Rape
This keeps coming up. I keep having these conversations about it, with men and women. I have all these thoughts running around in my head, trying to express themselves, but they're not clear enough yet. Hopefully soon, after I let them percolate for a bit.
In the meantime, though, the only true perspective I have on this issue is personal. Talking to people I know, and my own experiences.
My mother was raped multiple times, as a young teenage girl living on the streets of Boston. She was a reformed Catholic School Girl, she did a lot of drugs, and she trusted the wrong people.
This inspired her to instill in all 3 of her daughters an intense distrust of men and of their own sexuality.
I'm 34, and I've spent the last 4 years coming to terms with what this has meant to me. Distrusting men, believing them to be weaker, incapable of controlling their urges, knowing that I HAD to manipulate them to survive in this world they've created... it hasn't exactly helped me create healthy, mature relationships with the men in my life. I was a virgin at 23, when I met my first lover. We were together for 7 years. When we broke up, I was 30. And I was ready to change how I interacted with men. I gave myself some time, and then I started dating. A lot. I have dated, quite literally, hundreds of men. I approached it like a science experiment. I wanted to have as much data in my set as possible, to be able to look at my actions and the actions of others from as broad a perspective as I could. And I learned a lot about myself, and about men. Most of it positive.
Out of those hundreds of men, I have had 3 near rape experiences. This actually coincides with statistics quite neatly. 300,000 women are raped a year. Conservatively.
And that number is muddled by the fact that most rapes aren't reported. That number also doesn't include rapes committed against children, 18years and under. Think about that for a minute, and question the assumption that alcohol is a truly defining factor in rape.
So, 3 near rape experiences. Alcohol was, indeed, involved in all of them. This is because my chosen venue for meeting people was a bar or restaurant. I would tell them to meet me at places I knew, where others knew me. It was bright, loud, and as safe as I could make it. I never actually got drunk. If the gentleman got drunk, it was a clear indicator that we would not get along. If he couldn't responsibly enjoy an adult beverage in my company on the first date, he wasn't my type.
This attitude did not stop me from almost getting raped 3 times.
The first time was with an older "gentleman". I'd met him at a blues club, we got along famously, so I made plans to meet him again. The second time, we still got along well, but he got territorial around other men. Warning sign number 1. One which I ignored, stupidly, because I wasn't used to dealing with guys like that. He was quite a bit older, smooth, charming, and seemingly harmless. I let him give me a ride home. Of course, I had my phone in one hand, with the police on speed dial, and a quite intimidating knife, which I knew how to use, on reserve in an easy to reach pocket. I gave him a goodnight kiss, which got quite heated. He asked to come in, I said no. He proceeded to expend quite a bit of charm on trying to get me to change my mind. At no point during this did I feel physically threatened. Till he unexpectedly climbed on top of me. Even then, he was still trying to charm his way into my pants. I stayed calm, and stared at him till he finally made eye contact with me. What I saw in his eyes was chilling. He was calculating how much he could get away with. He was analyzing me and the situation, trying to figure out how easily he could get what he wanted. I laughed at him, told him to get off me NOW, and pushed him up into the dashboard with my knees. I saw the flash of potential violence in his eyes, but he backed down. I got out, went home, and destroyed a lot of plants in my backyard to release the rage and frustration of not having seen who that sleezebag truly was right away, of having been under his control for even a moment.
That experience taught me that, to a certain type of man, rape is about power. It is about asserting their will over a weaker being, and in the process getting their rocks off. It taught me to recognize the signs of a man who wanted me to be weaker than him, and to question his motives.
The second time, I had actually let the man into my home. I knew him, I liked him, I was attracted to him, and we were both adults. However, while at my house, he drank a prodigious amount of my very expensive scotch. I did not realize quite how much he'd drunk till looking at the mostly empty bottle later. He had, in fact, drank so much that he couldn't perform. This is one of those "gray area" rapes people like to talk about. I would have slept with this man. I was in a compromising situation with this man, of my own accord. I had had 2 drinks, hours before. I was not drunk. But I let a man who was drunk get close enough to threaten me. When I realized how drunk he was, something that took me longer than it should have due to how well he hid it, I got up and went to get his some water. When I came back, he was mostly naked. I laughed, gently, and told him he needed to get some water in him, sober up, and go home. He seemed to take this well, patted the bed next to him, and when I went to sit down, he grabbed my arm and tried to pull me under him. He wasn't coordinated enough to do so. He started crying, and blubbering about how this never happened to him, and how I just HAD to give him a second chance.
He meant it quite literally.
This man was a LOT bigger than I was, and his grip on my arm was unbreakable, regardless of the fact that he was uncoordinated. So I said ok. And I said it like I meant it. I put my hand on his chest, pushed him down, pretended to be happy with the situation, and the second he let his guard down, I jerked my arm out of his hand, stood up, and got out of the room. He followed me, still crying. His tears weren't actually reassuring, as silly as they made him seem, because they were putting him in a situation where he may very well have felt the need to assert his masculinity through violence. At this point I didn't actually care about him driving home drunk, I cared about getting him out of my house. So I became maternal. I expressed concern for his wellbeing, I convinced him to sit down and sober up, that we could try again later. I blamed his issues on everything but himself. I kept him at arms length through use of words, and when he was sober enough to have a headache, I told him to get the hell out of my house. Which he did, though he stalked me for a few weeks after that, wanting forgiveness and the second chance I'd promised.
This experience taught me that it's ok to manipulate sometimes. That little signs of weakness can turn into big signs of cruelty and selfishness, and it's better to listen to your judgment of those weaknesses and come across as a bitch than to ever be in the power of a mentally and emotionaly weak, but physically strong man.
The third almost rape, I was roofied. I was at a bar I trusted, with an extremely social bartender who spent most of the time talking to us. I have a rule of not leaving my drink unattended, regardless of how much I trust the guy. But this one time, I got up to pee while the bartender was standing in front of my date, talking to him. When I came back, she was dealing with another customer. I didn't think much of it, though, and continued with my drink. It was my second one of the evening, a couple hours into the date. A date I was enjoying quite a bit. Again, an older man, owned his own business, fascinating stories to tell.
Halfway through my second drink, though, I started to lose moments of time. I found myself leaning forward into this man quite a bit more than would normally be my want. I touched him a lot, giggled a lot, and generally acted drunk and stupid. I blamed myself, assuming it was a strong drink and I should have eaten more beforehand. I tried to control myself, but it just wasn't happening. The next thing I knew, I was driving my car. I swerved a bit, and this jerked me back into reality. I don't drive drunk. I'm terrified of it. The fear of realizing how messed up I really was drove some of the fog out my brain. I pulled over to the side of the road, and realized there was a car following me that had pulled over as well. I was still quite tipsy, so I got out of my car (this was in a very well populated section of town, not the middle of the woods), and went back to the car behind me. It was the guy. I put my hands on his open window, bent down, and told him "I'm going home. Alone."
He freaked out. Starting calling me a tease, said he should have known, that all women disappoint, called me a whore... I apologized. Instead of slamming his head into the steering column, like I should have done, I apologized. Started crying, told him I was sorry, but that I was too messed up to be any fun anyways, and that I needed to go home. He tried his damndest to convince me to change my mind, had his hands holding mine on his door. But I was drunk, and unhappy, and, way deep down inside, terrified. I tottered back to my car, got in, and drove the mile and a half home, crying the whole way. I didn't know why I was crying, though shame at driving in my condition was a part of it. I walked in the door, still crying, and gave my roommate a heartattack when he asked what was wrong and I broke down into hysterical tears. I spent the rest of the night alternating between extreme tears, extreme rage, and terror.
This experience taught me to always play by my own rules, because other people won't. Not just men, but people in general. And that you can never truly know the darkness in anothers heart. That, regardless of how wonderful someone seems, they can be a predator. It taught me to accept that, and I've spent the past couple years coming to terms with still being able to trust people, even with that knowledge indelibely inscribed in my head.
So. That's a whole lot of TooLong/Didn'tread going on there. If you didn't read my experiences, what I would have wanted you to take away from them is this: When a woman is raped because she made a foolish decision, she was still fucking raped. Making a foolish decision does not make it ok to have your autonomy taken away, your body violated, and your mind and heart indelibely inscribed with cruelty. Teaching young women how to take care of themselves, how not to get into stupid situations... it only does so much. Because, statistically? It's going to happen. They're going to find themselves in a situation, of their own making or not, where somebody has power over them and wants to hurt them, or is willing to hurt them to get what they want. Giving our daughters the self esteem and strength to be stronger than these assholes would be a big start towards helping, but more important is the knowledge that it is the rapist at fault, not the victim. It is APPALLING how rare that knowledge is, even now.
In the meantime, though, the only true perspective I have on this issue is personal. Talking to people I know, and my own experiences.
My mother was raped multiple times, as a young teenage girl living on the streets of Boston. She was a reformed Catholic School Girl, she did a lot of drugs, and she trusted the wrong people.
This inspired her to instill in all 3 of her daughters an intense distrust of men and of their own sexuality.
I'm 34, and I've spent the last 4 years coming to terms with what this has meant to me. Distrusting men, believing them to be weaker, incapable of controlling their urges, knowing that I HAD to manipulate them to survive in this world they've created... it hasn't exactly helped me create healthy, mature relationships with the men in my life. I was a virgin at 23, when I met my first lover. We were together for 7 years. When we broke up, I was 30. And I was ready to change how I interacted with men. I gave myself some time, and then I started dating. A lot. I have dated, quite literally, hundreds of men. I approached it like a science experiment. I wanted to have as much data in my set as possible, to be able to look at my actions and the actions of others from as broad a perspective as I could. And I learned a lot about myself, and about men. Most of it positive.
Out of those hundreds of men, I have had 3 near rape experiences. This actually coincides with statistics quite neatly. 300,000 women are raped a year. Conservatively.
And that number is muddled by the fact that most rapes aren't reported. That number also doesn't include rapes committed against children, 18years and under. Think about that for a minute, and question the assumption that alcohol is a truly defining factor in rape.
So, 3 near rape experiences. Alcohol was, indeed, involved in all of them. This is because my chosen venue for meeting people was a bar or restaurant. I would tell them to meet me at places I knew, where others knew me. It was bright, loud, and as safe as I could make it. I never actually got drunk. If the gentleman got drunk, it was a clear indicator that we would not get along. If he couldn't responsibly enjoy an adult beverage in my company on the first date, he wasn't my type.
This attitude did not stop me from almost getting raped 3 times.
The first time was with an older "gentleman". I'd met him at a blues club, we got along famously, so I made plans to meet him again. The second time, we still got along well, but he got territorial around other men. Warning sign number 1. One which I ignored, stupidly, because I wasn't used to dealing with guys like that. He was quite a bit older, smooth, charming, and seemingly harmless. I let him give me a ride home. Of course, I had my phone in one hand, with the police on speed dial, and a quite intimidating knife, which I knew how to use, on reserve in an easy to reach pocket. I gave him a goodnight kiss, which got quite heated. He asked to come in, I said no. He proceeded to expend quite a bit of charm on trying to get me to change my mind. At no point during this did I feel physically threatened. Till he unexpectedly climbed on top of me. Even then, he was still trying to charm his way into my pants. I stayed calm, and stared at him till he finally made eye contact with me. What I saw in his eyes was chilling. He was calculating how much he could get away with. He was analyzing me and the situation, trying to figure out how easily he could get what he wanted. I laughed at him, told him to get off me NOW, and pushed him up into the dashboard with my knees. I saw the flash of potential violence in his eyes, but he backed down. I got out, went home, and destroyed a lot of plants in my backyard to release the rage and frustration of not having seen who that sleezebag truly was right away, of having been under his control for even a moment.
That experience taught me that, to a certain type of man, rape is about power. It is about asserting their will over a weaker being, and in the process getting their rocks off. It taught me to recognize the signs of a man who wanted me to be weaker than him, and to question his motives.
The second time, I had actually let the man into my home. I knew him, I liked him, I was attracted to him, and we were both adults. However, while at my house, he drank a prodigious amount of my very expensive scotch. I did not realize quite how much he'd drunk till looking at the mostly empty bottle later. He had, in fact, drank so much that he couldn't perform. This is one of those "gray area" rapes people like to talk about. I would have slept with this man. I was in a compromising situation with this man, of my own accord. I had had 2 drinks, hours before. I was not drunk. But I let a man who was drunk get close enough to threaten me. When I realized how drunk he was, something that took me longer than it should have due to how well he hid it, I got up and went to get his some water. When I came back, he was mostly naked. I laughed, gently, and told him he needed to get some water in him, sober up, and go home. He seemed to take this well, patted the bed next to him, and when I went to sit down, he grabbed my arm and tried to pull me under him. He wasn't coordinated enough to do so. He started crying, and blubbering about how this never happened to him, and how I just HAD to give him a second chance.
He meant it quite literally.
This man was a LOT bigger than I was, and his grip on my arm was unbreakable, regardless of the fact that he was uncoordinated. So I said ok. And I said it like I meant it. I put my hand on his chest, pushed him down, pretended to be happy with the situation, and the second he let his guard down, I jerked my arm out of his hand, stood up, and got out of the room. He followed me, still crying. His tears weren't actually reassuring, as silly as they made him seem, because they were putting him in a situation where he may very well have felt the need to assert his masculinity through violence. At this point I didn't actually care about him driving home drunk, I cared about getting him out of my house. So I became maternal. I expressed concern for his wellbeing, I convinced him to sit down and sober up, that we could try again later. I blamed his issues on everything but himself. I kept him at arms length through use of words, and when he was sober enough to have a headache, I told him to get the hell out of my house. Which he did, though he stalked me for a few weeks after that, wanting forgiveness and the second chance I'd promised.
This experience taught me that it's ok to manipulate sometimes. That little signs of weakness can turn into big signs of cruelty and selfishness, and it's better to listen to your judgment of those weaknesses and come across as a bitch than to ever be in the power of a mentally and emotionaly weak, but physically strong man.
The third almost rape, I was roofied. I was at a bar I trusted, with an extremely social bartender who spent most of the time talking to us. I have a rule of not leaving my drink unattended, regardless of how much I trust the guy. But this one time, I got up to pee while the bartender was standing in front of my date, talking to him. When I came back, she was dealing with another customer. I didn't think much of it, though, and continued with my drink. It was my second one of the evening, a couple hours into the date. A date I was enjoying quite a bit. Again, an older man, owned his own business, fascinating stories to tell.
Halfway through my second drink, though, I started to lose moments of time. I found myself leaning forward into this man quite a bit more than would normally be my want. I touched him a lot, giggled a lot, and generally acted drunk and stupid. I blamed myself, assuming it was a strong drink and I should have eaten more beforehand. I tried to control myself, but it just wasn't happening. The next thing I knew, I was driving my car. I swerved a bit, and this jerked me back into reality. I don't drive drunk. I'm terrified of it. The fear of realizing how messed up I really was drove some of the fog out my brain. I pulled over to the side of the road, and realized there was a car following me that had pulled over as well. I was still quite tipsy, so I got out of my car (this was in a very well populated section of town, not the middle of the woods), and went back to the car behind me. It was the guy. I put my hands on his open window, bent down, and told him "I'm going home. Alone."
He freaked out. Starting calling me a tease, said he should have known, that all women disappoint, called me a whore... I apologized. Instead of slamming his head into the steering column, like I should have done, I apologized. Started crying, told him I was sorry, but that I was too messed up to be any fun anyways, and that I needed to go home. He tried his damndest to convince me to change my mind, had his hands holding mine on his door. But I was drunk, and unhappy, and, way deep down inside, terrified. I tottered back to my car, got in, and drove the mile and a half home, crying the whole way. I didn't know why I was crying, though shame at driving in my condition was a part of it. I walked in the door, still crying, and gave my roommate a heartattack when he asked what was wrong and I broke down into hysterical tears. I spent the rest of the night alternating between extreme tears, extreme rage, and terror.
This experience taught me to always play by my own rules, because other people won't. Not just men, but people in general. And that you can never truly know the darkness in anothers heart. That, regardless of how wonderful someone seems, they can be a predator. It taught me to accept that, and I've spent the past couple years coming to terms with still being able to trust people, even with that knowledge indelibely inscribed in my head.
So. That's a whole lot of TooLong/Didn'tread going on there. If you didn't read my experiences, what I would have wanted you to take away from them is this: When a woman is raped because she made a foolish decision, she was still fucking raped. Making a foolish decision does not make it ok to have your autonomy taken away, your body violated, and your mind and heart indelibely inscribed with cruelty. Teaching young women how to take care of themselves, how not to get into stupid situations... it only does so much. Because, statistically? It's going to happen. They're going to find themselves in a situation, of their own making or not, where somebody has power over them and wants to hurt them, or is willing to hurt them to get what they want. Giving our daughters the self esteem and strength to be stronger than these assholes would be a big start towards helping, but more important is the knowledge that it is the rapist at fault, not the victim. It is APPALLING how rare that knowledge is, even now.
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