bookofmirrors | A Little Personal History

My next entry is going to peripherally deal with rape, and other bad things that happen to good people. What I have knocking around in my head about it is likely to be horribly controversial, and probably offend lots of people. So, naturally, I'm scared to make that post. But, damn near every day since I've had the thoughts on it, the Universe has been poking me to make the entry. So, I'm going to do it anyway.

I know quite a few people who've been raped, some of them violently. I've read countless stories by women who have been raped. We all have, I'm sure. I don't remember the statistics on it, but they're pretty high - most women have been or will be raped at some point in their lifetime. I don't know the statistics on men, but of course it can happen to them, too. So, it's strange to me that I have suddenly come up with the thoughts I'm going to propose in my next entry.

I've technically been raped twice. I don't particularly "count" either of them, and rarely think about them. I only ever cried about the experiences once, with my ex-husband, several years ago. Neither were violent, and, to be honest, I'm not really sure I consider either of them rape, per se. However, they both fit the definition of date rape, which I never really thought about until I heard about the book I Never Called It Rape in college.

Anyway, I'm going to relay my experiences here, just to make it clear exactly what they were.

The first time was on my 21st birthday, during my freshman year in college. My roommates had ditched me (we were supposed to go to the bars, of course), so I ended up going downstairs to the guys' floor to find some friends I had down there. I found Mike and a couple of his friends, who had the corner quad room on the third floor. I'd hung with Mike a lot before, but I don't think I had met the other friends. I don't even recall the guy's name, now, although I can still picture him. Anyway, we decided to go to the nearest liquor store, since one of them had a car (I didn't get to take my car to college until my senior year), and get some 21st-birthday merry-making implements. We did this, and proceeded to get pretty fucking drunk in Mike's room. I threw up on one of his throw rugs, which actually was part of the reason I ended up alone with the guy (not Mike, by the way). Mike went down to the laundry room to clean the rug, and the guy basically told the other ones to leave so he could fuck me. I was dimly aware of all this, in the way that very drunk people are. I was really too drunk to give a fuck. I do recall that I had just started taking birth control pills the month before (started them on my dad's birthday, in fact... how's that for irony?), and I knew they weren't in effect yet. I remember telling him I didn't want to get pregnant. Apparently, there were no condoms around (this wasn't his room, either, so I'm sure he didn't know where to go looking). So, being rather accomodating, he flipped me over and used Vaseline Intensive Care lotion on my asshole. Funny the stupid little details you remember... I remember feeling vaguely uncomfortable about the whole thing, in a way I couldn't quite define - having a vague sense that this wasn't really something I wanted to do, but not being coherent enough to remember why, and therefore just going with the flow. I only vaguely remember him entering me. I do remember hearing him say, "I love you now, baby", and me thinking how patently absurd this was. I remember telling him in a half-derisive half-amused voice, "No you don't". I also remember him asking me if it felt good, to which I replied that I couldn't feel anything. Probably not particularly good for his ego, but I was in an alcohol-induced state of feeling no pain; probably a very good thing, 'cause I remember his dick being very thick, from the look of it, and it probably would have hurt like hell if I'd been able to feel anything. It was my first time for anal at that point. I don't remember why he pulled out. I honestly don't remember if I came to my senses enough to realize I didn't want this to be happening, and pulled away, or if he did it on his own, for whatever reason. I'd like to think it was the former, of course, but I'm just not sure. I remember sitting up on the edge of the bed, with him in front of me. I remember my face getting wet, and being kinda confused about that. To this day, I don't know if he came on my face, or pissed on me, or if something else completely unrelated happened. I do know I couldn't STAND anyone cumming on any part of my body for years after that. To the point where I felt like worms were crawling all over me, and I wanted in the shower NOW. Anyway, he walked me back to my room. I think I had put my shirt back on, but it was unbuttoned, and I remember running into a girl down the hall. A very sweet and motherly English chick. I remember her looking at me with this look of... not sure how to describe it - pity? distaste? and she ended up convincing him to leave and getting me into bed. I have no idea what I looked like, but it must have been frightful.

I guess the reason I never classified this as rape was because I never fought him (unless I did pull away at the end). I knew, in some clouded section of my mind what he was going to do to me, and didn't do anything to stop him. He did take advantage of me while I was drunk, however, and, by definition, that makes it rape. But, he didn't force me, either. So, I don't know what to think.

Incidentally, it was either from this incident, or another (consensual) sex act a week later that I developed chlamydia. In retrospect, I'm glad that if I had to contract an STD, it was something easily curable, and I've been MUCH more careful ever since, and haven't had anything since.

Anyway, the second time was with a friend of mine, Jim. He and I were friends; he lived just a few doors down from Mike, in fact. I'd actually sought him out once for the purpose of seducing him, and had slept with him before. In fact, we became pretty good friends, and fuckbuddies. After a few months of this, however, I had decided to be exclusive with my eventual first husband, and told Jim this. He was disappointed, and for the most part, took it pretty well. However, one day, maybe a month later (I'm really bad with timelines), he and I were talking, and he told me I was cranky (or something like that) and that I needed a good orgasm to break me out of my mood. I laughed this off, and we went on as before. A few hours later, I don't remember how, but we ended up in my room, talking and such. My roommates were gone, and we were alone. I was lying on my bed... actually, I think I was lying on Liz's bed, 'cause I remember being on the bottom bunk, and I slept on the top. Anyway, somehow he ended up on top of me. We were both fully-clothed. I think I told him no, before it actually happened. I'm honestly not sure. I remember him being on top of me, dry-humping me with this intense look in his eyes, watching me, almost clinical and detached. I had my hands on his shoulders, trying to push him away. It never once occurred to me to yell, to fight, to tell him no once he was on top of me. I'd already told him I was being exclusive to Leo, and that he and I weren't going to be doing anything sexual again. I kept expecting him to remember that, and stop. He was my FRIEND, after all. I guess I really couldn't grasp what was happening. My body responded to him, though. He'd already fucked me before, and knew what I liked, and his constant grinding took its toll. I remember with a sense of shame that my hands on his shoulders, which had been constantly pushing, pushing, suddenly grasped him tightly when I came.

After it was over, he got up as if nothing had happened, and sat back down in the chair. I remember vaguely that neither of us talked for a while, and I don't really remember what was said after that. I'm pretty sure both of us acted like it never happened, and I don't recall it being mentioned again. Of course, our friendship went downhill shortly after that.

Anyway, I tell these stories so people will know where I'm coming from when I post my next entry. I'm unclear as to how "valid" these events are to be called rape, and define them as such based on strict definition rather than actual personal conviction. I'm still kinda unclear in my mind about it. I do know, however, that it was very hard for me to write about them. Much harder than I expected. I even had to ask

blckwngdorcl and

wyzard_vyrnahnn to leave the room, because I needed some quiet to actually do it. But, you can decide for yourselves if these experiences make me "qualified" to write what comes next.