My Rape Story (Because too many of us have one)

I was molested at the age of 7 by the uncle of a friend. The uncle was, at the time, living with the friend when I went for a sleep over. At some point, I found myself alone with the uncle in my friend's bedroom. He began rubbing my back. I hated it. It made me feel weird and gross. He asked if he could kiss my back. I was raised to always obey authority and adults are authority so I complied. That made me feel even grosser. He asked if he could kiss me on the lips but, even as timid of authority as I was, I couldn't bring myself to agree to that. He told me not to tell. He told me that it was our secret.

I kept the secret to myself until I returned home from the sleepover. The next morning, I told my sister as we were getting ready for church. I couldn't keep it to myself -- those feelings of shame and dirtiness. After church, at lunch, I sat at the table silently crying. My mother asked what was wrong and my sister blurted out my secret. I don't remember how my mother reacted. I know the news must have sickened her. I just remember being terrified that my abuser would somehow punish me for disobeying.

The church/school (I was at the time attending a parochial school) Christmas program was scheduled for that night. I knew that it was my mother's intention to speak to my friend's mother about the actions of her brother that night, which in turn probably meant that my friend's mother would speak to her brother, and HE was in the audience. I remember managing to keep myself together enough to perform with my classmates, but I could feel him staring at me. I just knew he was plotting his revenge.

A few days after the Christmas program, I was told that the uncle was asked to move elsewhere (to another of his siblings' homes, I believe, who did not have children to molest). I never saw him again, nor was the "situation" ever again mentioned. Something about the context of the conversation seemed to hint that this wasn't the first time this had happened and I'm sure it wasn't the last.

After this incident, my mother finally had the conversation with me about bodily autonomy and "bad touching" and formally gave me permission to say no to an adult if he (because she assumed any abuser would be a he) made me uncomfortable, and that I should tell her if anything like that ever happened again. Too little too late mom.

When I was 12, attending the same church, I had an extremely inappropriate relationship with a boy in my youth group who was 15. He was cute, popular, kind of a jock, and all the girls had crushes on him. I, on the other hand, was chubby, awkward, and unpopular. During a social gathering at the church, a half dozen or so rogue members of the youth group (including me) participated in a rather lewd game of truth or dare. (I have to wonder now how a half dozen tween-to-teens were so unsupervised AT CHURCH that this was even possible.) The dares mostly centered around the theme of show-me-yours-and-I'll-show-you-mine.

After the game, he coaxed me into a secluded room, showed me his erect penis, and told me it was hard because I was so hot. He asked me to show him my boobs, and asked if he could touch them. He asked me to give him a hand job. I'd had a crush on him forever, and of course consented. He kissed me and told me that he'd wanted me for a long time and I could be his girlfriend, but, even though he really did care for me, we had to keep it a secret. I was so excited that he liked me and so thrilled at the feeling of sexual awakening that I was about to pop, but I kept his secret. I kept his secret even while he bullied me in public "for show" he said.

Of course, it had to be kept secret because the caring about me part was utter bullshit and he was just too embarrassed, as the popular jock, to be "going with" the dumpy nerd girl, but he still wanted the sexy stuff from me. This relationship went on for several months and got as close as possible to actual having sex without ever crossing that line. He certainly wanted to, but at that time I was still committed to keeping my virginity for my husband.

I found out later from other girls in my youth group that they were also his "secret girlfriend". I kind of always dismissed his actions as a teenage boy being a teenage boy, and felt ashamed at being so foolish as to believe his ridiculous come-ons, but now I see it as the predatory behavior that it was and wonder how this behavior carried on into adulthood.

When I was 21 I was raped by a military guy. It was my first time out barhopping as a legal drinker. A friend took me out and offered to pay for the drinks. And honey were there drinks. I think I calculated that between the lemon drop shots and Cape Codders I had something like 20+ servings of vodka. I met a guy at the bar that I thought was cute. His name was Westley, with a T, like Westley from Princess Bride. He was tall and geeky and we had a nice conversation.

Meanwhile, my friend was over making nice with his buddy Mike, who I did not find remotely interesting or attractive. He was the cocky jock type, and I was so not (and still not) into that type. When my friend went to the bathroom, Mike and I had a slurred and drunken conversation about our mutual non-attraction and how we were both cool with that and could hang even though we didn't want to fuck and I thought that was pretty cool.

We closed down the bar and the boys invited us over to their place to continue the party. My friend readily agreed and we followed them back to their apartment. It was the two of us, the two of them, and two or three more of their military buddies. A bottle of tequila was being passed around and I managed one shot before passing out on the couch. One of the other guys kept trying to kiss me and I kept pushing him away. Finally Mike told me that I could go pass out in his roommate's bed as his roommate was gone on some training thing.

I don't know how long I was passed out in that bedroom before I woke to find someone leaning over me, trying to kiss me. I pushed him away, thinking he was the same guy as before, but it was Mike. I reminded him that we'd mutually agreed that we didn't want to fuck and what the fuck was his deal? He told me that he'd been "so wrong" and that he'd really been wanting me all night. Well, I didn't want him. And I made that clear!

My friend heard us arguing through the door and came to intervene, but he'd locked it when he came in and he yelled back to her that everything was just fine. So she left me there and went home! I was at the point of drunk where my mind was working but my body wasn't and he went on ahead and did what he wanted to do. I just laid there and let him. I didn't really have a choice at that point.

The next morning I called my friend and she came and picked me up and took me back to her house. I sat in her shower, as hot as I could stand it, trying to wash the ick of the night's events off of me. I felt so ashamed and dirty. I'd gotten drunk. I'd put myself in this situation. It was my fault. And I'd cheated on my boyfriend. (I was already dating Grumpy at this point but he was stationed elsewhere and I was living with my parents.)

When I got home I repeated the hot shower thing in another attempt to wash off the shame and guilt and the feeling of him touching me. I told my mother what had happened and she informed me that I had been raped and that even though she didn't approve of me drinking, being drunk didn't give him permission to have sex with me if I said no. She took me to the police station where I gave my statement. The cop there told me he didn't think I had much of a case since I was drunk and had willingly gone to his house. It would just be my word against his and I would probably be better off not pursuing, so I let it drop.

I called Grumpy and told him what had happened. He said it wasn't rape because I didn't fight back hard enough. He also confirmed my own self-accusation that I had cheated on him. (He has since admitted that he was very, very wrong about this and has apologized profusely.)

I now wish that I had pressed charges. Even if there'd been no legal consequences, there'd have been some resulting unpleasantness from his chain of command -- enough, at least, to make him think a little harder about the potential consequences of his actions. But because I let it go, he never had to face any consequences whatsoever. I'm sure I wasn't his first and I'm sure I wasn't his last. The lack of consequences for shit like this just reinforces the entitlement complexes that perpetuate rape culture.

I feel like I've moved past and healed from whatever injury or trauma occurred as a result of these events. But I feel like I have to tell these stories. My stories are only a drop in the proverbial rape culture bucket. All women, and many men, have these stories. We all need to tell them. We all need to speak up. I feel like predators, like the men in these stories, have to be called out publicly, even if the calling out does not result in legal consequences. We cannot just quietly shuffle these things off to the side and pretend they didn't happen, you know, for the best interests of all involved.

We, as humans, all have urges to do things we know are wrong. We, as a society, have both a spoken and unspoken set of rules that keeps us, as individuals, from acting out those urges. We aren't just nice and generally well behaved because deep down we know it's the right thing. We are generally polite and well behaved - in public at least - because we fear the social consequences of being rude and obnoxious. (Really, I do so miss those happy days of my youth when racist assholes knew to keep their deplorable attitudes in their own rumpus rooms.)

This epidemic of predatory behavior has to end. The justice system and our politicians aren't going to protect future generations from this bullshit. We, as a society, need to end it. We need to teach our children early that they own their bodies and NOBODY has a right to touch them without their consent. We need to let our children know that allowing someone in a position of power to manipulate them into doing things that they find humiliating and gross is NEVER okay. We need to stop the victim shaming and start supporting those -- and believing those -- who are willing to speak out. We need to make it known to those who would be predators that they will be called out, the stories will be told, and that they will face serious consequences to their social standing and career status. We need to make it crystal clear that this behavior will no longer be tolerated. Period.