My first assault happened with my first long term relationship. I can’t have people touch me on the backof my head because of it. I was giving him oral, when he violently grabbed my head and choked me with his penis. I couldn’t breath, and I tried to push him off. He then ejaculated in the back of my throat. I almost threw up. His excuse was that he “got to into it” I wanted to cry, I felt disgusting. That was the first one. On another occasion, we were fooling around and thought it would be interesting to try some glass candle thing that kind of looked like a dildo. He put it inside me and it hurt, so I told him to stop. He did, then a few minutes later decides to do it again. I tell him again to stop. He stops, then a few minutes later continues what he was doing. I was sore for a few days after, and it hurt a lot. I was also stoned at this point (Don’t look down on me for being a stoner please) So being able to process whats going on was not working. He had an excuse of it slipped in….God I love that excuse/sarcasm.
The other three times he raped me where when he basically begged and pleaded for sex, even though we had broken up and he knew I didn’t want to. He then pretty much blamed me for having sex with him even though he initiated it, and knew I didn’t want to. He was also an emotionally abusive prick, and also on several occasions tried to force me into anal, which is something I am not interested in. It makes me mad because now my new boyfriend is the one who has to deal with all the emotionl scars and the split personality(Yes, I have multiple personality disorder because of that asshole). Especially since the anniverasy of the last two assaults is coming up and what would have been our 3 year anniversary just passed on the 15th. I know so many people had worse done to them, and it makes me feel bad for even writing this, because what happened to me isn’t that bad. Fuck the summer.

First, to Mary, whose comment hasn’t been responded to yet here, I am so very sorry that you’ve had to go through this. Whoever gave you ‘care’ at the ER that day should not be allowed to practice medicine.

For myself, I want to post here even if nobody ever comes back to read it. I’ve had a number of experiences, including random mosh-pit gropings and other public and widely accepted sexual assaults. The situation that I feel like I need to hash out is one that happened two years ago while I was in a relationship. It started way too quickly, with me not wanting to say no because I figured that if I did, that would be that… (because it would have been such a shame if I’d never seen this guy again… the things we learn) Anyway. For about eight months, I had consensual sex with this guy off and on. On a few occasions, though, he tried to convince me to have anal sex with him. I said no every time, and I usually had to repeat it again and again. One night, he first refused to put on a condom before we had (vaginal) intercourse. He pushed into me and I pushed him back out, managed to get him to put the condom on, and went on with the act… After a while, when he was behind me, he started asking for anal. I kept saying no, but he eventually pulled out and started pushing his penis against my anus anyway. I said no, again, and he kept pushing, and I got away and out of bed and was very upset and he had no clue why. I told him what I thought of him trying to force me to do something to which I had explicitly said NO, you fucker, and he got pissed off. Thankfully, from there it just went on to some screaming and him kicking me out of his car on a busy road at 2 am.

On another occasion, the same man blindfolded me and used his hands to pull the back of my head down so I could give him oral. It sounds so innocuous when I write it down, but now I can’t handle my fabulous boyfriend’s hands on my head when we have oral sex.

Thanks, Cara, for posting this thread.

A few months later, I came out to a good friend from high school. She was clearly a little uncomfortable with it, but managed in her own cynical, joking sort of way. We went to a new year’s party at an apartment of one of her friends. I didn’t know anyone there and was very uncomfortable. I asked her if we could leave, but she seemed to be having a good time. I got a terrible vibe from the place, but I didn’t want her there by herself. Throughout the night, she outed me to several strangers. Again, I was uncomfortable, but this was apparently her way of dealing with the news. I have a vague memory of an older guy (late 20s maybe) flirting with me, when she came over and told him not to bother, that I was a dyke.
At midnight, someone handed out cups of champagne. It seemed harmless enough. Next thing I know, it’s 6 am, I’m alone on a gurney in the hallway of the ER. My dress is ripped. My head hurts. I have an IV in each hand. I have no shoes. I stagger to the nearest bathroom, throw up, and pee. There’s blood in the toilet.
A doctor looks at me and says “Oh, you’re up. You can go.” I’m still completely dazed, the situation does not even register with me. I stare at him and all I can say is, “where are my shoes?”
I’ll never forget the look of absolute disgust on his face. “You didn’t come with any,” he said.
I couldn’t remember my name or address to tell the discharge nurse. I feel like that should’ve been a red flag. I needed the support of the wall to walk. I managed to tell her the address of my dormitory, and she let me go. I scribbled my signature, leaving out most of the letters because I couldn’t think of them.
I walked the wrong way for a mile, barefoot, on new year’s day in a torn dress and still bleeding slightly from the IV I’d torn out of my arm in confusion, before I remembered where the party had been. By the time I found my friend, passed out on the floor in the room where I had been raped just hours before, it was a little past 7 am. I kicked her in the side and told her we needed to get the hell out of there.
Apparently whatever drug I was slipped caused me to have a seizure. If anyone had bothered to ask me, I would’ve told them I am highly sensitive to medication and allergic to just about everything. Then again, since when to rapists ask permission? At 1:15 am someone called 911 because I was unconscious, seizing, and vomiting. Killing the mood of the party, right?
It was new year’s eve in a college town. I was passed out and throwing up. Clearly just another silly girl who had too much to drink. There was no rape kit. No blood test. No CAT scan, despite the unexplained seizure.
I had what I can only describe as the worst hangover imaginable for 5 full days. I was disoriented, nauseated, and dizzy. I didn’t even notice the bruises on my arms, hips, and chest until days later. It wasn’t until my mind finally cleared that I realized you don’t just wake up in the hospital, bruised and bleeding vaginally for no reason. Too late for a rape kit.
For a long time, I invested all my mental and emotional energy in telling myself nothing happened. You don’t even remember it, who’s to say you got raped? Maybe NOTHING happened. Maybe you wanted it. Maybe you imagined it.
But I know better, really. We all do. Denial gets us nowhere.

I was raped when I was sixteen. I’ve been dancing round the wording for years, ‘well, it’s not really rape because…’ ‘but I can’t call it rape as such because…’

I was dead drunk in a dark park, got into a drinking contest with some other friends of a similar age. I had been wanting to try this sex thing but was really nervous about it (my other sexual experiences before that had been pretty much assaults too, now I think of it. Being groped, being coerced into kissing some boy I didn’t like because that’s what you’re supposed to do at that age, you’re ugly if you can’t get someone who wants to kiss you, you’re weird if you don’t want to, all that shit).

I was blind drunk and I staggered over to some random teen boy and threw my arm round his neck. It’s all hazy but I dimly recall his friends laughing and leaving and this boy saying ‘we’ll just lie down here’ and him clumsily fucking me as I did nothing to help or hinder him. No consent asked for or given but I still feel to this day that I could have done nothing but lie there anwyay. Besides, I had wanted to experience sex and this was what it was, no? Giving over control of my body to be used as a plaything for someone else?

Someone came along with a torch to scare off the noisy teenagers and lock the park gates, the boy either got up or had done by then, but I got myself together and staggered out of the park – my friends were all drunk and outside the park somewhere now – and straight into the company of a guy who led me round the side of a half-build house and raped me. I remember actually managing to feel something this time and thinking that maybe penetrative intercourse might be OK, but then he complained that I should lie on the ground because he was having a hard time fucking me while I lay on some scaffolding. I don’t remember much in between that and this guy coming back with a friend of his to also have a go on the drunk woman. His friend was not keen after he was left along with me but after he’d though about it for a few minutes (perhaps I was making encouraging noises, I don’t know) he fucked me too.

I woke up at some point in the night and managed to get it together enough to get to my friend’s house, where I was supposed to be sleeping over, and get indoors. Her mum pretty much knew we’d been out drinking but I don’t believe she ever knew about any of the rest of it. Because we always hung around the area round the park I was back there the next weekend. I thought I had felt so bad simply because of the hangover. Everyone in that crowd of people knew what had happened the previous week, all my friends knew, it was regarded in various ways.

Almost inevitably I thought it was my fault – I was too drunk, I shouldn’t have spoken to any boys, I must have just about begged for it because hey, I wasn’t one of those girls I’d been warned about who wore the wrong stuff or whatever so therefore I must be one of those sluts who just fucked around. Yes, I was drunk, but then my two other closest friends at the time both got shitfaced drunk the week before me and a couple of weeks after, and no one fucked either of them in a park. So of course it must be something uniquely bad about me that meant it happened to me.

Out of the crowd the guys came from, the girls said they were ‘on my side’ (whatever that means) and the guys tended to make dirty and slightly embarassed gestures and jokes when they thought I wasn’t looking. The guy in the middle, number two, he obviously thought this was a good way to go about getting sex and he got some other girl drink and had sex with her a week or two later. I hope he’s dead, he did like his drugs so hopefully he took too many. I don’t feel like that about the other guys, probaby because as far as I know they have lived otherwise blameless lives except for raping me, and I think they’d be surprised to hear that’s what they did. Eveyrone gets drunk and fucks around, don’t they? It’s just embrassing or regrettable the next day, isn’t it? Not rape. Rape is that scary stranger guy in the alleyway picking on the scantily-clad stupid woman.

Now I think it over I was abused a bit by my next two boyfriends, I can’t blame them for me not being able to express ‘no’ or say that what they were trying to do was uncomfortable (groping or digital penetration, that sort of level), neitehr can I blame the next couple of one night stands for thinking I was like a sack of potatoes, unresponsive and pretending liek I wasn’t there. But sex, as was mentioned upthread, is what they wanted, right? So best get it out the way. Sex is how to bond with males when you’re female, no? I’m sure I’ve been on the other side of the fence too, being horrible to boys at junior school, punching or kicking them and concentrating on their groin area because I knew it was really sore. I’m so sad for us all that we seem to have to fight through all of this, so many of us.

I wrote an essay about my own experiences with sexual assault: http://blot.kaedrin.com/archives/2009/03/public_property.html.

Here’s the story of my first one: The first time I was sexually assaulted was at a public swimming pool when I was 18 years old. At the time I was a teeny tiny little thing – short, thin and small of frame – with a young looking face and disproportionately large breasts. A group of young boys – about 14 – came up and started leering at me. They asked how old I was, and when I answered 18 they didn’t believe me. “More like a 14 year old with huge tits”. I ignored them but they continued to talk in crude terms about my breasts. Then one of them decided he wanted to touch them. He did, and there was nothing I could do to stop him, because he was stronger than I was. I felt violated and completely helpless. And nobody made a move to stop him. Not the lifeguard, not the people around us, not his friends who were egging him on or my friends who were laughing. After all – boys will be boys, and I was wearing a bikini top, and what did I expect, really, walking around in public with those things. It wasn’t until I discovered feminism that I realised, yes, that was sexual assault.

I was two years old when I was first molested. I wasn’t molested by anyone older than me though. I was molested by other kids at my primary school. They used to hold me down on one of the beds in the room we played “House” in and stuck knives and forks and fruit and vegetables and pretty much anything they could find in my cunt. The one time I snapped and hit one of the little fuckers I was the one who got in trouble. The teachers never believed that another child would do something like that to a peer and so my abuse continued the entire three years I spent at that pre-primary/kindergarden/day care/after-school care.

I was sexually assualted again when I was 14 by an older guy named Mike (name changed) who was 24. I hung out with him cos he smoked pot and listened to bad religion and other awesome shit that I still do listen to. I met up with him for a coffee one day and he took me down an alley way and stabbed me with one of his studded collars and fingered me really hard through my underwear while telling me I was a “pedatemptress”

less than six months later i was raped by another male friend named rick (name changed). i was still 14 and he was 20. we hung out cos we both played guitar and met up to go see a new cd store that had opened. i got lured to a different arcade and was raped while several people walked past and did nothing.

then i got into my first relationship. i was 14 and he was 15. (my birthday is in october if this is making sense)
he came from a fucked up home so i felt sorry for him. i got stoned with one of my friends once so he pulled a knife on me and told me that if i ever saw her again he’d kill me. any time i spoke to my guy friends he’d threaten me. then he started raping me on a weekly basis. telling me that he loved me after every single time he did it. he had the coldest deadest bluest eyes i have ever see and he’s the reason i can never actually look at someone when i’m having sex with them. he would force me to look at him and tell me he how much he loved me when he was raping me in his bed and in my own bed.

then there was the fourth guy. he was the worst. i confided in him of all the fucked up shit that had happened to me before in explicit details. he was into rape porn, not even bdsm porn but shit that makes my stomach turn and i’m a sex-pos type. we would only ever have sex on his term. hed started doing things i wasnt okay with like slapping me or choking me and trying to fuck me in the ass. i was 16. he was 20. he would get me drunk and feed me full of downers. i would go to pass out in bed fully clothed and wake up naked with him next to me. he raped me in his house with his mother downstairs who did nothing when she heard me screaming and crying. he raped me in my own bed. and then he told me things were going too fast. i always find that i make this one out to be the worst but to me it does seem like it is because HE KNEW that i’d been RAPED BEFORE HE KNEW i was abused as a child.

it’s taken me more or less my whole life so far to recover from mistakes these assholes have made. but now when i see them walking down the street – i’ll spit at them, point at them and say ‘THAT’S THE CUNT WHO RAPED ME’