My Not-So-Grey Rape

My rape began as consensual sex.

He was a coworker, I relied on him, my best friend went on vacation with him; she introduced us. I trusted him because I trusted her.

We knew each other for 3 weeks before we had sex. After everything I learned from the internet growing up, I knew I needed to use a condom. My health, my safety, my comfort come first – they are instrumental in my enjoying sex. I insisted on a condom.

I should’ve seen the red flag when he was reluctant to use a condom. That’s the thing about hindsight, the thing about seeing things from a perspective other than the one you have in the moment. Should’ve done this, would’ve done this, could’ve done that – but the thing is, that’s all irrelevant. The only thing that could’ve happened already happened.

He found a condom, he put it on, we had sex. He took off the condom. I said no. He asked me for a blow job. I asked him for another condom, and he didn’t understand what that had to do with oral sex.

Sexual education and understanding consent are so important.

I know why men don’t like condoms. I know that they lose their erections if it really bothers them that much. I know that that was why he took it off.

I was straddling him, our bottom halves naked. I should’ve gotten off and dressed, but I didn’t want to be rude, didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he was experiencing impotency.

We joked. He said “just a little kiss,” picked me up, put me on my back, climbed between my legs, the head of his penis just inside me. I very clearly, without a single doubt in my mind said out loud to him, “No, no, no”. My legs were tense, he commented, “You’re so scared, I would’ve done it already if I wanted to.”

If you think your sexual partner is scared during the encounter, I would hope a reasonable person would take that as a sign of non-consent and stop immediately.

My mind raced. I remember thinking he was going to do it no matter what. I remember feeling exhausted – it was 2:30AM and we had just finished work – and scared. I knew what was happening was fucked up. I just wanted it to be over.

“You’re fucking lucky I’m on birth control,” I said, “If you finish in me, I’ll fucking kill you.” And then he raped me.

Knowing your sexual partner is scared, hearing them threaten your life is not consent to sex. It is indicative of withdrawal of consent. My rapist should have known better.

Despite knowing all of that, I still laughed with him when he stopped – neither of us climaxed. We joked about the upcoming week, how late it was, how early he had to be awake the next day. I might have kissed him goodbye as I got out of his car to go home.

My rape was not violent. I did not furiously try to get away from him in the moment. I did not scream, I did not cry. He was not a stranger on the street, it was not in an alleyway, I was not threatened. Does that matter? It shouldn’t.

He was my coworker, he was in a senior position to me, he was my friend, he was my friend’s friend.

I said no. He didn’t listen. I made sure he knew that this was against my will. He didn’t care.

That is rape. And you can’t tell me otherwise.

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