Is it…

rape?

Stop!

Don’t!

Please it hurts!

At a certain point in the evening those words lost all meaning to the man I’d gone on a date with. We’d hung out and slept together once two weeks earlier. In hindsight, I should have seen the signs…they were there.

After a horrible movie, a snack and a drink at a local bar we came back to my place. My home. The place where I feel safest. Or I felt safest.

We spent time talking and touching on the couch. He began to tickle me. At first it was fun and I giggled a lot but there’s a line (anyone who’s ticklish has one, where it’s just not fun for you anymore) and I hit that line so I asked him to stop. And he did…for a moment or two. Then he’d start again. I can’t tell you how long this went on. I was getting mad and frustrated but I couldn’t get away. He had me pinned in various positions at various times. You see he’s a martial arts instructor and quite adept and holding someone down. I tried to get away but he’d hold my wrists or my legs or both and I’d be helpless. Ultimately, he was just tickling me. I didn’t like it but it’s not that bad, right?

At one point when he released me and we were just sitting we were talking about toys. I hadn’t expected him to come up so the flogger was hanging in my living room. He said he might have to use it on me. I got defensive. The thought of him picking it up and using it on me made my skin crawl – I was ready to do anything to keep him away from it. I leapt off the couch and put myself between him and the flogger. He got up and came towards me, getting right in my face, trying to reach around me. Again I said no. I said it didn’t belong to him, he shouldn’t touch it. It was at that moment I began to realize that he viewed every no or refusal as a challenge. He began to physically try to move me and I did everything to resist and maintain my position. Somehow, he changed his mind, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me back to the couch. Before I knew it, he was spanking me with his hand. Very forceful slaps. Again I asked him to stop. I said no. He countered with, “I thought you liked this” and spanked me again one more time.

When he let me go I don’t know why I didn’t ask him to leave. I was being manhandled and ignored. Every thing I said was going unnoticed or unheeded. But I didn’t know how to get him out of my house. I didn’t know how much farther it was going to go.

I wish I could say this all happened in a matter of minutes but in reality it happened over the course of a few hours. Him holding me down and tickling me and spanking me, pinning me to the floor like I was a sparring partner and not his date. I just stopped fighting. The more I struggled the more I felt the aches and pains of my muscles screaming.

When he unzipped his pants there was no part of me that wanted to suck his cock. He pushed my head down with two hands until I gave in. By this time I was numb. I wasn’t even thinking about anything. I was just hoping he’d come and then leave.

He didn’t.

I won’t pretend, I kissed him somehow hoping he’d remember I was his date that it would soften him that it might change the way things were going…it didn’t.

He wasn’t satisfied with having his cock sucked. He got me out of my clothes, stripped, grabbed a condom and put me on my stomach on the bed. I went along with it. I wanted it to be over so he would leave. I faked an orgasm and he came not long after that.

He wasn’t leaving. He was getting comfortable. Saying it was late, he was afraid to fall asleep while driving. I was still unsure of everything. So I let him stay.

It the morning when he woke up, even after I’d said clearly I did not want to be in the restraints because we didn’t know each other well enough, he got both my wrists in them against my will. Again the tickling and the spanking, then he fucked me again. When he was done he left. I hugged him goodbye even after all of that.

It wasn’t until I sat with those events for a few hours alone, trying to really understand what happened that I began to wonder – had I been coerced? Certainly many of my boundaries had been violated that is clear. But had I been raped? Is that what you’d call this bizarre set of circumstances?

I became obsessed with trying to name what happened, I needed a word. I have read enough survivor stories to know but I didn’t want to believe it had happened to me. That I let it happen to me. That I didn’t stop it. That I didn’t scream or fight harder. That I didn’t kick him out. That I didn’t report it. That I couldn’t, until now, even articulate it using the word rape.

I feel so ashamed, hurt, lost confused, angry, violated, vulnerable, broken…I still do.

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15 thoughts on “Is it…

  1. Please don’t feel ashamed. This is about someone failing to listen to your repeated requests to stop. I am not sure that you would feel able to do this, but you should definitely consider talking to some sort of rape support service, and with their support possibly even the police. This man took advantage of you, regardless of whether you like to get a bit rough in sex this does not in any way give any sort of tacit permission for anything you do not wish to happen.

    I am so sorry this has happened to you. *hug*

  2. I’m so sorry that you had to go through that. Is it rape? Only you can define it. Only you know what it felt like. You were clearly violated and your desires were ignored. If you feel like it was rape then that’s what it was. No matter what you choose to define it as, it was in no way your fault and you shouldn’t feel like you didn’t do enough. It’s a scary situation and no one can say how they would react or what they would do unless they’ve been in it themselves. You did what you had to do at the time to survive and get through it.

    You’re very brave for posting this.

    • Brit, you are actually part of the reason I was able to post this. I’ve read your stories and those from other bloggers and it gave me the strength to share my own. So thank you.

      When I wrote this, I wasn’t sure I wanted to call it rape because that would mean I’d been raped. I didn’t want to own that. Since then, I’ve come to see that *I* do define this as rape. *I* was violated and how *I* feel about it is what matters. Owning that has been a big part of moving forward with healing.

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