are normally small and tucked in even when aroused, are so raw and swollen and distended that even the air hurts and I can't sit or put underwear or pants on. One time he fucks me so hard one of my labia actually tears. It is still like that today. I did not know that sex is not supposed to be like this. I am in my 20s in a long term relationship. A decade long relationship experiences normal ebbs and flows in its sexual dynamic, but the ebbs are unacceptable to my partner. When he's in the mood and I'm not he will keep me up all night to whine about how I'm never in the mood anymore, how he doesn't feel loved, how there might be something wrong with me, how he feels so rejected every time I say no. I learn to just fuck him to get him to shut up so I can sleep. I can't count the number of times I had sex when I didn't want to over the years. I now have no tolerance for whining of any sort. I am 28. I am with a gathering of friends, one of whom being a guy I haven't seen in several months. We're all drinking, having a good time. He asks me to talk with him privately so we find an empty room. He talks about how he's been trying to meet people since he and his ex broke up, I offer to introduce him around in a different circle of friends. He expresses interest in me, which I reciprocate. He says he's actually been interested in me for a long time but never pursued anything because he was in his old relationship and knew I wasn't the type to be ok with going behind anyone's back. I'm flattered but tell him I'm not interested in anything beyond a casual friends with benefits type of thing. He agrees that that's all he wants right now too. He's being very complimentary and I'm eating it up, but then he starts pushing for us to fool around. I really want to, but I also really don't because his ex is somewhere in the party and even though it's been a few months since they broke up I know she's a bit crazy and don't want any drama. Thus begins a long bit of back and forth, him pushing, me resisting, us talking about other things, rinse repeat. We do kiss and it's fantastic and hot and I want more but I keep pulling away because we've both been drinking a lot and people keep walking past the room. I ask him what the rush is and he says he's just been waiting so long and tells me it won't be a big deal to his ex (though he's just as quick to pull away when footsteps approach). Repeat the cycle of kissing and resisting doing more. I hear his ex approaching and stand up and walk to the door. "Hey ___ what's up?" She wants to know what's going on and steps into the room. I turn around to see my supposed friend laying back with his hands behind his head and his dick pulled out. ___ flips the fuck out and starts screaming. I'm standing there stupidly because my brain has shut down. Somewhere in the back and forth ___ informs me that the two of them actually aren't broken up at all. She starts crying hysterically and I am now freaking out and leave the party. She calls me later to interrogate me about what happened. Apparently he told her that I was the one who came on to him and the only reason he went along with it was to get even with her because he thinks she cheated on him at some point. I try to tell her what really happened but it doesn't seem like she cares. She tells me that because of what I've done they're breaking up and she now has to find a new place to live and the guy actually felt suicidal and called a crisis hotline. I am still not sober and am completely overwhelmed. I apologize over and over. Later I get a text from him saying "sorry to put you in that situation". I feel used and disgusting and stupid and pathetic and so, so angry.
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I don't know how to begin. 6 months ago, I went camping with a group of friends, many of which were a few years older than me, who I had met through grassroots organizing. Your typical, progressive activist crowd. I completely felt safe there, knowing and trusting these people and their practice of consent. My two best friends were with me as well. The trip all went smoothly until the last night. People started dancing, drinking a lot and smoking weed and doing acid. I generally abstain from alcohol and drugs for personal reasons, so I was the only sober one, which I'm used to as a college student. I was having a good time. The night slowed down with folks sitting around the campfire and playing music on guitars, a really nice scene. People started to form a cuddle puddle under a bunch of blankets, and I was asked to join. I sat on the edge, and felt someone grab my hand. I couldn't tell who it was at first, but it seemed like a sweet gesture, holding hands in a cuddle puddle. I soon connected the hand to the boyfriend of an older mentor-like figure in my life. I had only just gotten to know her boyfriend that trip. I thought it was a little strange and pretty confusing, not sure how open their relationship was, as the girlfriend sat on the other side of the campfire playing guitar. But I assumed it must have been ok with her--these two had been dating for years and lived in a house together and owned a dog, pretty much on the track to get married I had thought. And they were really well respected. So I wouldn't have thought at all that he would do anything to ruin that, it completely contrasted everything I knew about the two of them. As time passed, the people who had been in between us moved away, and soon I was next to him, and he pressed his body against me under the blanket and started rubbing my back and then my stomach. I still wasn't sure what was going on. I mean, his girlfriend was right there and his friends and my friends were all around us. This group of friends often did "massage trains" so I had a lot of evidence to believe this was a platonic body rub. Even the first few times when his hand went too far up, or too far down, I assumed it was a mistake and moved his hand away. He kept doing it though, and eventually started grabbing my crotch more aggressively. I got up and walked away, moving to the other side of the campfire. I sat there for a while. Everything felt frozen and jumbled, and I was kind of denying to myself what was going on, still unsure. He kept calling for people to join the cuddle puddle, watching me the whole time. I left and went to the bathroom. When I got out, he was there, waiting outside the bathroom. He said something like, "finally!" and he grabbed me into a hug and started kissing me. I remember feeling a strike of terror, an "oh shit this is really happening" kind of feeling. But I pushed it aside. I said, "We should go back and help clean up the campsite with everyone else." He said, "you're right, we can meet back here later." Acting under forces that I still can't fully understand, I let him pressure me into following him to the bathroom later that night, let him press me against the wall and do what he wanted. At that point, I wasn't really there, it was like my soul had left my body and was watching complacently from above. I wasn't thinking about anything, wasn't feeling anything, and when he stopped I realized that he had come inside me without any protection. Nothing made any sense. After we walked back to the campfire, he tried doing the same to my best friend, who is the same age as me. She stopped him and went to her tent and he didn't follow her. The plan b didn't work for me, and the abortion that followed was the most painful thing I have ever gone through. I left Planned Parenthood crying "I hate men" over and over again under my breath, feeling like I wanted to die. For weeks, I was plagued with intense paranoia, freaking out when I walked past a male or when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I mostly deal with this by pretending it didn't really happen, but every once in a while something shitty happens where I have to confront it. Therapy made the months following bearable, but I am still lost in exploring what is it in my past that made it so natural for me to comply and then feel unbearable guilt for what I should have done to stop it. This wasn't the first time in my life that I had let unwanted sex just happen to me because I had so ingrained the superiority of male pleasure to my own. Every time I think about it, I feel so much shame and think about what I should have done, what I could have done, to prevent it. And thinking about what I need to do in the future to never let anything like this happen again. Especially coming from an API family, there is just so much shame ingrained in me associated with female sexuality and how my parents would reject me if they knew, along with embodied cultural values for females to be silent, graceful, pure.
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I was raped repeatedly by a 'friend' at age 10-11. He was only a few years older than me. You'd think those urges hadn't developed yet? Every boyfriend I've had has done the pattern of: pressure for sex, I say no, they feel sad. Keep asking, I eventually don't say no. They wonder why I didn't enjoy it. I didn't give them their satisfaction. I tell them I didn't want to. One of two things: they get angry and argue with me, or they get sad and guilt me. My last boyfriend (now ex), we still hang out and screw around. It's usually fine, and he's either very in-tune or a complete idiot when it comes to emotions. It's always a mistake if I say no to something. But if he says no, it's obviously honoured. He just will put my hand on his dick or put my face in his lap whenever. At work he'll poke my chest and call it a joke. It's terrible when I ask him to stop. He says it's a joke (what part is a joke?). I can never ever tell him about anything I feel. He'll start a fight and claim that I'm starting a fight. He says I should just "accept him". He selectively-cares about me: claims to want to make me happy, but only does things that he thinks make me happy. He emotionally tortures me. I have to see him every day.
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I was 17, drunk for the first time and in the bed of my then-boyfriend. He knew I wasn't comfortable with sex but still he whispered in my ear, "I want you. I need you" while undressing me like a rag doll. It took all my effort to stay conscious - I was barely able to choke out a "no" before he was in. My feeble hands pushed at him but he took it as a sign for pleasure, went faster even though my body was unresponsive. A part of me wishes I just passed out so I wouldn't have to remember. Every time after that he would accuse me of not loving him or cheating on him if I didn't want to have sex. Three years later, I just want to go back and hug my younger self, tell her she doesn't need to to lay herself down for anyone. Sex is not an obligation or an act of servitude, and every part of me wishes I could go back and teach myself that.
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The moment I met him I was simultaneously attracted and repulsed. He spent the whole night trying to get my number. The fact that he wouldn't take no for an answer at once frustrated and flattered me. So eventually I said yes. On our first date he talked about himself, rarely asking questions. But still, he somehow seemed interested in me. We said goodbye with a hug. The second date I cancelled three times before it actually happened. We hung out in his parent's basement and listened to music. When he kissed me, he didn't ask. When he put his hands on my breasts, I pulled them off. When his hand crept to the waistline of my jeans, my fingers wrapped tighter around his wrist. But he was stronger than me. When I said no he laughed, and told me it was ok. We were just having fun. He wanted to fuck, but he didn't have condoms. He offered (begged) to go to the corner store to buy some. I said no. About nine times. The next day he came back. Condoms in hand. Without a hello, he grabbed my face and backed me against the wall. I think I remember saying no. I don't think I remember saying yes. Still. I found my myself sprawled naked across my bed. I couldn't look as I heard the tear of the condom wrapper. Tried to tune out the sound of the latex as he prepared to take his pleasure. The next hour is hazy. Until after. The bed that had been tucked neatly in the corner is now in the center of the room. He was proud of that, he told me, as he held me close against his chest. His inability to hear the word no defined our relationship. For a year and a half I gave myself to him. And for a year and half he took me. Without any regard for my well being. When I finally said no, he begged me not to leave him. I did. And his love turned to hate almost instantly. We didn't talk after that.
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After a childhood with an emotionally absent mother and a perfect father who moved on, I was plagued with anxiety and depression starting in kindergarden, despite my exremely high intellectual abilities I was ignored. Wrapped in low self esteem I finally found friends and began to blossom in my teenage years, experimenting with lots of drugs and alcohol. I began to love myself and relax. I fell in love with a man of like mind, he was a brilliant INTJ like me. But he was abusive emotionally, verbally, and the occassional physical abuse. He love me so much he constantly feared losing me and needed validation through sex and blow jobs. I was 20 years old my sex drive just wasn't all that there yet, he wanted it daily. The constant pressure was such a drain, constant coercion. If I didn't comply he would get really angry and break stuff, I was always so scared. Not to mention he would flip if another man came near me, and constantly called me a slut to shame me out of straying. When I finally got away it was a long process, and I had to do it on my own. He stalked and harrased me for about since months till I did actually break. I developed severe PTSD. A long distance best friendship developed were the distance made me feel safe, he passed ten years later from a heroine overdose, a habit he picked up when I left. I hold plenty of guilt for that. Wait now comes the good part, I got some medication but no therapy I thought I could go back into the world and find a new guy. I developed a pattern of sleeping with men and then distancing, I realize later the avoidance behavior, it was torture watching myself push men away. Then I met a man it felt like love at first sight, it was obvious attraction, a casual date was arranged quickly. As soon as we had sex, my odd behavior started, there was random occasions we hung out and hooked up but involved alcohol and colleages for me to relax. I could tell he was over it, I felt like crap about myself, then one night we all went out he was after me again I was so excited. I paid no attention to his friend who tried to warn me, now I know it was all premeditated. They had joked about anal sex before and I had clearly stated I would never do it. So this jerk got me super drunk brought me home we hooked up and fell asleep. Then I awoke to him pulling off my pants, he had me on my stomach, I kept trying to push him off mumbling no, but I wasn't strong enough and he became extemely forceful and had anal sex with me. After I tried to pretend nothing happened, he began ridiculing me and making fun if me at work about it. So I stopped pretendingband got really angry, I pretended he didn't exist at work. It made this little ugly angry man more angry. Within a week he started pursuing my bestest friend, she was elated because she really wanted a boyfriend and started seeing him behind my back. I confronted her and told her she could have any man I'd had cause I want her to be happy but not him, she couldn't have us both. I tried to tell her how he forced me and I was not okay with what happened, I hadnt yet told anyone I was so humiliated. She said she didnt want to know because she wanted to sleep with him and not mess that up. I told her she was evil just like him, I even said it calmy. And I got up and walked out and later that week I walked out of my job because they both worked there. I lost all my friends, too humiliated to tell anyone, figuring I would be left or not believed because I had so many PTSD issues already. I crashed my car I a drunken rage on purpose, somehow I walked out fine. I moved apartments, got a new car and a new job. And eventually developed work friends, but for the most part I stayed locked away in my apartment no alcohol, no friends, and no dating for 3 years. I would run into the happy couple if I Went out to my usual places, my whole body would shake from the humiliation, betrayal, hurt and abandonment. So I moved far, far away to a wonderful new city and have been rebuilding my life. I still landed in an unhealthy relationship with a passive aggressive man who used me, and still tries to but I left him and did extensive therapy and have now found the love of my life who won't even let me give him a blowjob because he doesn't want me to feel disrespected in any way. I know women lose faith but there are still sweet, gentle, respectful men out there who will never sexually assault or coerce you.
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I have had a long line of sexual assault. My first experience was between the ages of 5 and 7. I was so young. The abuser, my cousin, was around four years older than me. His parents aloud him to watch anything he wanted, which, was my excuse and defense I used to justify his actions. He would convince me that what he was doing was ok, that I was just young so I didn't know. At 5 years old, the only person that should touch my vagina is me. But that wAsnt the case. What he did to me effected how every interaction I had with a male went. I was constantly doing things I didn't want to do, but when they would convince, I just assumed that it was because I was young, I just didn't know. My next real assault was with my boyfriend when I was 14. He asked if we could have sex and when I told him no he said "I'm just going to do it" and pushed me up against the wall and forced himself inside of me, ignoring every wimpering noise that escaped my mouth. And again, my first thought was, I'm just young. That's why I didn't know if I wanted it.
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One time my ex-girlfriend and myself were hanging out, I started kissing her but she wasn't in the mood. I continued on assuming I could make her in the mood, she went a long with it. We broke up a week after this, I didn't realise at the time why but it makes perfect sense now. I suppose this is my way of understanding it a bit better, it feels horrible to have done this to someone I really cared for and loved. On the other side of things I'm in a much happier relationship now and so is she.
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I went out with my friends. I was in high school. We all got drunk. My friend who I rode with told me we were staying at her friends house. I remember him yelling "Suck it! Yeah suck it!" And shoving my head. I remebwr telling him that I was a virgin and that if he better not have sex with me because that would be a big deal. There is no way I initiated any of that. I wasn't sexual and I wasn't interested. They were a lot older. "Suck it! Suck it bitch" I just blocked it out. A dirty shame that I couldn't accept.
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I am now coming to realize and accept that I have been sexually assaulted (and/or) abused several times in my life. My dad was never part of my life. So my mom always had different boyfriends and male friends around the house. I don't remember anything about who this man was, but he was babysitting me and decided that we needed to take a shower. I don't remember if he touched me, but he made me wash his penis. I think that qualifies as abuse of some kind. I don't remember details because I think I might've blocked worse parts out. I was very young. Another time was when I was middle school aged, I was asleep in my room and my mom's long-term boyfriend at the time came into my room smelling very much like he was drunk. I was in my top bunk bed and he came over, reached into my bed and touched my vagina. I didn't really understand what was going on, so I pretended to be sleep. He put his fingers in my vagina and then proceeded to lick his fingers and walk out. He never did it again. But I hate and am quite afraid of that man to this day. When I was a senior in high school I slept with 2 different men who were hanging around with my mom that were several years older than me, like 6 and 9 years at least. They were both married. It was consensual, but I still feel dirty and bad about it 4 years later. Around that same time my mom had a boyfriend who was about the same age as me who would hang around. We entered into a sexual relationship. But then I met the man I would eventually marry and I decided I didn't want to sleep with him anymore. So he got me drunk and he and his friend had their way with my while I laid on my bed half aware of what was going on. My husband knows about some of this and is gentle and loving with me. But sometimes I give myself to him, or keep going even after it hurts because I know he's enjoying it. It's not rape, I love him, but I wish I could value myself more in my sexual relationship with him. I feel that my past still has an affect on my life and I don't want it to!
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Halloween used to be my favorite, but this year my partner went out of town for work on the morning of the 31st and was going to be gone for almost a month. I was really bummed out that I would be alone since we've always dressed up together. He suggested I should still go out, since I had a costume ready anyways. I was planning to go with my friend and her husband to one of their good friend's birthday party that night. I was really excited, but opted out at the last minute because they were leaving early in the morning to drive four hours there and help set up for the party and I was exhausted - I was up late helping my husband pack and went to see him off at the airport and didn't have enough energy for a long drive to a party with people I barely knew. I thought that if I went home and slept I could find a local costume party in the city, surely I knew people who would be going out. I thought I was doing my body a favor. I thought I was being responsible and taking care of myself by resting up and staying close to home. When I got up from my nap I messaged a few friends to see if they were going anywhere and ended up meeting up with a few. The plan was to quickly show face at some house party they knew the hosts of, and then to a pub for a big Halloween party thrown by an expat organization. I only consciously remember having three drinks the entire night - I'm not much of a party person but I can handle myself pretty well. Things were fuzzy but I know we went from the pub back to the house party and that my one friend was so drunk he fell asleep on the couch there. I remember this because I was trying to take his shoes off... Then the next thing I know I am waking up to a group of girls screaming and laughing in my face. I'm pretty sure one of them had a phone out, I hope that she used to call a cab or something and not to document this. Black out again until I wake up again in my apartment, miserably weak and covered in bruises. Covered. Totally purple. I freak out and contact one of my friends whom I went out with and asked to meet so we could talk. I was very reluctant to go to the police, but he insisted that I report it and accompanied me. This is where the trauma truly set in for me. Spending the next 12+ hours at the police station, detective's office and hospital. Stripping down in front of a group of strangers so they can swab and photography me. Absolutely humiliating. I cried so hard that I couldn't stop shaking. The nurse stabbing my arm over and over so many times to take blood that she eventually had to call down a specialist from anesthetics because she couldn't get my vein. All of this happening in a foreign fucking language. Everything was a complete nightmare and to top it all off I had to be alone in my apartment for the next three weeks, in a foreign country, isolated from close friends and family. The hardest thing besides having to tell my own husband and mother through Skype calls that I was sexually assaulted was being forced to take the PEPs for two months. I was terrified of being so heavily medicated, taking three huge pills a day. The medicine quelled my appetite and made me so nauseated. The scariest thing is that there was a five hour window where nobody knew where I was, so I could have been wandering around on the streets. It's been four months. I am almost finished with all of the blood-work. I would say that I am recovering pretty well, except that my social anxiety is worse than ever. I'm afraid that everyone knows. Anytime I am in public and there are young people laughing I feel like they're laughing at me. I feel like anytime somebody looks at me, they know. Part of me still feels like it is my fault and that I was supposed to learn a lesson, although I KNOW that it is not. It still feels like I just shouldn't have had those drinks. Two weeks ago I got official documents in the mail with a suspect's information. So, they found someone or found something out, but I still haven't heard back from the detectives about whether or not I was drugged. I'm not sure how to respond to the persecution just yet. I just want this all to go away...
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I kind-of wanted to post this on my tumblr, but every time I tried writing, I found this too intimate to share online. I'm Ace and a child of a narcissist and I only managed to find these two labels a year and a half ago, when I was already over 30. Before that I considered myself not enjoying or wanting sex just another way that I was broken, faulty. My boyfriend/husband just had the right to my body and every now and then I would give it away to him. When I came out as Ace, he was very worried but supportive and generally stopped pushing sex on me. Until the evening I wanted cuddles and it just happened I was naked. Already once in a similar situation he pushed me too far (and we talked about it), but for some reason this time I was not on contraceptives and he acted good. The next day he told me he bought condoms, because he thought his hopes realistic enough. That made me feel assaulted and offended. As if, after all this time being admirably patient and understanding of me - he needed to say that in fact at some point he will ignore me and take the sex that he wants. I kept thinking about this situation while reading the article. It made me realize a thing - just as we are forced to become less sensitive to sexual abuse as we grow up, with less abuse experienced we become more sensitive to subtler abuse.
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out at the club. my friends meet some men. i have had too much to drink. we all leave, end up at a big house. i am walked up some stairs to a bedroom. i wake up the next morning, pants around my ankles, dried come on my face and chest.
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He was my boyfriend, we were kissing on the sofa. Then he said: bend over the sofa. So I did, not really understanding what was going on. Before I knew it he just.. took me. I never consented. I kept quiet hoping for it to be over soon, I just froze, because it wasn't the first time that something like this happened to me (with other men). I just froze, and afterwards I found the courage to tell him, that I had not wanted that. And he said: I just wanted to have rough sex for a change. And that was that. For the last couple of years I have been struggling with sex. I realised only some time ago that this experience and some previous ones were actually rape. I think I secretly always knew but I never wanted to acknowledge it. Instead of blaming the men I blamed myself. I always had the strong thought in my head that I was my own rapist. Because I had said no 7 times but ultimately I said yes. Or because I didn't tell them to stop. I did EMDR therapy which kind of changed this feeling of guilt. But my sexual problems and overall sadness are still here. My current boyfriend is very sweet and understanding, and a feminist. And we have been working on having sex that I like etc. but it still never seems to really work out. I will get scared before we even begin. And I will always be very preoccupied with his pleasure, I will cross my own boundaries and I will say yes when I mean no. It's like this catering to a man's needs is just so ingrained in my brain. I don't know how to stop it. The last time we had sex, it hurt when he entered me. He pulled out and got some lube and I realised that I just told him that it was fine. That it was fine that it hurt. That I always tell him that I'm fine even though it hurts. That's just so shocking right? Things like that make me not trust myself. I know I made great progress but I will still let someone cross my boundaries. I think I don't even know my own boundaries very well because people have crossed them so often and deliberately that ... I think I just have this conviction that I don't matter at all. What makes me very sad and angry is that I used to be a very sexual person. I started masturbating quite young and I had wild fantasies. I have also had amazing sex in my life, also with my current boyfriend. We used to experiment a lot and have so much fun. But now I'm just a scared mess. For a long time I didn't want to have sex or even masturbate. I very strongly feel that all these men have taken my sexuality from me. That they just took it for their own pleasure, leaving me feeling absolutely worthless. I don't know how to solve this and I'm afraid that my overall feeling of powerlessness in life has at least some connection to these bad sexual experiences. I just always feel weak and tired and scared and not in control. It's probably good that I realised that I have been raped and that my sex life has been toxic. But I really don't know how to cope with this knowledge. I don't know how to heal.
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My ex husband and I went away with another couple for the weekend. We were looking forward to it but it was really tense between us. We tried to balance hanging out with our friends and alone time. On Saturday afternoon we went upstairs to our room for quiet time. I was on the bed and my ex husband came over and wanted to have sex. I didn't want to but I let him kiss me while trying to signal with a lack of enthusiasm that I wasn't into it. It was a long time ago so I don't remember much but I do remember saying I don't want to have sex and him saying, well I want to. I turned my face to the left and just waited for him to come. We never spoke of it. This is the first time I'm telling the story. It has never been appropriate to tell anyone cause it would be obvious who it was and also it was completely non violent. I acquiesced as I didn't know what else to do when he said so bluntly that he didn't care that I didn't want to have sex.
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He was the only person that I had ever been intimate with or ever kissed. We were living together. Our relationship was completely unhealthy and I knew that, but I was already used to being around abusive and violent people so I didn't know that I deserved better. One day he wouldn't let me leave the house. He told me how horrible I was. He wouldn't let me out of his sight. When I told him I had to use the bathroom, he escorted me there, and watched me pee so he could make sure that I wouldn't leave. He got out a knife and told me he was going to kill me, and I said "I don't care" and I meant it. He told me to get undressed, so I did without arguing. Afterwards he cuddled me and told me that he was going to take me to Mexico and that no one would ever find us and that I could never leave him. He let me leave shortly after and immediately checked himself into a mental hospital. That was 8 years ago. It took me several years to label that as rape in my mind. I had never been intimate with anyone else before and I never said no, but I wasn't given a chance to. I felt ashamed of myself for allowing things to get so bad. Unfortunately this wasn't the last time or last person. It's taken a while to get my life on track again. But I'm doing much better now. You may always carry a bit with you, but it gets better. I promise. If you need help, please ask. Do whatever you need for you.
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I was married to a man who felt I was obliged to give him sex. No meant yes and yes meant yes. If I was cranky-it meant I needed sex. If I managed to fight him off and say no and exhaust myself pushing him away for an hour-he would get violently angry-he would I say "if you had just let me do it it would have been over by now". That idea in my head, and the fact that it was exhausting to ward him off for over an hour when I was exhausted anyway, i mostly just gave in if he wouldn't take my first few "no's" for an answer. I had to be up every day at 4 am, I worked full time, had several pets, a daughter and at one point a dying father that I was exclusively caring for, I sometimes wasn't home until 7-8pm and his big concern was whether I did his laundry, and having sex. We couldn't go three days, three days was too long. I was so lost, and numb. Always in fight or flight mode, when I eventually left him after he choked me,( we had been together for 14 years) I actually found I had fibromyalgia anxiety and PTSD and still, the sexual abuse I normalize and ignore, the rest of the behaviors are the ones I talk about and think are awful. Our society doesn't allow for sexual abuse amongst the married. When I was a young girl I had the biggest chest in the 7-8th grade, and as a result I was a target. Boys touched me. And we normalized it, and it was okay. But it wasn't, I still look back and cringe about that time of my life and I look back on my relationship and I fee broken in so many ways. My chest is one place I take little pleasure in being touched maybe no pleasure. Such a. Tangled web we weave. I'm glad there is more awareness now.
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My senior year of high school I was part of a community service club. The adult advisor was new and just out of college, so she seemed young and fun to us all. She started providing alcohol for us, then having us over to her house for parties. I didn't realize how messed up it was until later, we all just thought she was super cool and wanted her to like us. One night she brought my friend and I into a bedroom and started making out with me. Then suddenly her fingers were in my vagina. I didn't know what to do, I was very uncomfortable but didn't know how to say no or get out of the situation since I was pretty drunk and not used to unwanted attention. I just lay there until she stopped, then left as soon as possible. I still blame myself for not saying no.
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We were at a party and we were lightly flirting the whole night. We both crashed the night; he had the couch and I had a blow up mattress. I woke up to hands in my underwear and him fingering me. I just froze. All I kept thinking was 'Oh maybe he thinks I'm asleep' so I made fake snoring noises. He eventually stopped and went back to his couch. I stayed up the whole night unable to sleep. The next morning the host of the party was all coy and said "Looks like some people had fun last night" He had gone to the toilet during the night and saw it and just assumed it was consensual. I told him that actually I woke up to him next to me, I felt so awkward, I didn't want to say sexual assault because I didn't want to be too dramatic. Maybe I played it off too lightly because he said "He's a nice guy though, I don't think he would have known you were asleep; he works away anyway so he doesn't interact with a lot of women" Like that explained the whole situation. I don't stay at people's places anymore. I don't car how much I've had to drink; I will find a safe way to get home.
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I was around 8 years old when my older male cousin started to seek me out for hugs and playful teasing like tickling me and stuff. Made me feel special as he was about 4 years older and usually my cousins always ignored me as they deemed me too young to play with. The hugs developed into him removing items of my clothing, pressing himself up against me, eventually touching my with his fingers and penetrating my vagina with his finger(s) and once or twice with his tongue. This spanned over 4-5 years, but wasn't that often as would only happen when my family visited his, or vice versa, and usually my sister and I would each sleep in 1 of our cousins rooms (So 2 older male cousins, brothers) so I would sleep in cousin # 1's room, and she in cousin number # 2's room. And vice versa when their family stayed with us. I can remember most of what happened but I am sure I have blocked out some moments. I remember at least 3 occasions where he would lay upon me and try to penetrate with his penis. I remember saying how he was heavy and he was hurting. Mostly he would just say 'shhhh' or 'it wont hurt again' and stuff like that. I remember feeling it was all blurred. Was it wrong? Was it right? Was is somewhere in the middle? I didn't know at 8 years old what was happening; just that my cool older cousin was giving me extra hugs. I later found out he was also doing the same to my sister (She is 2 years older than me) but also his brother (Who was 4 years older than my sister) was messing around with her. i am not 100% on how far it went, but I know that she had it worse in the sense of more than 1 abuser. I finally said no, not verbally, but one night (My mum's 40th birthday party at home) we had a house full of family, aunties and uncles and cousins. He found me watching a movie and was a dark room so he came to sit by me and started to touch me and for some reason, I had the thought of 'if I push him away and say no, he will go and find my sister so just let it happen'. Which is a messed up thought. He whispered to 'go to bed early' and he would follow me in to my room. I said i wanted to say goodnight to mum first. So I went to the lounge room where most adults were and went and sat by my mum's side. A few minutes later I saw him enter the room, see me and realised i wasn't moving, and he left. I don't know if he went to my sister or not but he never touched me again. In my early 20's a friend of mine was going through depression and we chatted and i realised I was also in a level of depression but I never made the connection as to why. I was over weight, shy, felt unloved and not worthy of anything or anyone, and had blocked out so much of what had happened that i didn't know what was happening. Cue 2 years of counselling where I started to acknowledge WHAT had happened to me, WHAT is was and to understand it wasn't my fault. I eventually moved to a diff state and continued with counselling and through that i spoke to my sister and we talked and talked about it. I made the (Very hard) decision to tell my parents and also to speak to my cousin as a way of being able to move past it all. I wanted to hear him acknowledge what he did to me and not so much that i needed to hear him say 'I'm sorry' but I wanted him to know what it had done to me, how it affected me and that I was no longer allowing it to rule my life. It was a very hard but empowering moment. Telling my parents was the worst thing as it was my dad's sisters sons who did it and I didn't want to break the family up. Since then my sister has spoken to a counsellor and dealt with all that she is capable of dealing with. I recall it all with a feeling of sadness, but I don't have anger or anything towards my cousin. I can say with conviction none of it was my fault and I worked my butt off to find a way to deal with it and not let it ruin me. Best thing I can say is to never assume the smallest act of 'assault' is nothing. Any form of assault is assault. Or molest. Sexual abuse. Any 1 small act of any of these is STILL an act. I was never threatened to keep quiet, but it was made out to be 'our thing' but once the overwhelming feeling of 'this is wrong' kept growing and growing, i was able to find a way to make it stop. Staying quiet does more damage than speaking out - even if its just to one person.
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I met my high school boyfriend when I was fourteen. We met through a mutual friend and we became fast friends and eventually started dating. We broke up a month later and stayed friends until Senior Year when he breaks up with his girlfriend of three years and he starts pursuing me. At first, I rejected the idea of us dating again, because I feel as if it didn't work out the first time then what makes me think it'll work out this time? So, I said no. That is until I was dating a guy who wasn't showing me attention and I turned to this friend for comfort and we started dating again. Three days after he asked me out, we went back to his house and started kissing and messing around until I said that I wanted to try and have sex. I was a virgin. He got on top and started to go inside. It hurt like hell and I told him to stop. He didn't. He kept going and ignored my request. Then a moth later he broke up with me. We still hooked up after we broke up and he took advantage of me. When I moved out of state for college, I met a guy, told him this story, and he told me that it sounded like Sexual Assault. I told my best friend, who told my rapist to stay the hell away from me. As did I. Today, I'm better. Much better. I am still with the man I love and see myself marrying. I have talked to my Assaulter and I have forgiven him, not for him but for myself. I don't hate him anymore and I am slowly trying to get back into the swing of things.
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One of my good friends has a crush on me but he knows I like someone else. Me and my friend flirt sometimes but he knows I don't want anything. He knew that I liked this other kid, and that me and the other kid had sex. So my friend had a party and I got drunk so I decided I would stay over so I didn't have to drive. Alot of people stayed over so I figured we wouldn't be alone. But we were alone in the living room and I was tired and ready to go to sleep. He started to cuddle with me and he tried kissing me and I said no stop he didn't. I ended up kissing him back just so he could maybe stop if I gave him one kiss. But he didn't he was really rough and grabbed me and put his hands in my pants and I told him I don't want to but he didn't and when I would try to get him of he would pull me back. He kept saying I know you want me stop trying to act like you don't and I said I don't. He got mad and said you had sex with this other guy but won't have sex with me? He ended up stick it in and I said no I don't want to and he was like come on just alittle he picked me up and started doing it like that and it was clear as day I wasnt enjoying it. And I told him to stop and I looked at him and said you aren't listening and he said you can stop if you wanted and I said I did try to stop but every time I would try to get off you would pull me back. After that he finally let me go and I told him I was upset and that the other guy didn't do that to me the other guy respected my decision and said we didn't have to do it. I put my clothes on and went right to sleep. I didn't feel comfortable there with him. I felt so violated, we are still friends I didn't want to tell him that I felt sexually assaulted or that it felt like rape. I will never let that happen to me again.
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When I was seven, my older brother began pressing my face into his lap whenever my parents weren't watching...at night, when they weren't home, even in the backseat of the car on long trips. He'd wait until it was dark, cover me with a blanket to make my parents think I was asleep, and press his penis into my mouth. I had no way of knowing this was wrong, at least not in a life-defining way...more like getting caught stealing a cookie. He warned me not to tell or I'd be punished. It escalated; once he tried to talk me into doing some weird, dark things, saying they'd be fun. Then when I tried to do them, he said he'd get me in trouble if I ever told. He even invited his friend to join in once. For nearly four years, I was unable to safely sleep at night. I'd awaken to him in my bed. He'd say he had just come in to wish me good night or that he thought I'd been having a nightmare. He'd sneak out and I'd look down to see I was missing clothing. When he killed himself just before my 11th birthday, I decided to put all this behind me, to forget. But it had already defined parts of my personality, formed my ideas of sexuality, self-worth, and how males and females interact. All my adult relationships have had abusive overtones and I know that's at least partly my fault. I've spent 30 years trying to unravel all the damage. But what really breaks me down is imagining what my life would be like if my brother had not been what he was, had not done what he did. I will never marry or have children, because I cannot accept or maintain healthy long-term relationships. I'm tragically lonely and I really wanted to be someone's mother.
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I have no idea how old I was. Little I suppose, because my mother was drying me off after a bath. It was innocent enough, I tell myself. She pinched my V between her index and middle fingers and roughly jiggled...like she was pinching my cheek. I remember her smiling at me and saying "tookie tookie tookie" in a sing song way. And I remember the feeling in my stomache...like I was going to vomit. Its strange how some things you just know...before the opinion of society and its "norms" have been revealed to you...I had no concept of the definitions of abuse; the feeling set in anyway...after nausea came the panic. Who was in charge now? Where was the grown up that I was supposed to turn to to fix it? WHO THE FUCK IS DRIVING THE BUS IF THIS WOMAN IS BACK HERE PINCHING MY FUCKING TWAT!?!?! and it never came back. the feeling of being held and looked out for by someone who knew what they were doing. i felt aimless and powerless and separate from her, from everyone....from myself. I knew no one really knew what to do or where to go or how to make the right choice or what the point of anything was...and this is the first time i've even made the connection between that moment and the total lack of connection ive felt for all of my thirty five years. thank you for creating this place. I dont know if it helped....and i dont care. I just am both horrified and relieved that its out of me. And while I appriciate the ability to be annonymous, I dont need to be: My name is Simone. Her name is Isabel.
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I was in an abusive marriage. When my ex wife and I would get into fights where it would often got physical. Being taught that it was wrong to hit a girl I always took it. One night we got into an argument and she was trying to get me to be quiet and that is when she forced herself on me. I tried to push her off of me several times and told her to stop but she didn't. After a while become physically and emotional exhausted I just gave up and gave in. We weren't intimate for a while due to the trauma. She accused me of with holding sex from her. I didn't realize that I had been abused and raped until after I got divorced and was out of the relationship for several months. The whole thing has left me wrecked and I have PTSD. I've been going to therapy for a while now but I still haven't been able to date anyone since then.
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Reading some of these posts, I realize I have been sexually assaulted more than I thought. When I was 15 I dated this guy who I thought was my first love. I was a virgin he was not. We dated for about 6 months till he started asking for sex. I didn't want too yet I wasnt ready, he started to act different towards me much colder. He said he needs that physical connection with me and that having sex would make him feel closer and becuz I loved him I wanted to give him what he wanted but then I thought no I don't want to. So then he broke up with me and I was devastated so we met during the night to talk and I told him he could come inside my friends house so we didn't have to be outside we talked and sat in the chair and we stayed together instead of breaking up. So we laid in bed together, and we kissed like we normally do and he fingered me and started taking off my clothes I told him I don't want to and he said it would be okay. I never said yes but I stopped saying no. I remember laying there as he forced his way in. I remember tears coming down my face. We didn't finish becuz someone woke up, I was glad that we stopped becuz I didn't know how to stop him. After the sex I was completely attached like he said sex would make him feel to me. But he didn't get attached to me. He ended up treating me like I wasnt anything towards him and we broke up about a month later.
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I met him at a bar. I was tipsy and he was very drunk. I was 19, and he told me he was 21. We exchanged numbers and flirted for the next week. We went on a date. I pieced together that the timeline of his academic and professional history couldn't possibly put him at 21. I asked him point blank, and he had no recollection of telling me he was 21. He was 26. At this point, I decided we had no future together. We were in the middle of dinner, and he said "You are out already, you might as well have a good night," and proceeded to buy me many, many drinks. When he asked me to go home with him, I told him no, that I was a virgin. He told me how much he respected me for that, that I was a rare person for that. He respected me all the way into his bed. As soon as I was in his car, I felt manipulated. I didn't know how to walk away without being rude. He wasn't gentle, and he didn't act like he respected me. When he was done and I was quiet, he made fun of me for expecting fireworks the first time. I stayed the night, but he woke me up early to leave because he had a football game. We never spoke again.
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In tenth grade I got into the “bad scene” as you could say, I started smoking weed, and cigarettes, occasionally drinking and I got myself in a relationship with a twenty-one year old drug dealer when I was only fifteen years of age. This “relationship” quickly took a turn for the worst. He was extremely manipulative, a compulsive liar and abusive. He laced my pot with cocaine making it more addictive for me. He told me that he had multiple personalities at least eight of them and that was what made him snap. He used to refer to himself as a monster I never knew how right he could be… The first time he raped me I was at his complex building (well not his but his mothers home) him and I were watching a tv show when he began to make out with me, we were alone in his place and I knew it was inevitable he was older and wanted to have sex, I was still a virgin and had never even done anything remotely sexual before this. “Do you have a bed?” I remember asking him shakily, I didn’t recognize my own voice that was escaping my throat. Him and I had talked a night prior that he wanted to spend some time with me “alone” I remember thinking “I need to get this over with or he’ll hate me.“ He smirked and led me downstairs where he then removed my clothing while I was shaking with tears in my eyes, as I lay down on the mattress naked I looked at him with fear stricken eyes with him looming over on top of me and I gasped “I can’t do this.. I’m scared, I’m not ready.” He told me to “shhh” and proceeded to get on top of me and try to penetrate me. I cried harder, whimpering saying things like “wait..” and “I can’t…” but he continued. I never considered this rape till a year later because I never had “fought back” and the way he acted he made me believe that what he did to me was my fault and that I was “asking for it” These incidents continued to progress over the coarse of our relationship, always I was crying and saying things like “wait” or “I can’t do this” and “stop” though times I just laid there and cried I cannot recall how many times this happened because I blocked it out so much but all I remember is coming home extremely sore and confused. The best way I can describe it is this… imagine being out of your body so often I would drift somewhere else staring off into a different direction not looking at his face and allowing tears to slowly drip from my face. One incident sticks out at me very clearly this twenty-one year old lets just call him “Stan” was into sadism and masochism, he enjoyed receiving pain but more then that he enjoyed giving pain… I tried to go along with it out of fear and because I thought I “loved him” not to mention I was extremely manipulated to the core. After taking off my clothes and trying to penetrate me once again while I cried because of pain and fear, he decides to bring a knife downstairs in his basement (the basement is where all the rapes occurred) he then tells me “I’m bringing a knife downstairs and somebody is getting fucked no matter how badly it hurts.” meaning me obviously, so he brings it down and first he tells me to hold it to his throat, so I obey shakily. Soon afterwards he grabs the knife from me and holds it to my throat saying “your turn!” he then quickly ties me up I think it was with a sock or something to his bedpost, I then struggle and I clearly am not into this sick twisted game, I freak out and cry “I don’t want to do this anymore!” I grab the knife from him with my free hand and try to cut through the sock with the other, almost during all these incidents I was high on laced weed. But this isn’t the worst of it he also bruised me by biting my arm so hard I cried, and shoving me around pushing me up against the walls trying to make out with me when I clearly didn’t want him too, that was the one time I fought back I shoved him off me angrily and kicked him in the leg. This other incident that occurred and that I am extremely hesitant to write due to the fact that the police have been called on me many times by this certain individual… yet I figure if I change names it will all be okay, this incident is written in letter format, its written as though its a letter to my abuser but it describes the event perfectly in complete detail, trigger warning. “Dear Stan, usually when I write you letters I talk about the past or the future but never about that day. Never about what actually happened… this time I will. To put it bluntly you and I previously tried to have “sex” numerous times before that day. I cried and was in pain for all of them, you did not care. Each time we tried I felt useless pathetic and incapable… sorry I was a virgin. Then you and Clara conjure up this idea to have a threesome. I know you agreed because you figured this was the only way you could have sex, the threesome for you was an excuse to get laid without it being considered cheating. I did not want to but you pressured me into going along with it. Both of you did. Once again you did not care, didn’t acknowledge my feelings. Clara and I go to your mums place where you were staying, you smoke us up since Clara was begging to get high the previous day before. You pack up separate bowls… and I start to feel kind of off like the high wasn’t what it was suppose to be. Clara seems to feel fine. All three of us go downstairs to the cold dingy basement where your dirty old mattress lay, I suggest you two strip first since I do not want to be the first one. But when I change my mind and realize what’s actually happening… I refuse to strip for some reason you two think this is funny and you leap on top of me and try to yank my clothes off. I get scared because I don’t want them forced off so shakily I begin to obey. You try to touch me but since I don’t want you touching me I begin to make out with her instead as a distraction. Finally I turn to you wanting to get it over with. I grimace and cry you still don’t care you tell me to “take the pain out on me you” Not much time passes till the humiliation sinks in and I tell you to stop and you do. As I cry and turn away I tell you two you can go at it if you want. You both waste no time, she’s moaning and groaning telling you to go faster and harder while your fucking her your also trying to kiss me. I turn away putting my hands out in front of me mumbling “no..” it takes you awhile to get the hint and you finally stop trying. Another ugly noise escapes her throat before you two finally finish. You come to me now and ask “what’s wrong?” as if you don’t know. There’s an awkward silence that passes by before you turn to Clara and say “I don’t think we’ll be needing this anymore” talking about the condom. You are so disgusting you were literally going to use the exact same condom you used with Clara with me… considering all the people she slept with prior to you, still you didn’t even consider the fact that she may have an sti. you go upstairs to throw it out and Clara turns to me dumbfounded “why are you crying?” she asks I don’t answer instead I cuddle myself in the blanket knowing you’ll be back soon. “Please don’t tell him I’m crying” I whisper after her asking what’s wrong over and over. She promises not to tell, you return, you want to eat me out Clara tells me I should let you that I’ll like it ect. I turn away disgusted from both of you “No… I don’t want to” I said angrily. “I want you too” you insist as you stick your fingers inside of me I squirm I don’t like how it feels but I’m too high to move. Clara’s laughing watching tv as she gets dressed she tells me we need to go back to school. I tell her I just want to stay but I can’t move and I can barely talk. She leaves. Then you insist we try once more to have sex I don’t want to I tell you “I don’t know I’m sore” You begin anyway. It hurts worse this time “I don’t think I can do this” I say but you don’t listen. “maybe we should stop” I insist again you respond “we’re almost there love” not caring… I insist “You need to stop” my voice is shaking and my vision goes blurry.. I cry out once again “your hurting me you need to stop” you do not listen no matter what I say or how hard I cry you don’t listen. Finally I try a new method begging you to stop you thrust into me once more just to prove that you can, you smirk and then stop. The fact is Stan when I said stop the first time you should have and you didn’t. If that’s not “force” if that’s not “rape” I don’t know what is… you and you betrayed me in the worst way possible. Now I see you for what you really are… a monster I don’t care if you had personalities your part of it either way.” Shortly after this incident occurred I got a phone call from the police, Clara had called the cops claiming she was “raped” and since she was only fourteen at the time it was considered statutory rape. I took a long time to go to the police and when I finally did manage to do a video interview I lied, I told them the exact truth that went on with Clara and Stan but not about what happened with me afterwards and how I felt about the whole thing. I hate myself for it now but I suppose apart of me was protecting him, he ended up getting charged with two counts of sexual interference of minors and got a year in jail (not prison) time served, and twenty years sex offender registry. Since this incident I have not only had to deal with the aftermath of having this happen to me, and coming to grips with the fact that this was rape, but having lies told about me constantly involving the case, Clara would tell numerous friends of hers that she was the one crying while I was having sex with Stan, I got plenty of harassment from her and her mother blaming me for the entire incident. I also run a blog http://blametherapistneverthevictim.tumblr.com/ if any survivors would like advice or just someone to talk to, I want to make them aware I'm always here for support.
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When I was young, maybe even so young that it it is pre-self-history, my father choked me, perhaps almost to death, and I think, perhaps in the same breath, he touched me, almost rubbing until nothing was left. I don't remember that much of it. My mom told me later that she was afraid to divorce him. She told me she was worried that the church would frown upon her divorcing the man who hit her, the man who I saw holding her against the wall when I was in kindergarden. She was worried her mother, some matron of a forlorn generation, some matriarch of a time before us, would disapprove. All I can do, to anyone else who has suffered, to anyone else who has felt this way, is to offer my strength. You will never know me, you do not know me, but I will tell you that I love for you, and that I will be praying for your strength. I can tell you only that I love you for seeking some support, for seeking some help, - and that I can only hope that if my love may be your strength in a time of weakness that you may rise above much stronger than any naysayer or disbeliever, shrouded in love, shrouded in courage, shrouded in hope - hope that, someday, some child out there will not cry from seeing his parents fight in a war that is beyond any self-history, hoping only to see mother again in one piece.
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I was 20, and very acclimated to the binge drinking culture of college. I was an educator and resource person for my sorority sisters about rape, sexual assault, and rape culture. Like (virtually) all women, I had been harassed in my teens. My recurrent night terror throughout my teens was that I would blackout one night and have no memory of what had happened. I have faced that fear more than once, now. I had been drugged my freshman year, but saved by my then roommate from anything more serious than an awful stomach ache, one heck of a hangover, and student health invoice showing ketamine in my system. I had a false sense of security about going out with my close trusted female friends after that, and felt empowered by the knowledge I was learning as an educator. I know that it was not my fault, but I still feel naive. A close friend and I went out to meet up with some of her male friends from high school who were in town visiting. The bar had a reputation for spiking drinks, and closed shortly after this night. I wish I could say I had something to do with that. I don't remember much, but I do know I was not impressed with any of these guys, and I only recall ordering one drink. After that, I only have a few fuzzy memories. I remember trying to be nice since these were friends of a friend. Then I have a flash of being in the fraternity room these guys were crashing in with my close friend there, she and I were trying to dance. I remember waking up in a strange bed and realizing I was naked. My body wouldn't move as commanded. There was someone next to me, and I needed to throw up. Then the morning. I knew I had an early class. I fumbled to get myself dressed and demanded someone drive me to my class, I had a quiz. I could hear my speech was slurred. My close friend had been in the room the whole time. I forgot my phone in the car, and spent the next 10 days trying to get in touch with that guy who had been in town visiting to get my phone back. I will always remember his name. I was optimistically in denial that anything had happened to me for the next 3 days. Until I couldn't rationalize the fingertip shaped bruises I had on my thighs, and the soreness I still felt. I got the morning after pill just in case, but was still optimistically in denial. The quiz I got back from my early morning class the morning after was entirely illegible, even to me. When my assaulter returned to town with my phone, I had to meet with him face to face to get it back. I couldn't even get the words out of my mouth to ask if he had had sex with me. All I could do is ask, "Did we......?" To which he laughed and said, "Yeah, of course."
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I was partying with my best friend, drinking and doing coke, the bars were about to close when we ran into an acquaintance of ours who said he knew a place where we could party and that he had more alcohol. So we happily went with him to his friends apartment. My friend and the guy seemed to be hitting it off really well and they were mostly intent on each other as we all blew down the rest of coke. The guy whose apartment it was had two of his friends show up and they brought and they had brought some wax to smoke out of their vape pens. I hit the vape pen once or twice when it was offered, not thinking much of it, about 20 minutes later i was out of control spinning and i felt like dying was a possibility. I was hyperventilating in the bathroom for what felt like forever, trying to make myself throw up and get it over with. If i had been any one else in that apartment i would have gotten me help, but they didnt and I eventually made it thru what i thought was the worst of it. I asked if it was alright if i laid down in the guys room and he said it was fine so I did. I was barely functioning at this time, still spinning terribly and knowing that there was a 50/50 chance that this guy would try to fuck me and that I wasn't sure if I would be able to stop it but I was so weak and tired and to prideful to tell my friend what was happening. So i tried my best to sleep, my body gave up but my mind was reeling. The guy came in at some point and got into the bed next to me. I knew what was happening but i couldn't stop it, I halfheartedly pushed him away, muttered 'stop please stop' into the pillows it was to hard to fight, i just wanted to pretend it wasn't happening tho part of me felt like i deserved it, and the other part was to worried about 'causing a scene' or making people uncomfortable to force out a scream. I don't know how many times he raped me that night. I see him at the bar sometimes, I know he has convinced himself that what he did was ok, I know he told my friend that it was 'consensual' when confronted, and I know my friend let's himself believe that it was to make himself feel better.
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When I was 15 I had a crush on a senior boy. He knew very well that I liked him and he would call me on the phone at night and we would talk all the time. I thought so highly of him and wanted to hangout with him whenever I could. One night he asked me if I wanted to come to a hotel with him and a friend I knew it wasn't smart, but I really liked him and if there was other people there I figured it would be okay. It was past midnight when I got there and I told him previously I did not want to have sex because I knew he had a rep. He said he understood and he really wanted to get to know me. I fell for everything he said, which was mostly lies I found out later. That night we were having a good time, but then he kissed me and started removing my clothes. I told him I didn't want to, I asked him to stop. He took off my pants and he told me it would be okay. I said no and he just kissed me. I just let him. Every sexual experience since I hide my face and feel violated. But I still can't admit that he assaulted me.
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he was a cool kid, four years older, troubled but I didn't know it. he slowed his car and talked to me. his interest in me baffled me and made me feel special. he asked me to come over to his house later that night to watch a movie. he picked me up, we watched a movie in his cabin. i wanted to kiss him and he wanted to kiss me. i sat on his thighs and made out like any 16 year old would. he thought i wanted more. he thought i knew all about it. he thought i wanted sex because i kissed him. before knowing clothes were coming off and we were touching. i had never been naked in front of anyone before. he was big, 6'4", black and tall, an adult but he was immature. i didn't know where his 9" would fit. i didn't know where my vagina was. i was immature and unaware. he walked towards me, led me to bed. i didn't know how sex happened. i was confused and he said, "have you ever done it?" and replied, "no." he reassured it'd be great. he was excited that i was a virgin. i felt uncomfortable but i wanted to be cool. he kept on nearing me, i inched my body back into the dark room until i was in the corner, not realizing what was happening. i was naive 16 year old. i had just moved to the country. i said, no. no. i'm not ready. he said, "you know what you are doing. it's ok." it hurt. i bled. i felt numb. i walked upstairs to my bedroom, hiding my pain as each step burned my raw cavity. i told my closest friends. they distanced themselves from me. i lost all my friends because they thought lowly of me. all of my 4.0 GPA friends. i lost my support, i didn't have anyone to turn to. no adults to seek, no friends, no one i trusted. the only person who talked to me was him. he reached out and asked how things were. i accepted his friendship. i was so lonely. from a popular geek to an ostracized slut, i didn't know where to go. he said i love you and brought flowers to school. no one else but other boys looked on with curiosity. nobody had ever taught me how to seek help. i embodied the sex symbol and became what others saw me as. i became more confident in sex but i enjoy it. i never orgasmed. i faked them. looking back, i was an idiot. a helpless one. it wasn't cool. it was lonely. if you have friends in a similar position, please talk to them. this is when they need you the most. and if you are in this situation, don't isolate yourself. seek help. a professional, a local womens group, a friend, or a teacher. you are special but you don't need someone to show you how special you are. don't let them take control of you. that's not love, it's abuse. i've learned to love my hurt but it took a long time. lots of talking and creating before i realized what i experienced was rape, not love. remember, it's not always preventable but please never judge because it happened. spread empathy and care by beginning to listen.
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I started dating him when I was 19. I was really young. It was my first serious relationship. I didn't know that what was happening to me was emotional abuse - I just knew that I loved him, and I thought he loved me. So if he wanted it, I should, right? I can't actually identify anything he told me that wasn't a lie, or at the very least the heavily edited truth. Sometimes it was incredibly mundane lies - whether or not he dated someone in middle school, for instance (keep in mind, we met in *college*). But this extended to sex as well. He said he hadn't received oral before - that was a lie. I remembered being a little surprised, as that seemed like a pretty normal thing to do in a relationship, as far as I was aware. But I believed him, because why would someone lie about that? When I lost my virginity to him, it was after repeated occasions where we would make out in my dorm room. Mid-breath, he'd pant, "Do you want to have sex?" I would say no, but then he would keep grinding again me until he finished in his pants. I felt bad - my desire to wait started to just seem like me causing him an inconvenience. And weren't we basically already having sex? We weren't. When I, repentant, finally offered to have sex with him after having him grind on me for ten minutes, it was horrifically painful. I bled. My body was not ready. I would also bleed every time we had sex for the next two weeks. I can't think of a single encounter with him where the sex wasn't at least initially painful. My body knew what my mind was blind to. Then, his "ideas" started to get weirder. I was rewarded with love for participating in "kinky" sex. The degrading acts he said he had never done before? That was a lie, too. I was very clearly hesitant and tried to avoid it, but after he finally pushed me as far as I could go, he lost interest in sex just a few months later. He did, however, gain interest in other women. After becoming the perfect student, I was told I wanted sex too much. Since breaking up with him, I had to start seeing a therapist. Sometimes I have nightmares about him. Contacting the girl he dated before me (also for three years, and with weirdly specific lines he said verbatim to us both) - that has been the only thing that's given me any feeling that I'm not crazy. That this did happen. Because most of our friends still think he's a great guy, and it starts to feel like I'm still trapped with him. I try not to think about it, but I worry about what will happen to the next girl.
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When I met my ex boyfriend neither of us had a job, so when we agreed to have a date I suggested we cook our own dinner, i think he invited me over to his house because my parents are really awkward so it was easier to have a date at his parents house. I brought ingredients to make sushi and we cooked. He suggested we eat in his room since the tv was occupied in the living room, I didnt like the idea of watching shows on his iPad but I agreed to it cause I didn't think it was a big deal. He told me girls only wanted him for sex and he had a lot of ex girlfriends that left him after having sex, so I didn't want to do anything knowing that if I decided I didn't want to have a second date with him he would blame me for using him.. And I was a little unsure of him at this point. He told me he liked to tease a lot and he had been touching me a lot before he told me this, and from a casual sex point of view I didn't mind the attention, but I didn't want casual sex and I couldn't see it going well if we did stuff and I didn't like him romantically. He started touching my vagina and rubbing my clit and it felt good so I didn't want to stop him, I told him I didn't want to take my pants off, but he told me it would be easier to touch you if your pants were off and started taking them off of me. He told me he wanted to eat me out and I told him I didn't want to, but he started to anyway. After he asked me to suck his dick and I felt like I owed him because he gave me oral, even though I told him not to. He convinced me to suck his dick and he wanted to 'tease' me with his dick on my vagina, which I definitely thought took it too far. Once he was there it would be too easy for him to force me to have sex so I used a jiu jitsu move to keep his crotch away from mine, and told him repeatedly that I wanted him to stop. He thought it was funny and he was surprised he couldn't pull my legs apart so he started pushing on me harder and really throwing me around, the whole time I'm trying to get him off of me to stop. He finally decided to get off me and I took the chance to get behind him and put him in a choke hold, and told him to stop or I would choke him. He tried to throw me off so I really pressed down and he tapped. I wish I had choked him until he passed out and left forever. I dated him for three months. Among other dealbreaker issued, multiple times he convinced me to have sex even though I didn't want to, but to him his sexual needs were more important than my feelings.I wasn't turned on so I was dry, a few times it was painful for me to have sex but he kept going anyway. He coerced me into having anal sex and the last time we had sex he decided we could do anal because my vagina was too sore, because we were having sex when I didn't want it and I was dry. I finally realized that he wanted me to cater to his needs even when they were causing me to suffer, and that's not ok. After we broke up I tried a dating app but every guy I came across made me feel nauseated because I felt disrespected by me ex because of my gender, and the little comments about what they like in their dates were misogynistic and selfish. Some had personality traits that reminded me of my ex. I feel like choosing a date is like searching through a minefeild, each one with the potential to hurt me. It's been about a week since we broke up, I told him not to contact me. I don't know when I'll be able to date again, or when I'll be ok with having sex with a man again.
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I went to a festival and was given an edible, in exchange for some chocolate chip cookies a friend made me. I'd never taken one before and ate the whole thing. The people I was with didn't have the knowledge to tell me differently, so we sat on our blankets and relaxed for the rest of the festival. At 5:00pm, I left the festivities to make it back home alone via public transportation and the edible hit me -- hard. I had unknowingly taken way too much and was overdosing. I got off the bus, hoping to get to a coffee shop or something, where I could access internet and get a friend to help me. I walked downtown, dusk, tripping and not knowing at all what to do. I walked blocks, found a shop, got some advice from a friend via text and tried to find a safe space, which so happened to be my workspace. From there, in a corner, I called the only friend I knew nearby. I knew there was no way I could navigate home safely, as a woman at night, on public transportation. He laughed when he heard me, came to pick me up with reluctance, and took me back to his apartment. I just wanted to sleep, still high, but he wouldn't let me. He made me eat, made me shower, and left me in there. I stumbled out, angry at him. He wrapped me in a towel and asked me to open my mouth for medicine. He placed something bitter on the end. "What...what...is this...what..." I stumbled, and he assured me just a little something to put me right. Something from Columbia. My eyes widened with horror. Cocaine. "B-b-b-ut b-b-b u t I d-d..on't wan-tt--" but he cut me off, firmly, insisting I needed it. "I hope you're not don't have an addictive personality or something." So, I had two drugs in my body and no control over what happened next. I woke up in the morning, him sleeping contently, feeling embarrassed and ashamed of myself. I still am.
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I was at a party. It was my roommate's 22nd birthday party and we would often have a good time but she would also put me in some awkward situations (she would get high, try to convince me I should get high too even though she knows that I really do not enjoy being high, or taking me to parties where the cops might get called etc.). Anyways, so we were doing a thing were people would bring some booze or something to mix into it and we'd mix it all into a disgusting boozy mess. Not surprisingly I got pretty intoxicated. Not throwing up and blacking out intoxicated, but pleasantly. I was probably in no decision making sort of state but I was having a good time. Anyways so after some time spent with most people being intoxicated, my roommate went off to make out with a dude she was trying to get me to date (????), some chick was playing with the fake tail I was wearing, and eventually me and one of my roommate's good friends and his girlfriend ended up cuddling in a chair. So the majority of the evening was going well and I was spacing out in a pleasant boozy state while cuddling with these humans. The dude was definitely the cuddly bear type and I figured since his girlfriend was literally right there and all the cuddling was relatively platonic and non-sexual. I must have been wrong though because at some point I distinctly remember my boozy haze being interrupted by his fingers grading my crotch through my shorts. It didn't feel like a particularly significant event but I still sometimes look back and just feel uncomfortable about it. The fact that his girlfriend was right there almost makes it worse. Did she not see? Did she not care? Was she in on it too? I also just remember very vividly looking at him while he was doing it and he gave me some sort of weird smile like I was supposed to say thank you??? I ended up saying absolutely nothing and to this day writing it right here has been the first time I have ever acknowledged it. The worst part is I feel like I should hate him but I don't because he's just in general fun to be around. Another thing to note is that a couple months later after the event, he messaged me over facebook asking if I wanted to do a threesome with him and his girlfriend. And in all honesty if he hadn't had broken my trust prior I probably would have done it too. Not to mention his girlfriend is WICKED cute. Even now if I had the chance to just have sex with her I'd probably do it but I don't think that's gonna happen as she and le perp are a package deal.
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I needed a place to stay one night and a friend told me to come to his apartment in a hotel. But he was out when I got there and a man showed me his badge and said he was a police officer and had to be out all night on patrol, and I could stay at his place. But when we got there, he locked the door and told me that it was either going to be him raping me in the bed, or other men raping me outside on the street. I chose to stay inside, at least. I almost fainted while he did it but he told me if I fainted he'd punch me. He turned out to be a welfare inspector and he told me that he'd done that to other women while he was at their homes.
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I rode my bike over to a guy's house to return a borrowed book, when I was 13. He locked me in his house and tried to rape me. I kneed him in the nuts, though, and got away.
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The last week of 8th grade, I went over to my boyfriend's house, drank Sloe Gin, and got drunk for the first time. Then, a guy at the party took me into a bedroom and starting having sex with me, and I tried to push him off but he was way bigger, and all the guys at the party watched him rape me and no one did or said anything to protect me.
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I was so excited and nervous about this date. I stressed all week about what I would wear and if it would go well. You and I instantly clicked and we understood each other's ideas about life and death. I invited you up to my room but I didn't feel right about it. A part of me knew. A part of me knew that there was something wrong. You came up though and I felt too nervous to say no. We danced and smoked and drank and next thing I know we are making out. This is too fast for me. I felt so uncomfortable I was frantically trying to think of excuses I could tell you so you would leave. I told you I was assaulted before and you pretended to be empathetic but that lasted about 3 minutes. You were on top of me and fingering me. You kept telling me I would feel pleasure. You put your tongue and mouth inside of me and I came. I came because I needed to feel some pleasure or control. I begged you to stop. I quietly pleaded and said over and over again no please no I don't want this. It didn't stop you. I wasn't violent. And you weren't either. But I begged you to stop and you didn't. It was a silent rape. A slow and sad rape. The kind that leaves you feeling dirty rather than angry. You came inside of me. You slept over and held me the entire time and I felt empty. My alarm went off in the morning and you started to have sex with me again. I wasn't wet so you moved forward and I Laid there and you put You penis in my mouth and began to thrust while I laid still, immobile in the shock and disassociation. I finally pushed you off of me and told you I had to go to work. You laid there and watched me get dressed as I felt shame and nakedness. You walked me to my bus stop and thanked me for a beautiful evening. A beautiful evening of silent rape. You are welcome.
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About 7 minutes ago, I came to the realization that I was sexually assaulted, or raped, by my ex-boyfriend. I haven't done enough research to distinguish between the two yet. I just remember what happened that night, probably about 5 years ago. We were both completely drunk. I was furious at him over something that I cannot recall now. We went back to his place and I was yelling at him. I changed and got into bed with him, still mad. I remember passing out and waking up to him having sex with me. In a tired daze, I yelled at him, telling him to stop, telling him to get off of me. I thought he was too drunk to understand that I did not want this. He was just drunk and horny and I was his girlfriend so what was the problem? I didn't think he was raping me at the time. I just knew that I was mad at him and I did not want to have sex with him. I was hitting him without effort, as I was drunk and exhausted. I started to cry silently with tears streaming down my face. I was mad at him and I was mad that he was having sex with me while I was mad at him. Eventually, he stopped. Not because I told him to, but because he was too drunk to continue. We woke up the next morning and it was as if it never happened. I was still mad over the thing I forget, but we made up. I later broke up with him because he cheated on me. I went on to date a great guy who was wrong for me - that didn't work out either. But during this relationship, and in my casual hookups with other guys, I fantasized about role-playing rape. I don't know why. I wanted to feel helpless in bed. I wanted them to take over and do what they wanted with me. Is this linked at all? I am now dating an amazing girl. I haven't told her about this yet, as I just realized it myself 7, or now about 15, minutes ago. She's my soul mate and the person I am meant to be with, but I find myself not wanting sex with her as much as I used to want sex with those other guys. It's not because of the gender difference, but I think all of these memories and feelings are coming back to me. I trust her completely. When I don't want to have sex I tell her and she understands, but I can tell she's frustrated. We're dating for god's sake! I can sense her confusion and it makes me feel pressured even though she isn't pressuring me at all. I am so attracted to her and I've never felt this secure and loved before. I don't know what's wrong. It's like I want to say no to sex just because I can.
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In high school, a boy I thought was into me groped me and then never talked to me again. I thought that it was something wrong with me. He bragged to his friends. In college, I dated a boy who emotionally abused me and sexually pressured and assaulted me. He made me think that everything that went wrong was my fault and that I didn't love him enough if I wasn't willing to do XYZ, so I did it. After too many months of letting myself be abused and crying every day, we broke up. I wish I could say that I left him, but it was a mutual thing because even then, I didn't see what was really happening. It took me a long time to realize it was abuse and since him, I haven't had romantic interest in anyone because I don't trust people who want me sexually anymore. A few months ago, someone who I thought was a long time friend and who had been a source of emotional support for me for almost 7 years cornered me in a bar and kept trying to touch me and grab my thighs and pull me into him even though I told him that I wasn't sober and didn't want it. He got mad at me for leading him on and ignoring him. I had to get my other male friend to come get him off me and get me out of there. I haven't talked to the guy since and I still feel guilty about ruining such a long friendship. Secretly, I still wish we could talk to each other again. I'm ashamed of that wish.
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I was a sophomore in college (19) in October 2014. I went to a party with a bunch of my friends. One of my close friends who I hadn't hung out with in a while decided to come. He ended up not drinking since he was so tired from working late that night. It was fairly early in the night (between midnight and 1) that he decided to leave. I was really drunk by this point and he offered to let me stay at his place. I lived a good 30 minute walk vs. a 5 minute walk so it seemed like a good tradeoff. I had stayed the night on the couch before so I decided it wasn't a big deal. When we got to his place he encouraged me to take the bed. I briefly remember trying to talk to him and his roommate before falling asleep, my head felt really heavy and I couldn't feel my feet/hands. I woke up to him flipping me over so he was on top of me. My dress and bra were off. He took my underwear off. I kept putting them back on only to have them taken off again. I won't go into graphic detail but I asked him to stop several time, screamed, cried; he slapped me and choked me. I eventually gave up. This lasted a couple hours. He cried afterwards and said he was sorry and tried to hold me. I rolled as far away from him as possible and left as soon as it was light out. I saw him several times a week after this occurred. He tried to remain friends with me but I suffered with severe PTSD as a result of the attack. I'd have a panic attack every time I saw him. Several months after I finally DID report him to my school. He was suspended for a year... people who cheat on a paper get expelled...
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It feels like I've spent my life being shown that my feelings don't matter because I'm female. I got into massive fights from 2-7 grades, mostly with guys, for a variety of reasons. One thing that was always the same was that, no matter how much damage had been done to either of us, I went to the office, they went to the nurse. I was told that fighting "wasn't ladylike" and I remember someone telling me that the reason I never had a boyfriend was because I was violent. I never started a fight. The fights between me and some of the older guys often ended up with "accidental brushes" that were...uncomfortable to say the least. Fighting girls wasn't as bad, because we both got in trouble. The problem was the guys who thought, honestly, that seeing a set of 12 year old girls literally trying to scratch each others eyes out was "hot". That didn't change much over the years. I got my first boyfriend when I was 15, and had him for 3 years. We had moved, I had calmed down a lot, I didn't get into fights. I was never comfortable with kissing or sexual touches of any kind, but when we had been dating for about a year, he cheated on me. I forgave. I figured it was my fault for some reason. I wasn't enough, he was the first guy who had liked me like that. (sorta, the really first one ended up ignoring me when I kept telling people we weren't dating. We weren't.) Very few of my friends told me that I should just break up with him, that what he'd done was actually wrong, that just because he told me (over facebook, btw) didn't mean that he deserved another chance. He kissed me for the first time a while later. I don't count it as my first kiss. I was giving him a hug after a date and he just kissed me. Then he was gone before I could say anything. I count my first kiss with a high school friend at prom. She asked if she could have a kiss goodbye, and waited for me to say yes before even moving closer. I liked that one. I have spent so long being just another object for people to ogle that I honestly don't notice anymore. But reading this...I can't wear skirts or dresses without tights, leggings, or shorts. I just recently started being able to wear tank tops instead of baggy, sarcastic T-shirts daily. I specify to people that I am Pan-romantic, but I usually tell guys I'm a lesbian because it's safer than saying that I'm Demisexual, or bisexual (I'm still not completely sure, but whatever) and that has actually ruined a few potential relationships. Like, if I can't sexually be attracted to you, I can't date you, or love you. There was a thing at my college a few days ago called the "Genital Monologues" that was very empowering, and really brought out how really everyone goes through things like this, and that we're not alone. At the end, anyone who had experienced sexual assault and was comfortable could stand up and be given a rose to be shown support. I found out later that my friend (who I was there with) and I had the same problem. What is sexual assault? Had we really gone through it? Neither of us stood. I still don't know if I should have.
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I was in my second year of college. I had drank a lot. I mean a lot a lot. It was just something that I did. There was this guy that I had THE BIGGEST CRUSH ON. We had hooked up a couple times in first year and we reconnected once second year started. I don't remember the predrink. I don't remember the party. I don't remember talking to him or going home with him or taking my clothes off. But I remember coming to and we were having anal sex. He kept asking me to say "You're fucking me in the ass." Which I did. I was so confused and it hurt so bad and I just wanted it to be over. Afterwards he told me I was beautiful and the next morning we had breakfast. I can't help but feel like it was my fault. I don't remember saying yes but I didn't say no. I was drunk. But I felt/feel so violated. I've never told anyone because this guy is really well liked in the industry I'm in. All my friends love him.
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Two particular events stick out to me. The first occurring when I was a child about the age of nine or ten. We were at my great-grandmother's house. My older cousin, who was about 15 at the time, had his bedroom in the basement and my cousins and I would always go down there to play. I have bits and pieces of memories of us play fighting, him tackling me to the floor, mounting me and rubbing himself on me. I remember struggling to get out from under him and crying and running up the stairs but not telling anyone what happened because I wasn't entirely sure what happened myself. I saw my cousin on the subway a few weeks ago, we made direct eye contact and he looked like he didn't remember who I was or what happened, even though I'll never have the luxury of forgetting. The second event happened the night of my eighteenth birthday. My mother allowed the boy I was seeing at the time to spend the night even though she was going out. At this point, the relationship had deteriorated to the point of fighting every day and him becoming physically abusive, but silly little me believed every "I'm sorry" and "I'll never do it again" that fell out of his mouth. I had previously expressed not wanting a sexual relationship until our emotional relationship was in a better place. Despite that, this boy who was twice my size, pinned me down and raped me. I know he felt me struggle, I know he heard me cry. After he was done, he told me that the only way I would leave him was in a body bag. And that was the night I tried to take my own life because I saw no other way out of it. To this day, my mother tells me I shouldn't be mean to him, that she still likes him. I'll never tell myself that it wasn't my fault, that if I hadn't tried to mend something so horribly broken or put myself in a situation where I would be alone with him for several hours he wouldn't have felt the need to ignore my "no". Instead, I’ll carry my guilt, and cringe when I hear the word “rape” and attempt to erase his face from my memory. I’ll let shivers pass and screams fade, and start trying to find a way to publicly share this story.
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It is the summer after third grade. He is eight years older than me. I am in his bed. I can never remember how I actually got there, or how long I had been in the room before this happens. I am face down, wearing only a shirt. I don't remember the underwear or pants actually coming off, I just remember being scared and confused as to what and why things were happening. I feel something start to slide back and forth from in between my two legs, up near my butt/against my "private parts," but not actually inside of me. I wasn't old enough to think of my own vagina as a vagina. At this point I am crying pretty heavily, my tears muffled from my face being up against the bed's blankets. I manage to ask, "What is that???" between tears. It feels slimy. He says it's his thumb with lotion on it, but I realize, more so with confusion than horror, that he is lying (not about the lotion). I quietly cry, "That's your thing!" - my undeveloped vocabulary at this point diminishes the seriousness of what is going on. I am old enough to know that this feels wrong. I cry a lot. My sisters are in the next room, unaware. I don't know how long this particular instance went on, and I can't remember another time when this happened. It scares me to think I may be repressing memories, but I'm pretty sure it only happened this once. Before I leave the room, he tells me that if I tell anyone, he will kill me. So I don't. At least, not for many years. Many years later, when I am nearing the end of my high school career, I text him at 2 AM. I make sure he is awake. I then ask, out of nowhere, "Why did you molest me?" After a while, he responds with, "That was a long time ago. I don't want to talk about it. I'm sorry." I guess I'm okay with it. I have forgiven him after all. Several people tell me I shouldn't, but for some reason I find it easy to forgive, even something of this magnitude, something this repulsing. Of course, now at 21 years old, I realize I have not forgiven him. For over a decade I felt like I needed to have a relationship with my brother because no one else knew. I think pretending it didn't happen for so long and pretending everything was normal almost made me believe that it was. When I started thinking about what had happened to me during my childhood, I didn't even know where to start feeling, so a lot of it just made me feel numb inside. But then as I started realizing how screwed up it was, trying to imagine myself doing something like that to my younger half brother at that age, making internal connections between my current issues as an adult in relationships/my lack of trust and what had made me that way, starting to piece together who I am and how I perceived others and the world... I became angrier. I felt wronged. I felt the injustice of it all. I feel overwhelmed by my emotions a lot of the time: sadness completely drowns me; anger consumes me; shame and guilt erodes me. And yet still I felt...hopeless. It wasn't until the Duggar scandal came out last summer that I really started feeling like I should speak up to more people, including my parents. Before I felt like I had a right to be angry and to let that anger potentially ruin certain relationships between my family members. I had found out when I was in ninth grade that my younger sister had also been molested by our older brother, but we had never been sure if it had also happened to our older sister, and we had never been sure of how to ask. For context, my younger sister is about a year younger than me and my older sister is about a year and a half older than me. My older sister and I had been talking about how angry we were at people defending his actions and his family for not providing the appropriate support for sexual abuse victims. Eventually we told each other what had happened to us. I had known that our younger sister had also been molested, but my older sister was alone up until this point - she had been alone and wondering if she was the only victim for years. And we all had been pretending nothing was wrong with our brother for so long, so no one was sure of how the other felt. I started telling people about my experience long before my sisters started confiding in people (i.e. best friends, boyfriends, etc.) I got the most extreme form of molestation from our brother, but I feel fortunate to have started thinking about my abuse and confiding in people - I think it has helped me come to terms with it more; helped me to figure out who I am, and helped me to start releasing so much of the emotions I had been bottling up and been confused about for years. I still have my fair share of emotional issues, and I'm not quite ready to go to counseling yet, but I encourage other victims of sexual abuse to reach out to people and let their voice be heard, even if by one person. Every small step matters. We did end up telling our parents (we forwarded them an email in which we had been discussing what happened to us during our childhood). I think that has been the hardest part for me. I was the only one home so I was the one who had to face my (at first, confused) parents, and I completely broke down that night. But I'm glad it happened. I feel like I've released this part of myself I've been hiding for years. My brother has been denying everything (luckily he lives out of state). There is not a good way to end this because I do not feel the end has yet come.
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***This is long, and may be considered a bit graphic to some people perhaps, so I just wanted to make a disclaimer before I told my story. It gets better near the end. I just have so few people to tell my story to, which is why I'm doing it here. When I was 17, I was going out with an older boy whom I had hardly known previously before dating him. He was several years older, and my parents hated him, which I liked. I had never done anything remotely sexual before, but after we'd been dating for a couple months he asked me to give him oral. I expressed my hesitancy, but he shoved my face down and made me keep going even when I tried to pull my head back up. I didn't say anything to him afterward, because even though I felt like something very wrong had happened, I wasn't sure what that was. I continued to date him and was coerced to do this act several more times. I could never find a reason to refuse him since I had never fought back the first time. After a while I began telling myself that this must be what an adult sexual relationship was like, and even convinced myself that I enjoyed it, despite my deep inner disquiet. I began to offer to perform oral simply so it would not be forced on me. I would brag to my friends about it in private because I wanted to convince myself that I was mature now and there was nothing wrong with what was happening. I refused to even think to myself that something might be wrong. One night when we were in his bedroom, he took off all my clothes. I had recently said that I might want to have sex sometime soon, in a way that was meant to appease his constant questions about when we'd finally do it. He put on a condom, but he sometimes did this when we had oral, so I initially thought nothing of it. After a bare 10 seconds of him performing oral on me, he suddenly got on top of me and tried to have sex with me. My body was so rigid and tense from shock and fear that he could not enter me. I remember him commenting that I was shaking. I had never been so terrified and have not been more so since. It was very painful. I remember his crushing weight on top of me, and how he kept trying for several seconds even after I pleaded with him to stop, it hurt too much. I thought of calling for his parents, who I knew were in the next room watching tv, but was too afraid because I thought they might not help me, or would even be angry. After several seconds, he stopped and let me look for my clothes. I remember searching for my underwear in the dark and finally realizing that he had almost raped me-- realizing that this person who said he loved me had intentionally tried to continue hurting me even after I begged him to stop. I could not find a way to accuse him, to say those words to him. I stayed with him for a few more months, and although he never tried that again, I forever feared that he would. I met up with him once after we broke up for good, because I was terribly lonely and maybe I thought this was the best I could have. I felt dirty after the encounter, so dirty that I scrubbed myself down in the shower twice. I thought I might throw up for days afterward. I told two of my very close friends about this particular encounter, but couldn't bring myself to tell everything. I still couldn't admit to myself what he had done. I finally told one of my college roommates about all of it just a few months ago, a few years after that final incident. She had suffered far worse than I, and I felt like she could understand me. We spent several hours discussing the terrible things that had happened to us. Neither of us cried. I just remember us looking at each other as if to say, "Finally, someone understands. I am not alone." That conversation really helped me to accept the reality of what had happened to me, but I have never thought of myself as a victim. I have never been angry, only sad and scared and confused. I am too tired to be angry. I just want to feel normal again, and I'm finally starting to do just that. I am now 22. I lost my virginity to my current boyfriend a few months ago, and finally was able to tell him some of what happened over text, because I couldn't say it to his face. He was very supportive and it was such a relief to know that he would not look at me in the demeaning, predatory way my past boyfriend had looked at me. For a long time, I felt like if I could finally have sex, somehow that would erase part of the awful things that happened to me. We went through many failed, painful attempts to finally become intimate, and even now it is hard; sometimes I fear exploitation even where there is none. Sex is still a bit painful for me, and sometimes I'm scared that it will always be that way. Despite my fears, he has been patient, even though sometimes he is clearly disappointed. He has never forced me, but sometimes I am still tempted to give in to the impulse to please, to avoid what happened in the past. It is an uphill battle. We have talked about this recently, and he has agreed to be more cognizant of this effect on me, for which I am grateful. I may be falling in love with him, but there is still a part of me that fears men. I guess we'll see what happens down the line. Each time I tell my story, I feel a little bit more free. Perhaps someday I can tell others who are close to me, but that requires a bravery that I just don't have right now. I don't want to be seen as a victim. I hope that someday the shame I feel will go away, because I know now that none of it was my fault. But for now, these small steps have made me happier. Please never give up. There can always be healing, no matter how long you wait to talk, take action, or otherwise seek help and peace.
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Age 13 - male friend fondles my breasts during a sleepover when he thinks I'm asleep. Age 15 - older teenaged son of my neighbour tries to rape me. I get away, run home, lock the door, have a two hour shower, cry my eyes out, and never tell anyone. Age 18 - elderly male supervisor gives me a hug and tells me "I love the feel of young breasts" Age 18 - male masseuse draws down sheet and massages my breasts for half an hour or more. I'm paralyzed with shame. Age 19 - I'm given room numbers by business men with rings on their fingers as I clear their plates away. I'm sexually repressed. I talk a good game, and I'm married with children, but I have so many tricks to try and make myself shrink, so make the sexual invite from my lovely husband go away. I hate it, but it's me.
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I boyfriend of mine that I had been living with for a couple of months suddenly said one day that he didn't want me any more. Devastated, I mostly cried and tried to talk to him about it at the same time, asking him why he had changed his mind so suddenly and that we had only been living together for such a short amount of time. I tried to bargain with him, saying that I didn't want us to give up on our relationship so easily. After hours of discussion and reconsidering he told me he didn't actually want to give up on us just yet, that he still cared for me and was willing to try as long as we both worked on it. I still felt upset and had only just stopped crying and started calming down when he started touching me during one of our long hugs. He started kissing me and I felt weird about it, but didn't want to make the day even worse than it was by telling him to stop. I found it odd how he could want sex at a time like this. He wasn't even looking me in the eyes, and it didn't feel like he was expecting me to kiss back or start moaning once he pushed me over to the bed and we started having sex. I felt like a lifeless doll when we started having sex. He was on top of me and I'm not sure if I was moaning out of pleasure or discomfort, the whole situation just felt so odd and fucked up. I felt a disconnection from my own body. Was this really the man that I had just convinced to stay with me? Was this the same man? I started having awful thoughts, that he actually hated me, just wanted a last shag before tossing me aside. His hands were around my wrists, even though I'd told him a thousand times before that I can't handle that. He turned me around and without saying a word, as if an action like that would need no communication, raped me anally. I tried to squirm out of the position I was in, saying "Ow, fuck, that hurts!" but he just pushed me against the mattress and continued as if he hadn't heard. He told me I was so nice, that it felt so good, as if a few compliments would make the pain stop for me. But he didn't stop. I just bit down on the pillow. After he was done, he slumped over on the other side of the bed and said he was tired. I went into the bathroom and stayed there for hours. Crying and in pain, ashamed of what had just happened. I was together with him for another three months. My body took months to recover. I never really dared to tell anyone, cause I was the one that had convinced him to stay with me. I was supposed to be lucky to keep him, right? I was supposed to be happy... I did confront him about it whilst we were going through our final breakup, during the month when I was moving out all of my stuff. I asked him why he did it, why he thought I'd enjoy it, why he thought that anal sex was something that would be OK to do without talking about it first. He never said sorry. He never looked ashamed. Instead he got angry, started yelling at me and told me I should've told him no and that I should've been better at communicating. I never reported him and there's no point in it now. I will never get my justice in this, but I will be OK, sooner or later, once I've figured out how I can handle all the anger and frustration I still carry around with me.
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I had a boyfriend for two years from the age of 15 to 17. Looking back, he didn't treat me well at all and there were many instances of abuse and sexual assault, but two particular instances stick out in my mind. In the first, I had a particularly bad day and wanted him to come over late at night so that we could talk and cuddle. I was tired and ended up falling asleep before he made it over. When I woke up, he was having sex with me. He asked me if I wanted him to stop and I, half-asleep, just grunted. So, he continued. Afterwards, I figured that I must have implied that we would have sex when we came over and that I didn't say that I wanted him to stop. In the second, we were fighting. He was very serious about our relationship, but I wasn't so sure. I was begging him to forgive me. At one point, I tried kissing him, so he took the opportunity to push me down, take off my pants and start having aggressive sex with me. It was another case where I figured I was leading him on. It took me a year or two after we broke up for me to realize that what had happened was sexual assault. To this day, I don't even like being touched.
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I was 18 and it was the March of my first year of college. Having never dealt with male attention before college I was incredibly poorly equipped to handle (drunk) male passes. At the time, I was very thin with very large breasts, so I had honestly gotten used to being groped and felt up without consent and pulled into makeouts with people who's faces I never saw. This was one of those times. I was at a party and dancing with my best friend and our close friend. A guy came up behind me and started "dancing" with me, which is to say he grabbed my hips, pulled me against him, and started rubbing himself on me. I was pretty drunk and very very used to this, so I did what I always did, I dissociated. He started to make out with me, manipulating my head over my shoulder in a truly odd contortion. It still felt unimportant because how many men had I let do this to me before? Seven? Eight? Nine? At some point he turned me around, perhaps because the awkward angle of makeout was uncomfortable for him. This was the point at which he decided to shove his hands down my pants and shoved his finger(s) in my vagina. I had never done more than makeout with someone and I just didn't know what to do. So I stood there, in the middle of the dance floor at this party with an unknown man's fingers inside me. It was the first time anyone was inside me. I tried to turn myself around, I think because I thought it would stop him without any confrontation. I really don't know. I remember it hurting and wanting it to stop. I honestly don't know when it did. I was alone eventually; I guess he got bored of me. I tried to brush it off and dance with friends. This is what happens at college parties, I assured myself. There was a cute guy I had been hanging out with who started kissing me and I freaked out. Told him I was sorry but I really had to go and left the party. I made it about a block before I sat down on a freezing bench and went into a full dissociative state. My friends found me, quickly I think, but I have no idea how long I was out there. When they asked me what happened I was burning with shame because I felt like I had no right to be upset, that I had brought this on myself. I didn't say no. Lovely human beings that they are, my friends took me home. My best friend walked me down to the all women bathroom (super liberal college, I usually used the all gender bathroom, which was closer to me) and I showered in scalding water for half an hour just scrubbing my skin. Once I was cleaned up and in pajamas, my other friend, who happened to be male, held me while I cried and reassured me it wasn't my fault. Five years have passed and some days it still feels like it was my fault.
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A few years ago when I was 21 I got very drunk one summer night. I accepted a guys invitation to go to the beach and look at the stars. Of course I knew there would be making out. But when he proceeded to take it further I remember saying no. I said no multiple times. But he never stopped. For a while after I blamed myself for it. It was my fault for drinking to much and my fault for agreeing to go with him. I knew I had to much to drink but I specifically said no. No means no. I never reported it. I took a long break from dating after that. Ive always wondered if I should tell the guys I date once we get serious what happened to me.
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When I was 17 on an international trip with my brother, I went out late at a hostel in Turkey. An employee there was friendly to me and opened a bottle of wine. After I drank a few glasses of wine, he had sex with me. I didn't say "no" and I also didn't really understand what was going on. I felt very angry in the morning, very, very taken advantage of, but I also felt like it was my fault-- I knew it was a very poor choice for being out late looking for adventure and I should not have been drinking with this Turkish man I didn't know. The decisions leading to the event were my choices, I could own that. He gave me a free juice the next morning, and I hated his guts so much. In hindsight, I wanted to shout at him---"what if someone had done this to your younger sister?!!" I have been very ashamed about this event that happened ten years ago and I have told no one. I feel like it is a very dangerous, but very common emotional territory when women feel bad about disappointing someone, they feel weird about saying no. I want there to be a way to teach this essential skill- one must practice disappointing people and confronting people with what they DONT want to hear to be ready to protect oneself.
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When I was 22, or 23, I don't remember anymore, I was staying with my best friend at his apartment. It was the usual for us - we'd been friends since we were little and I considered his mom like my second mom. I loved his family, and I loved him as a friend. He'd recently broken up with his girlfriend, and I was having doubts about my current relationship. I was visiting from out of town, so we were spending time together like we normally did when I had the chance to drop by. Per the norm, we were up late, talking about what was going on in our lives and our relationships. I was laying on an inflatable mattress, and he was on his bed. We were preparing to go to sleep because it was already in the wee hours of the morning. I was disclosing to him that I didn't know if I could go on in my relationship. I felt like my boyfriend and I were best friends, but we hadn't had sex in almost a year. It seemed unnatural. Worse, my boyfriend didn't even want to. I disclosed that I felt like the relationship must be over because there was something deeply wrong if we were this young and not having sex. We were engaged, and so I was wracked emotionally about breaking it off and didn't know what to do. Seemingly out of nowhere, my friend said that I shouldn't sleep on the floor. He said, it's no big deal, we've shared a bed before. I told him no, that I didn't understand why he'd suddenly brought this up, and that I hoped to God he wasn't trying to make a pass at me after what I'd just shared. He became extremely agitated and said no, he wasn't making a pass at me, it just seemed messed up that I was obviously really upset and basically sleeping on the floor. I thought that seemed weird, but I acquiesced because the mattress was indeed deflating underneath me a little too rapidly. I got on the far side of the bed and just laid there. I told him I was tired and was going to go to sleep. He asked me to cuddle, then, and I started to sit up to leave the bed again, and that's when he grabbed me. It was odd. I wanted to fight back, but it was like my body froze. I was so confused, and wrought with emotion. Later, I came to understand that what happened was that I went into shock. Throughout the rest of the night, he assaulted me physically. He would ask me if I liked this or that, as he put his fingers in my vagina, or tried to take my clothes off awkwardly. I would not respond, and just laid there paralyzed. Inside my own head I was screaming, and crying, but it was as if my body simply wouldn't respond to my need to get out of that situation. I still remember the color of the wall. When I have flash backs, I feel rage, anger, a deep sadness that seems to never be squelched, and I see that wall.
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When I was in, about, 8th grade, a boy showed me his penis in the shower in exchange for me flashing my breasts. It was in truth of dare, and there were all my friends around. He had a crush on me, and I didn't really want to do it, but I felt like I had to because of the game. I think one of his friends asked the dare for him because they knew about his crush. Anyway, in some ways it wasn't really that bad, but I felt really sad about it afterward. I remember crying about it in the dark to my friend, who was so nice to me. i can't remember what she said, I just remember her sitting with me in the dark bed when I cried.
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When I was in my late 20s, I was out drinking with a bunch of my friends. By the end of the night, I was pretty intoxicated and my friend offered to let me crash at his place. I took him up on the offer, it being something I had done tons of times before, and didn't think twice about it. However, when we got to his place, he... I'm not sure what he did, exactly because my memory is blurry. But, I do know somehow his hands ended up in my vagina. I have a visceral memory of feeling his fingers inside of me, and being shocked. I remember him somehow close to me, touching me. I remember never being kissed, and not understanding how his fingers were inside of me when we weren't even kissing. I remember feeling guilty - about what? It was an undefined guilt, but maybe something like "leading him on" by going back to his place. But, it wasn't really articulated like that, I just had strange feelings of guilt, or maybe like I'd done something wrong. After I left, I didn't think about it much until I wrote my article on it, although it did have longer term effects for me . When I wrote my article, I was really afraid, and thought people were going to tell me that it wasn't important, or that I was over-reacting. What actually happened was people seemed to take it more seriously that I took it. That's terrible, they kept saying to me. Was it terrible? I had never thought of it that way before. I had never known how other people would see it, because I never told them. If you're one of the first people to see this page, and you want to share your own story anonymously, you can do it by clicking on the "Share" link at the top of this page.
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