In My Day, They Didn’t Call it Rape
But rape is rape, whenever it happens
The summer after high school graduation in 1968, I was introduced to Terry — tall, blond, Viet Nam marine veteran. He was so handsome and so mature. We started dating and everyone loved him. He was a gentleman — calling everyone ma’am and sir and opening doors for me. Although he wasn’t Jewish, my parents seemed OK with my dating him.
Terry talked all the time about killing “gooks,” by shooting, strangling, garrote. It was horrifying, and although we kept dating (maybe because my parents liked him so much), I was afraid of him. He hadn’t hurt me but I also didn’t doubt he could. In my immaturity, though, I believed I was safe with him and thought I really cared for him.
One Saturday afternoon he suggested that we go to meet his grandmother. I was thrilled that he was introducing me to more of his family. I had met his parents and his sister and they liked me. I was sure his grandmother would too.
When we got to the house, his grandmother wasn’t there. He took me into the living room to wait for her. At some point, I asked to use the bathroom and he directed me upstairs. When I came out of the bathroom, he picked me up and threw me on his grandmother’s bed. He started pulling off my shorts and I flung myself over on my stomach, somehow thinking (in my naiveté) that would stop what I knew he was trying to do. But it didn’t. He pulled down my pants enough to take me from behind. He kept whispering in my ear that I wanted it, that I liked it, and I should just relax and enjoy it.
In the ’60s, no one talked about date rape. If you did “it” you wanted to. So, I persuaded myself that I wanted it and liked it — but I knew I didn’t. I tried to convince myself that I did it because I loved him — but I knew I didn’t.
And I was so afraid that if I told anyone he would hurt me.
So I kept quiet — even when I thought I might be pregnant. I never had regular periods so I couldn’t calculate when I might be fertile. I was panicked but couldn’t tell anyone. (I don’t remember if I even told my best friend, Anne). I carried this dread with me for weeks until I finally got my next period.
I stopped seeing Terry after that but had to make an excuse to my parents why. I don’t recall what I told them, but I think they were disappointed. I never told them the real story because I was afraid he would hurt me again even after our relationship was over.
