Was it My Fault?

Sex has never been the same. It felt like a door that had always been there, but I couldn’t see it. After being raped, the door had been opened. Now it was always there, always something that could happen, always a fear.

I didn’t know what to do with this knowledge. I didn’t know how to move forward in my relationship with sex and men. Instead, I avoided them. I found it challenging to process. I love and respect my father, my brother, and and my grandfathers. I love and respect my male friends- and yet someone of their sex had done this to me. Was the person who did this to me a bad person? Did he hate women? Does he know how he made me feel? Does he even know what he’s done? Should I say something? Did I not communicate enough? Could I have done something? Was this even rape? Was it my fault?

And then it was my birthday and I drank for three days straight until I felt like I was in a different world. I felt conscious and inebriated at the same time. On my birthday, I cried because I invited my six crushes, though none of them knew how I felt about them, and all of them attended. I avoided them for the whole party, drank an entire bottle of champagne, and realized that I was just as emotionally stunted as I was in high school. I cried so hard I vomited, and then I passed out on the couch. I wrote a poem about the experience, called “Problems of a Social Butterfly”  

On the third day of my bender, I went to my friend’s colleague’s birthday brunch. It was at this posh place in Putney where it was all you can drink for 40 pounds. My friend had not bothered to mention that it was going to cost this much. Even though I couldn’t afford the meal and wanted to say no, I had traveled over an hour and I didn’t want to upset my friend or her colleague, and so I drank. I drank until I didn’t feel hungover anymore, until I felt I had gotten my money’s worth in prosecco. Then one of her colleagues suggested a day club. We hoped into the Uber. When we arrived, he asked, “Does anyone want a tequila shot?”

Licked the salt, and bit the lime.

We sat down. One of her colleagues, a tall, blonde began to flirt with me. He kept touching me, and I could tell he wanted to make out. I said, “I’m not going to make out with you in front of your colleagues.”

“Fine, let’s go outside then.”

We made out, and then I asked him, “What’s your favorite book?” He said, “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.” Even though I really don’t like science fiction, I didn’t say anything. Instead, I thought, “I don’t care what your favorite book is. Hell, I don’t even care if you like to read. I’m not trying to get to know you, I just want to have sex with you.” But I didn’t say that. Instead, I brought him back to my room.  

Even though I had brought him back to my room, and I was telling him to have sex with me, my body was saying no. I wasn’t wet enough, and it hurt a lot, so I told him to stop, which he did. I felt bad that I couldn’t please him, and so I said, “If you want, you can come on my chest” as I quite liked the cold, tingly sensation. And so he did.

Then he wanted to do it again; I didn’t really want him to. I tried to push him off, but he was too heavy. Instead of saying anything, as I was worried he wouldn’t listen if I said no, I said things to make him cum quicker, things I would never normally say. When he left, I pretended everything was fine – but really it wasn’t.

I had done it again. I had lied about my true feelings at my own expense. I felt used, confused, and oddly turned on. I usually wouldn’t have said the things I did, but because I thought it would make him cum faster, I said what I thought a “bad girl” would say. It felt freeing. As he left, he said, “You’re so hot; let’s do this again.” I kinda liked his objectification. The next day my friend told me he had a girlfriend.

After that I didn’t trust myself, I didn’t trust men, and I didn’t know what to think. Even though I wanted to say no, I didn’t say it. Obviously I wasn’t attracted to him, and yet I still brought him home. Why didn’t I listen to my body? I didn’t trust myself to say how actually felt, do what I wanted to do, and I thought men were the problem. I decided to try dating girls.

Read the next post in the series, “Most Likely Bisexual”

Check out the full list of blog posts, “How to Value Your Own Thoughts”