Is It Rape-Rape or Just Rape-Ish?

So usually in my life, as long as I’ve used the internet basically, when something has happened to me I’ve gone to some form of computer expression to let it out. When I’ve had an opinion, or something that has happened to form or change one, I’ve discussed it with people online, whether they be real life friends or people I know through being online.

This is really the first time I haven’t had this option. Well, not with my real identity, anyway. Talking about it on facebook would make the problem worse. Talking about it with certain friends and family would make the problem worse. So if you feel this is over sharing from a girl who supposedly just wants to talk about naked people doin’ it for fun and money, well I’m sorry. Hopefully things will be more upbeat on Friday’s post. It’s not really related to my problem, but I’ve been semi-bed ridden and totally drained this week so trying to write about most things has been hard for me. I have like three half written entries saved on my computer.

Well, okay, let’s go.

This is hard for me to say; but I was raped this weekend.

It’s hard for me to say because it wasn’t the sort of rape where I was pushed down, beat up, and physically forced upon. It’s hard for me to say because it wasn’t upsetting until the fog in my head cleared. It’s hard for me because it’s not what I’ve imagined rape to be.

I need to give back story, I feel. So when I was younger, I had a boyfriend, somebody I had known for a while. We were together about a year and a half. We’ve been in a weird pattern of on and off for about two years. From first meeting up until now, we’ve had some role in each other’s lives for over five years.

My last significant other recently moved for a personal opportunity. We ended our relationship so we could have freedom being so far apart. I made a plan with myself, that while I was excited to be free to explore the sexual parts of myself (and talk about them in this blog, of course), that I needed to give myself a few weeks to not do anything impulsive, and definitely not have sex.

I thought of my ex though, and how he had often been there for me and we were hanging out in a mostly platonic manner by the time I got with my latest lover, and so I should get food with him and catch up.

After food, we decided to go to a park, to just sit away from my house, and continue catching up.

It was at this point he began making moves on me. It was mostly me dodging kisses and gropes, and I didn’t think much of it, except that it was irritating me.

Later in the night, I established several things when he began to make me uncomfortable. One was no, we were not going to have sex. Another was that it was because I needed time to recoop from this break-up. Another was that he would not be spending the night, whether it was innocent or not.

However, I allowed kissing. I suppose that was weakness, it’s usually the first thing I miss being single, before I miss sex itself. I figured, however, that I had established these limits. I was okay.

He walked me home. He came in for a bit. I began to fall asleep, even falling asleep on him. He walked me to my room, and crawled into my bed. I was exhausted, remembered that the last time he spent the night nothing happened, and did not protest.

I barely slept. I literally spent all night pushing his hands off me, telling him no. He’s had bouts of sexsomnia before, so I again didn’t think much of it, didn’t think it was malicious or intentional (though I was irritated since I just wanted to sleep).

When morning came, the sexual advances became very strong. I said I already explained I needed time. He said I already had a week, now it was a week and a day. I don’t remember how we got from a point that was so rude and gross to us kissing again. I guess time had passed and I felt it was innocent again, he had made his joke, and it was all good now. But it wasn’t.

He began intentionally working my buttons. Weakening my strength. Taking advantage of my expressed vunerability. It kept feeling like “well fuck, I’ve said yes to this (or more like not said no), what’s the point in saying no to the next thing?”

Probably two hours went by that morning before I finally said yes, fine, just use a fuckin’ condom.

And I can’t lie, for the brief moments it lasted, it felt good.

But when I sobered up later from my arousal, I remembered all the times I had said no. The times that were more than I could count. I realized that he should have stopped at the first one, maybe the second or third. I could see some being really frustrated and getting to the fifth or six.

I must have gotten to the tenth or twelfth in the time between the park and my room.

Yet I still feel guilty. Like it was a violation and I did it to myself, because I didn’t just yell louder, or tell him to walk home at midnight in the rain. Because I missed kissing. Because I never felt like I could say no after all the things I had not said no to.

To truly top things off, I found out he had exaggerated his own dry spell. When he insisted his last time was with me, it was really with a close friend of mine months later. The way she’s laughed it off since has made the feeling kind of worse, even though she has no blame in the situation. At this stage, she doesn’t even know how bad I feel about it.

As I’ve been going through this I’ve been watching the unfolding of the GOP’s new bill. The one that, to paraphrase the Daily Show, explains the difference between rape-rape and rape-ish. In the name of saving potentially murdered babies! Think of the zygotes!

I think it’s the only reason I can post this, under a fake name, and feel like maybe somebody can understand what I’m going through. Not judge me for it. I’ve been able to see the comparisons and know, this is absolutely ridiculous. Whether the girl had a knife held to her throat, a gun held to her head, was drunk, was drugged, or felt trapped into saying yes, it’s all rape. Forcible rape is a redundant term, rape is in itself forcible, it’s a person being forced to have sex

Just, in my case, I was forced to say yes.

I don’t really know what effects it will have on this blog, if any. I do know that the man who pressured me feels porn is disgusting, so this is most likely not life trying to tell me not to pursue what I want this blog to do. Maybe I’ll just be more hands-off for awhile, like I have been already. Or just more hands-on myself … like I have been already. Yes, oddly, I am trying to end this on a not bummer note.


~ by Stefani Vonne on 02/02/2011.

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