When I was 19, I went to a party thrown by some coworkers. I showed up with a guy friend who I trusted. The party was outside, in the warm night air. It was a blast – lots of drinking, dancing, and laughing. Another guy flirted with me. I had noticed him before, but never got up the nerve to speak to him. I felt super flattered that he was interested, so I nervously flirted back.
Later that night, I went inside the house with him. We sat on a pull-out bed on the couch and talked for a while, then he kissed me. I liked it. We began to make out, which felt nice and exciting. Maybe 5 minutes later, he pushed me down on the bed and got on top of me. I pushed him to my side and said I didn’t want to go further than kissing.
He responded by trying to pull my pants down. I grabbed them and we fought over them – him pulling them down and me pulling them up. I kept saying “no!” and “stop!” He didn’t. He pulled my pants to my knees and got on top of me again. His pants were off, and I was so confused because I didn’t even realize he had removed them. He was between my thighs and I tried to close them, tried to push him off, but he was stronger than me. I felt his penis roughly poke my thighs, my vulva, trying to force its way into my body. I panicked. I didn’t want this.
At this point, with my forearm against his chest to try and hold him back, I remember thinking I couldn’t win this fight. I almost gave up and just let him do it, because I wasn’t strong enough to stop him. I felt weak and powerless. I gave one more hard shove while yelling, “no!” He tumbled to my side again… and stopped. I stared at him for a few moments, waiting to see what he was going to do. He pretended to be asleep. I ran out of there, sobbing the whole way home.
Later, I realized there was no one around when we started making out. Where was the friend I came with, all the other people? I still have no idea where they went. Did he tell them to leave?
Later, I heard he called me a bitch and said he hated me. For what? What did I do wrong?
Later, I felt like I didn’t deserve to feel bad because he didn’t actually rape me… it was an almost. And, if he didn’t rape me, then I should feel grateful.
But I didn’t feel grateful. I felt violated… and guilty for it because others had it so much worse than me.