So my last post covered how I initially fell for the boy who would rape me.
But if you read my first-first post, then you’d know I dated the guy for two years after that rape. You might be wondering how that happened. And this post — just letting you know — won’t be giving any black-and-white answer to that really important (to me) question, because, frankly, I am still grappling with figuring it out myself.
We have professionals working on figuring that out, people.
I’ll get there eventually, though. I promise. That’s what this blog is for.
In the meantime, this following bit — it’s not an excerpt from my diary, like in the last post. It’s edited down from my declaration for my police report.
PLEASE NOTE: If you have triggers, you don’t have to read. In fact, do me a favor — don’t read. Be kind to yourself. But know I am including this because this is my story, and I’m telling it because I am not ashamed.
No woman should be shamed into silence.
On 3 December 2010, [HE] and I attended a get-together at my friends’ apartment in [REDACTED] university housing complex. It was to “pre-game” a later holiday party at a house on [REDACTED]. Those of us “pre-gaming” in [the housing complex] included [FRIEND A], [FRIEND B], and [FRIEND C], among others I was only distantly acquainted with.
[HE] and [FRIEND B] engaged in a drinking contest, pouring large amounts of hard liquor into red party cups. I was offered several drinks and several shots, as well. I did three shots. I poured the majority of shots offered me into the apartment’s kitchen sink, or tilted my cup against my sealed lips. I specifically remember that I intended to drink at the holiday party and did not want to make myself sick.
He and I headed to the holiday party between 11:00 PM and 12:00 AM. There, I did consume an alcoholic mixed drink offered to me at the bar. I am unsure as to how much alcohol was in the drink, but I know that I was intoxicated by the time he and I made it to the dance floor.
He engaged in extreme public displays of affection as we danced. I became embarrassed, as he was sticking his hands up my skirt and down my bra. I asked to leave the party. He was stumbling and incoherent. I allowed him to come to my apartment, where I urged him to drink water and take aspirin. I sat beside him on the couch as he recovered. We began making out intensely. He removed my bra and pulled my dress up above my waist. He proceeded to kiss up my thighs suggestively. He removed my underwear. Fearing my roommates would return, I invited him into my bedroom, where he performed oral sex on me. I performed oral sex on him. We were both naked.
He began kissing my breasts, down my stomach. I believed he intended to perform oral sex again. I reclined on the bed. Then he gripped his erect penis and pressed it inside me. He confessed love for me and told me he thought I was “The One.” I did not know what to do. I told him I was not ready. He ignored me. I insisted that we wait. I gave a litany of frantic reasons why I did not want to have sex. I pulled away; he pulled me closer. He continued to thrust into me. I told him to stop. I remember saying, louder and louder, “No, no, no, please stop! It hurts!” He continued saying romantic things. I remember at this point going limp.
He thrust into me again and again. (He later told me, that when detailing our sexual encounter to his friends, he told them he could tell I really was a virgin because of how bad I was in bed.) I just wanted him to climax so he would leave. He told me to stand so he could do me from behind. We got off the bed and I bent over my desk. The pain was extraordinary. I remember my fists clenched, my nails digging into my palms, tears streaming down my face, trying not to cry out loud for fear my roommates would hear me, saying the rosary over and over, just begging God for it to stop. He did not notice. When he finally finished, he ejaculated on my back and used Kleenex to wipe it up.
I said nothing. I climbed into bed. He lay down beside me. He whispered into my ear, “I guess you’re not a virgin anymore, huh?” I fell asleep.
So there you have you it. Two weeks of undeniable chemistry, followed by me bent over my desk, naked and crying, as my life as I knew it to be — everything that made me me — became secondary to this boy’s desire to fuck.