The First Rape

Disclaimer: The following contains some graphic content that may be considered disturbing or offensive. Please be advised.

I am not sure exactly when that fateful night occurred, but I believe it to have been within the first month of school. It was a Thursday night and he had asked me out on a date. I cannot remember how our night began, it has been permanently eclipsed by how my night ended. At the end of the night he took me to his house. He lived in a house off-campus with a roommate.

I know for some people who read this they will ask: Why would you go to his house? Aren’t you just asking for something bad to happen? I want to interject here with a little aside note. If I had known what was about to happen, no I absolutely would not have gone to his house! However, I was young, naïve and trusting. In my mind, I had no reason not to trust him. I never thought anything would happen against my wishes.

I have had people basically infer and imply to me: you put yourself in a vulnerable position; you got what you deserved; what did you expect? Obviously, not rape! I don’t believe anything is a “rape-able offense.” I don’t care if someone was alone with another person, making out with another person, drinking or doing drugs prior to the rape or wearing something provocative. In my opinion, there are no “rape-able offenses.” No one ever deserves rape. Nothing someone does justifies another person violating them or forcing them to do something against their will. No means No! I just want to make that perfectly clear before I go on.

We were making out at his house. His roommate was in the next room. He asked me if I wanted to have sex. I simply replied no. I had made out with boyfriends before and it had never gone beyond that. He pulled away and we stopped kissing. I thought that was that. He would take me back to my dorm. I was wrong. Then he attacked me.

Before I knew it, I was flat on my back. My immediate reaction was to push against his chest with both my hands. This was a mistake. Somehow, he pinned my hands to my chest with his chest. This enabled him to pin me with his body weight and still retain use of his arms and hands. The efficiency with which he could overpower me still amazes and mystifies me.

When I realized what he was trying to do I squeezed my legs together as tightly as possible, but this did not deter him. He forced himself upon me despite my struggles. I began to forcefully yell: “No! Get out of me! Stop! You are hurting me!” Every time I yelled he smothered me with kisses and shoved his tongue down my throat until I gagged. I continued to fight with all my strength and struggle, but to no avail.

He probably weighed 70 to 90 pounds more than me. I am petite. My 5’-4” 110 body was no match for a 6’+ 180-200lb man. I gave up yelling since he gagged me every time. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks. I began to whisper and plead: “No. Please stop. Stop you are hurting me. Please stop you are hurting me.” The only words he uttered to me during the attack were in response to my pleas: “If you stopped fighting me it wouldn’t hurt so bad.” Those words haunt me to this day. They were intentional words. Deliberate words. Words from someone who knew exactly what he was doing. In that moment, I knew he would not stop. He would not stop until he was done.

I just wanted it to end. I was afraid. Afraid not only of what he was doing to me and the intense pain that I felt, but afraid of what else he might do. When was this going to end? What was coming next? Time seemed to stand still. I don’t think I will ever be able to decipher whether it lasted for only a couple minutes or half an hour. I began to question if my struggles were in fact inflicting the pain as he had said. I was almost convinced it was him causing all the pain, but in an effort to lessen the pain, and convinced I could not stop him, I stopped struggling. I just laid there, lifeless. Waiting for the horror to end.

When he was done, he got off me and went to sleep in his bed. I have no idea what I did after that. I was in complete shock; I guess I laid down and went to sleep. He dropped me off at my dorm early the next morning. I had an 8am class. I immediately ran inside my dorm to shower. No one on my floor had an 8am class, so much to my relief the bathroom was empty. I went into the shower and let the hot water run over me. In the bathroom, I realized I was bleeding from the night before. I was numb. I put on a pad for the bleeding. Got dressed, did my hair and makeup, grabbed my books and headed to class.

I coasted through my day of classes on autopilot. It wasn’t until I was walking back to my dorm mid-afternoon that it hit me. I couldn’t ignore the physical pain I was experiencing walking back to my dorm. What happened last night?! I was still bleeding. It suddenly hit me that I was no longer a virgin. I was completely overwhelmed with emotions. My eyes welled up with tears. I fought to hold them back. All that kept running through my mind was: “What have you done? How could you have done this?” I was so ashamed. I immediately blamed myself. Surely I must have done something to give him the impression that I would be ok with what he had done to me. It was easier to blame myself, than to accept reality. I felt incredibly dirty. I was angry with myself for putting myself in a vulnerable situation. I felt alone; that there was no one to turn to.

When I arrived in my empty dorm room I let myself cry. Without a roommate or the possibility of anyone to interrupt I was free to cry. I sobbed. I finally pulled myself together enough to phone a friend. At the very least, I just wanted to hear a familiar voice to comfort me. I called my best friend from High School and Junior High. She was a state away at another University. I started off the conversation by asking about her. I wanted her to do all the talking, but as courtesy would have it, she turned the conversation to me. I couldn’t talk. I didn’t know what to say. She sensed something was wrong and she asked what was going on.

I broke down in tears and told her I had had sex the night before. She was completely taken back. Immediately she asked how it happened. I couldn’t answer her. The only thing I could get out was: “I don’t know; it just happened.” I was bewildered. Confused. Afraid. In shock. I tried to express how torn and confused I was, that I had no idea what to do next. She urged me to: “Just sleep with him again.” “What was the big deal?” She said she was proud of me for being so “open-minded.” Of my group of High School friends, I was the only one who had ever expressed the plan of waiting to have sex until I was married. We hadn’t spoken since we had parted ways for college, but now she began contacting me regularly to encourage me to continue sleeping with him. I think she mistook my tears and bewilderment as guilty feelings. How I wish I had tried to confide in someone in person. I don’t blame her for not recognizing the situation, I couldn’t even process it, but I think a lot was lost over a phone conversation with me at a complete loss for words.

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