6/22/18
You Don’t Have to Have a Dick to Date Rape Someone, You Just Need to Be One

The following is the story of a 30-something contributor who wishes to remain anonymous.

I drove home from a recent Bumble date, crying the entire way. I had bruises on my neck, arms and chest from being choked and bitten. I bled for almost a full 24 hours after. It hurt to sit for days later.

I had texted a friend before the date saying that I thought I was going to get laid that night. As I drove home, she texted me: “So, did you have amazing sex last night?”

I called her back and said, “I had really, really horrible sex last night.” Then I started sobbing.

It took me a while to realize that I had celebrated Pride Month 2018 by getting sexually assaulted on the first day of it.

When I pick apart the details of that night — what I can remember of it — there might have been signs. An extra hard bite on the lip while making out. Telling me, “I can’t wait to do X, Y and Z to your body.” Putting a new drink in my hand every time I came back from the bathroom. And, perhaps in effort to assess my tolerance, asking what drugs I’d done.

I know what you’re thinking: Why wasn’t I more cautious? Why did I let my guard down?

Well, because my #MeToo moment was with a woman.

When I called my gynecologist’s office to make an appointment to get checked out the following Monday, I just told the receptionist on the phone that I had some very rough sex and I was concerned about the bleeding and pain I was experiencing. When I actually saw my doctor, I decided to tell her the truth because I wanted an informed exam. The shock on her face when I told her I was sexually assaulted by a woman was both embarrassing and affirming. She didn’t believe a woman would ever do this to another woman, either.

I still get choked up thinking about that night and the mistakes I made that got me there. I was a few months out of a breakup that was much harder for me than I expected, and I had been resorting to casual sex to help me fill the void. Feeling unattractive and unloved at the end of my last relationship made someone wanting me a huge turn-on and ego-boost. I was trying to be more impulsive and say yes to more opportunities than I normally would. I was trying to get out of a funk. I was just trying to have fun.

Did I get careless? Sure. Did I deserve to get date raped? I keep trying to remind myself that the answer is no.

Lying on my back, painfully being hammered away at as I struggled to push her away with my feet, I stared dully at the ceiling and thought, “Almost no one knows I’m here. I’m in a town where I don’t know anyone else and I’m too drunk to drive myself away. But I’m pretty sure she’s not going to kill me.” I was not having fun.

I used the words “no” and “stop” and “that’s enough.” Sometimes they worked, briefly. But as her behavior became more aggressive, I started to become afraid of what would happen if I really resisted and stopped having sex with her. Because I was in a town two-and-a-half hours away, my goal was to stay there just long enough to sober up so that I could drive myself home. In the state I was in, it just didn’t occur to me to try to call a Lyft and crash at a nearby hotel. After telling her over and over again how tired I was, she finally let me sleep for a couple hours. I woke up to her fingers inside of me, hurting me again. That sobered me up quickly and I got out of there as fast as I could.

I was literally black and blue on the skin around my vagina for a week. Luckily, I didn’t get BV or any STIs from the cuts inside of me.

My friends wanted me to report the incident. One of them said, ”No one else should have to go through this.”

If you had asked me before that night what I would do if I ever got sexually assaulted, my answer would have been an unequivocal “I’d report it, of course.” But after that night, I didn’t want to report it. I finally, truly understood why so many women who are victims of assault don’t report it right away, or ever.

I had wanted to go home with her that night. I was attracted to her and blatantly hitting on her, too. I accepted all the drinks she offered me. Anyone who saw us out that night — making out in bars all over town, publicly groping each other — must have thought we were going to go home and have an incredible time together. I know that’s what I thought.

Everything was fine, until it wasn’t.

So I was ashamed and embarrassed. I continue to feel stupid for putting myself in that situation. I can’t stop thinking about how angry my dad would be at me when he taught me to protect myself from situations like these my whole life. I don’t know if I will ever stop feeling like I am to blame for my own pain.

I wish I could stop feeling like I was asking for it.

Afterwards, I just wanted it to all go away. I never wanted to see or talk to this woman again. I blocked her on all social media. Blocked her number from my phone. Before I deleted all of my online dating accounts, I reported her account to Bumble. But I didn’t report her to the authorities.

My physical trauma has healed, but mentally, the wounds are still fresh. Will I ever trust a person I meet on the internet again? Will I ever trust a person I meet, period? Is the most common way that people — especially queer people — connect with romantic partners today completely lost to me now?

I’m sharing this story now because it’s as brave as I can manage to be. I may have chosen not to report the assault, but I can pass on a lesson I learned, unfortunately the hard way, in the hopes that it might save someone else from experiencing what I did: Anyone can be a rapist, even a woman.

Maybe my real #MeToo moment wasn’t the night itself. Maybe it’s simply acceptance.

Accepting that I am a victim of sexual assault. Accepting that it’s not crazy to expect to leave (what was likely to be) a one-night stand without physical harm. And finally accepting that I didn’t do anything wrong.

 

This isn’t just rough sex:
The Difference Between Kink and Abuse



2 Comments

  1. I’m so sorry that you were targeted by a predator. I imagine there’s any number of reasons why people could have a blind spot in situations like this, and I hope your feelings of guilt will resolve. Also, thank you for telling your story once you found the courage to do so.

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