Rape

This isn't a post about rape play, or even any kind of consensual play that BDSM kinksters do, it's about rape, my rapes. Yes, rapes. I could go on about how 54% of rapes are never reported, and how only 3% of rapists serve any jail time, but that's not what this is about, it's about being raped, coping with it, surviving and working to move on. 

Rape is: Forced sexual intercourse including both psychological coercion as well as physical force. Forced sexual intercourse means penetration by the offender(s). Includes attempted rapes, male as well as female victims, and both heterosexual and homosexual rape. Attempted rape includes verbal threats of rape. 

That definition is flat, rape is that guy who harasses you for a date, insures you drink a bit too much, pushes a kiss on you, and though you say no, he persists, insisting that it's something you both want, that it will feel so good. You don't want to, and yet your shirt is getting untucked, your skirt is getting lifted. At some point, as a woman, it's accepted that there really is no option, and though you never comply, you never consent, you do end up having sex. Sometimes your hands are held too tight, their weight on you is too much to bear, your mind races and then goes blank, it's the only defense you have, the hope that it will be over quickly. This was my first rape, and I was 15. 

For many years, no, for many decades I believed it was my fault, that I had led him on, that I was overly flirtatious, that I behaved like a girl who went "all the way," so I said nothing, to anyone. My best friend didn't know, my mom, my sister, no one. It seemed like karmic justice for not being a "good girl." Why wouldn't I believe that? That's what society believes and touts, that you're not really raped because you were asking for it, and deep down you wanted it. But I didn't. I felt ashamed, mostly because I believed the hype that I was to blame, that I got what I deserved.

That moment is as clear in my mind as if it happened last week, my heart still races thinking about it, the look in his eyes as he grunted his disgusting sounds of pleasure, the breath being forced from my body as he pushed down on me, the pain in my wrists as he held them, the hickeys left on my breasts. I remember every humiliating moment in graphic detail, like a prison from which my mind won't release me. You know what I don't remember? Whether I made any sound, whether I uttered a single syllable, but I think I was quiet, mostly because it was on my couch and I was terrified my mom or sister would hear. When he was done, I remember him saying it was good, whatever that means, and leaving. There was no condom, no kiss good night, just me half naked on my couch as he bolted, thus adding to my sense of shame. 

I decided some time later that I wouldn't be a victim again by becoming more of a predator, but guess what, even predators have predators. Many years passed while I continued my hunt, using men one after the other, often to simply avoid ever feeling the way I did that one night. Then I got married.

Well marriage fixes everything, right? Not mine. The first few years were bad, but they got much worse. He was abusive in many ways, which made me hate having sex with him. I refused many times, and went for long stretches without anything. He threw away all of my toys so I couldn't masturbate (I don't want to surprise y'all but I could still use my hand), I assume he did so in the belief that then my only sexual pleasure would be from him. Well that didn't work. Then this odd thing started happening, I would wake up in the middle of him fucking me. I don't remember the beginning, I just know that I was awoken by cock in my pussy. He would tell me that I started it and he simply complied. I hated it, I told him I didn't believe it, because I already knew that I didn't want him touching me so why would I want him fucking me? Then one night I wasn't asleep, and it all happened. He quietly slid my panties down and spread my legs and began pumping into me while I was supposedly still sleeping. I approached him and said that he had raped me, to which he laughed saying you can't rape your wife. Actually, you can. I can't tell you how much I regret this conversation, because after that he stopped hiding what he was doing and it got much more violent. He began raping me nightly, sometimes anally, and because I had become so trapped in the abuse he knew I wouldn't leave. Months blurred, I became a zombie barely living life, just going through the motions, not believing I had a choice, and always going back to the rape when I was 15 wondering if I deserved this as well. Was it God's justice on me? Was it because I wasn't a good enough wife? I could barely sleep, though not scared he would do it again and again, I knew it would happen. I never said yes, never enjoyed it, never encouraged him, I never consented, didn't kiss him, tried not to touch him at all. He just took and took without regard for me, ever. 

It got worse towards the end, which might have been why I ultimately left. He would choke me, not in the good way, and I was scared, really scared. It was this fear that woke me from my zombie state. 

He still terrifies me, and not a day goes by that I don't remember something awful that happened. I love sex, but there are some things that emotionally I'm not able to do, that will send me into a downward spiral of fear and self loathing. Some kinds of broken can't be fully fixed, not even with all the king's horses and all the king's men. Today I work towards being sexually empowered, being the master of my own body, my own sex, that's the only way I can cope with it all. I keep hoping with each day away from all of that there's improvement, and some days there are, some days there aren't, ebb & flow, the way life does. 

You can take the girl out of the abuse, but you can't take the abuse out of the girl.

The point is, I guarantee that you know someone who's been raped, you may have been raped, and no matter the circumstances, it's not your fault. Sex requires consent, if you didn't give it, that's what matters. Don't accept the adage that you had it coming, you didn't, ever. Say no, and if no is said, respect that.