Was I just, was I just violated?
Nah, don’t be silly man. He did not rape you. If he had, you’d be traumatized. You’d be having flashbacks and you’d be bruised, torn. Face – disheveled. Legs – unmovable. Vagina – dismembered. Hotel – Trivago.
Isn’t that what we had been taught on TV, in movies, that that is what rape looks like? The struggle, the pushing down, the beating, the punching, the overpowering big man bending over the fragile and delicate little girl? The bleeding (oh my goodness, so much bleeding), the messy apartment, evidence of some struggle?
Okay, alright, there was none of that messy, sloppy, bloody action. So uhm, not rape.
But I said no, at least a couple of times. He heard me, I’m sure of it. I could see it in his face. He heard me. I’m pretty sure he heard me.
Did he? Did I say it loudly enough? Did I say it at all? Was the ‘no’ just in my head?
NO! It wasn’t all in my head. I said no! I didn’t scream and shout, but say it I did. More than a few times.
Okay but you stopped saying ‘no’ at some point. Was that…why sis? Surely that must mean ‘yes’ right?
I…I grew tired of fighting. I got exhausted. I simply could not focus on the pain and saying no simultaneously. Not for that long. I gave up. Figured he’d finish faster if I resisted less. And he did. And the relief! My God, the relief of no longer having a man jerk off in you.
I can go pee now. I can pee n… OH MY F****** GOD IT HURTS! F***
But, but, nah let’s not call it rape sis. Because if you admit you’ve been raped, then you have to tell the cops, then you have to go to hospital (be exposed to trauma only for them to conclude with, “lack of evidence does not rule out assault”).
Then you have to take him to court (dear Lord, lawyer fees. And who has time to take off work to sit in a courtroom?)
Then you have to prove your innocence…
(I was not drunk, your honour. Yes I invited him to my house but I didn’t invite him into my body, your honour. No, your honour, I’m not sweating because I’m lying. I’m sweating because if I even say one thing not in keeping with the rape stereotype, if I say anything regarding my sexual agency, he might be found not guilty. There will be reasonable doubt of guilt. I will be called a liar, judged as harshly as rapists, labelled a false accuser, told I ruined a good man’s reputation, and forever be ‘that’ girl.
I’m not sweating because I’m lying, your honour. I’m sweating because the only ‘evidence’ I have of this intimately violent criminal act, is that I said ‘no’ a few times. And I’m not entirely sure he heard me. Because he did not stop. And if he heard me, he would have stopped, right, your honour?)
Then you have to prove his guilt
(He has no priors but he committed THIS crime. He is a respected doctor but he did it. What, why did I allow him to hug me and giggle when he tried to kiss me in public after he ‘raped’ me? I…I…*huge sigh* I don’t… I can’t.)
I tried to convince myself that if he liked me, if he cared for me, then he simply had sex with me. Then I wouldn’t be the girl who was raped by the guy she liked. I’d be the girl who had an uncomfortable sexual encounter. Then I wouldn’t have to explain why I giggled in the street with a man who had just raped me.
Then I wouldn’t have death threats and ‘she invited him to stay the night. What did she think would happen’ and ‘she is ruining a good man’s reputation’ chats. Then I’ll still be the girl with complete sexual agency.
But…but…but I said no.