How I know that he knew for a fact that he was raping me.
Two notes.
1. When he cheated on me with the person who probably gave him HPV, he used his fingers in her. After all of my processing about the cheating and supporting him through his mock-sadness about cheating on me, one of my ridiculous thoughts, which I voiced to him, was "and dammit, she got something I never get!" He never seemed to like doing that, and he had other skills, so I never pushed for it (I have this thing where I don't pressure them to do sexual stuff they don't want to do, WEIRD RIGHT). But that was something that was never a part of our sex life.
It was pointed out to me yesterday that this was an interesting chain of events and choices here. That he was mad at me for being upset about repeated boundary violations, which started with him fingerfucking someone, and I'd said that half-jokingly, and I woke up from heavy sedation that night with his fingers shoved up me, which is an act that he has not done with me in over two years.
So that's interesting.
2. Remember this post? Because he and I did talk about it extensively at the time. Specific point of note:
1997. Three years after the rape I still think of as The Rape. My boyfriend and I have been hanging out a lot with the Tori Amos fan community; this is in the days of IRC, and I met said boyfriend and a lot of friends on #tori. I was introduced to Tori's music by a friend when she heard I'd been raped; she played "Me and a Gun" for me. This is the year after Boys for Pele came out, and we've been following Tori around Florida, showing up at all the meet and greets. At a club in Tampa I kiss this one fellow fan, because we're all elated and people are kissing each other. Months later, he's over at our house; we're all going out later with fellow fans. He and my boyfriend and I are sitting on the couch together; Elayna is napping in her room. I am so exhausted, and the guys encourage me to nap on the couch. I do.
I wake up with two fingers in my vagina.
I freeze. I sneak a peek through my slitted eyelids. My boyfriend isn't there, and this near-stranger who, yes, I kissed once on a dance floor.
He moves his fingers.
I stay frozen for the longest I-don't-know-how-long of my life while he continues to do this. Finally I fake shifting in my sleep, and he withdraws his hand. Soon after that, I fake waking up. I stumble into the kitchen for a glass of water and don't look at him. I apologize for not looking at him. He tells my my boyfriend went to run errands. I say okay.
I never tell my boyfriend. Because I kissed this guy once, you know. I know what my boyfriend would say.
It takes over a decade for me to realize that this is rape.
So yes. He knew. He absolutely knew.