The Next Time You Blame A Girl For Drinking When She’s Raped…

think of me.

I lost my virginity when I was drunk. And passed out. I’ve never talked about it until now, because honestly — I told myself it was my fault. Because I didn’t fight. I didn’t scream. So, it wasn’t rape, right? It was just me…making “stupid decisions”. Underaged drinking. Spending time with a guy I barely knew. I blamed myself — because I didn’t punch him or say “no”.

Because, I couldn’t.

He was a guy I “knew of” in college. Upperclassman, but he’d transferred to a bigger university. So, when my friends and I traveled an hour to go “clubbing” at said school — it was a pleasant surprise to run into someone that looked familiar, in a sea of strangers. To be honest, I’d always had a crush on his roomie from afar.

I was a naive young woman. A cheerleader. Sure, I drank. Had fun. But, sex? Nah, not something I’d dabbled in. Probably because I hated my body and felt too self conscious, and I always said stupid/dorky shit around guys. I honestly thought nobody wanted to have sex with me. So, the thought never entered my mind.

So, there we were…on the dance floor. The two guys, approaching us. “Hey! I know you, you go to Waldorf — we went there before we transferred.”
“HI!” I yelled back.
And we danced, flirted. And drank. And drank. And…drank. I don’t remember much, honestly — except drunken euphoria. Being one with the dance floor. Beats coursing through my veins, and doing what I love — dancing.

Then, the lights came up. I had no concept of what was going on, because at this point — I didn’t have a ton of experience with alcohol, either. Smiling like an idiot, the two guys asked where I was going.

“I don’t know! Where are my friends?” I asked.

My cell phone wasn’t working well, and I couldn’t get ahold of anyone. But, the guy I had a crush on just smiled at me,
“Come crash at our place, there is plenty of room. Not a big deal. Charge your phone, and you’ll find your friends in the morning.”

Cool, right? I “knew” them, they used to go to my little bitty college, so they were “safe.” And to be fair, I still don’t “think” they had malicious intent. But, that doesn’t make what happened — any less important.

We walked in to the apartment. Sex was the last thing on my mind because I was still a virgin, and because I had my period, I didn’t even realize at that point in my life that it was even possible to have sex during your monthly cycle. Jeeesh.

Stumbling, the guys walking beside me, I felt safe. They were very close friends of a good friend of mine, so — no alarm bells at all. I knew they were both from small towns nearby, and seemed liked good dudes. And, since it was really cold outside — I felt grateful to have run into them, because I needed a place to sleep off this drunken stupor.

I spaced out a bit, and the roomie I didn’t have a crush on motioned to me, “C’mon. You can sleep in my room. Everyone else crashed already.”
“Nah, I can just do the couch, it’s OK.”
“No, it’s not a big deal, really. Let me be a gentleman? You sleep on the bed, I’ll take the floor with a bunch of sleeping bags. I don’t want you on the couch in case other roomies come in late.”
“OK…but only if you’re on the floor.”
“Yup, no problem.”

I remember thinking to myself, “What a sweet thing to do. To make sure I’m not disturbed. He seems nice.”

So, I passed out in my jeans and top. Remembering him crawling into a sleeping bag in the middle of the floor.

I woke up, later — to him on top of me. My pants down, legs open. But, I wasn’t fully conscious. My mouth, it just didn’t seem to work. I felt…like I was in some kind of fucked up dream. A nightmare, where I couldn’t speak.

I could see him looking at me, whenever I’d pop out of the fog. No ill intent in his eyes. He looked aroused. He didn’t look evil. He wasn’t holding me down. I didn’t say no.

I didn’t say “no.”
I didn’t say “no.”
I didn’t….say…. “no.”

Because my mouth wouldn’t work.
My mind was screaming it, but I was frozen. Because I felt like I was dreaming, my body — just putty.
Then, my eyes would drift shut again, head slumping to the side…and everything was black.

Until, pain — oh fuck, the pain.

My eyes opened, and I remember him whispering something like, “Yeah? Good?”

No. No, it wasn’t good! It was the opposite of good. It hurt, so fucking bad.
But, my mouth still felt like a marshmallow that was weighted down with cement. And I felt my eyes roll back into my head again — as I drifted away…

THE NEXT DAY
I woke up to a horrible smell.
Vomit.

Sitting up, I noticed — it was everywhere. In my hair. On my clothes.
I didn’t feel sick though. Just a little dry. Was it his vomit, or mine?

Glancing over at him, laying next to me on the bed, in his boxers. The pool of it was between us, so who the fuck knows who got sick? I wondered to myself, how he had gotten into the bed? Why he wasn’t in the sleeping bag? Then, realized my pants were down. What the fuck? I sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. Stumbling to the bathroom. Remembering that I needed to change my tampon.

I reached for it.
Where was it?
Then, the world stood still.

Bits and pieces started to float to the top of my memory. I fished for the string, but couldn’t get it, it was shoved so far up. And, I was unbelievably sore.

Then I stopped, staring at the towel rack like a zombie. Realizing, oh my God…he had sex with me (scratch that, he raped me), and didn’t take it out first. No wonder there had been so much pain that it woke me up, out of my passed out stupor.

And immediately, I felt sick.

I jumped off the toilet. Turning around, throwing up uncontrollably. Feeling so sick, used, and…this feeling of shame. I said to myself, “You are smarter than this. You aren’t supposed to drink with boys! Why are you here? This is YOUR FAULT, Erica. You didn’t even say ‘no’, so that doesn’t count as rape, right? It can’t count. You didn’t kick, punch, or scream. Way to throw away your virginity.”

And my internal dialog continued to beat on me. Puking in disgust of myself.

My phone finally had service, so I called my friend to come get me — and he came to pick me up saying, “Look at you and your bedhead. Someone got laaaaaid last night, eh? ‘Atta girl.”

I couldn’t tell him. I just laughed and shrugged.
I couldn’t tell anyone, because…you don’t talk about things that are your fault, right?

For 15 years, I blamed myself.
I didn’t even consider it assault or rape.
Just “bad decisions”.

Until reading an article about consent recently.
I cried during the entire time.
Because, that girl — was me.

And I realized, no…what happened wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t because I put myself in a “bad position.” It was because I’m a trusting human, that takes someone at their word. And believing a promise, doesn’t mean you deserve to have your virginity stolen from you in a painful, graphic way. That’s like, knowingly giving someone who’s allergic to peanuts, a brownie that has peanuts in it, but blaming them for their allergic reaction — because they trusted you. Nope, it wasn’t my fucking fault.

I didn’t say no.
But, I never said “Yes” either.

And he never asked. I used to think this was a ridiculous thing to say, and that it would make sex “boring” and “predictable” if everything was articulated to a “T” right? Until, I met someone recently who does believe in consent. And asked. Every step of the way. It was sexy. It was nice. It made me feel safe, and desirable to hear him ask. The whispers, were actually a turn on, because I knew he was listening to me, and wanted to know I was there, mentally.

So, let’s try this — the next time we’re blaming a woman for putting herself in a “bad” position…possibly point out that the position was fine, but the man thinking he could take something from a woman who couldn’t consent — was the bad part.

After all, I’ve spent the night with tons of dude friends — without having problems. Because they know an unresponsive woman, is not an open invitation to play.

So instead of teaching women not to be alone with men, how about we teach men, not to take what hasn’t been given to them willingly.

Thanks for reading. ❤
Erica