The Case for Queer People to Talk About Sexual Violence
Writing about my sexual assault helped me heal from it
I remember my first sexual encounter was with a man (let’s call him A) in high school. We played hooky during gym class and made our way to the men's bathroom (this was before I transitioned). I didn't know what I was doing and was very uncomfortable doing it, but A insisted. He brought me to the bathroom stall and f@cked me raw. Talk of condoms was never mentioned. Nor testing or consent. He pushed into me for several minutes before we were interrupted by a student walking in.
I don't remember how the sex went. I do remember walking home later that day, telling myself over and over again that it wasn't rape. I had wanted to be there at first, I reasoned. I had not stopped it. Worse, I had sat there lifelessly to the point where he remarked how still I was.
How could I have been raped when I did nothing?
I remember crying in the bathroom shower at home as I washed away the blood from my body. I told no one what happened. It took me years to be honest with the assault, and even as I went to therapy and started taking medication, I was deeply uncomfortable with sex, always believing I was one hookup away from someone hurting me.
