No pity. No shame. No silence.
I wasn't going to directly participate in this meme, because my experience(s?) with non-consensual sex weren't major, weren't particularly traumatic. I didn't have nightmares over them (err, "it;" one that's clear, and a couple of encounters that I could interpret that way if I were so inclined, which I'm generally not; I'm only talking about one here). There are no sexual situations which I find less comfortable because of it; it's caused no breakups; nothing has triggered painful memories that made me leave a room suddenly or call a halt to a later sexual encounter.
Still. There's no rule that says "it only counts if you were horrifically traumatized," nor one that says "people who didn't have any notable problems because of it shouldn't share their stories." What helped me get past it, accept it as "just another encounter" was not what I'd've expected.
And one of the reasons I don't talk about it is that I don't want to get hit with, "You really are traumatized; you're just not admitting it. C'mon, we're all traumatized. Reach into yerr Wymyn Power and howl, sistah..." No, I really wasn't traumatized; I was confused and annoyed, and not sure if I was more annoyed at me or him. I was changed by it, sure, but I was also changed by my first experiences with oral sex, and my first semester at college, and the time I got stuck in San Francisco at two in the morning with no ride home.
It's hard to write about. Not because it's painful, but because it's a confused jumble; I'm not sure where to start or how to explain the the tangled mix of emotions I went through. (And it's inconsequential in the Grand Scheme of things, and not even that important in the Grand Scheme of Me, and it feels funny spending this many words on it. This is long. And jumbled.)
TimeCon. I forget what year; I was 19 or 20. (The LeBaron Timecon, if anyone remembers that far back.) I was gophering to cover my costs, and there was this security guy I'd been vaguely flirting with all weekend. Well, actually, there were probably several dozen guys I'd been vaguely flirting with all weekend, but this one is relevant to the story. I'll call him "Dude," because he'd've answered to that, and because I'm uncertain about revealing his identity to people I know. (FWIW, he's not in my current social circles at all; I haven't seen him or heard of him in the last 10 years.) Dude was anywhere from 5 to 10 years older than me.
Dead-dog party. They played the Rocky Horror soundtrack; several of us became an impromptu cast, acting out the parts we knew. I played Janet; Dude played Rocky. (I was on Hayward's cast at the time; Dude was tech crew for Berkeley's cast.) More flirting. As the party wound down, I was considering how much effort it would take to find sleeping space in one of the gopher holes (they assign one room to about 30 gophers), and Dude offered me space in his bed in one of the security-staff crashrooms.
I confirmed that he meant just sleeping space--I was interested in him, but was involved with 1½ boyfriends and confused about several relationship issues; didn't want to get more entanglements right now. He agreed, just sleep, nothing more unless I wanted it. Hey, cool, a person to cuddle with while I fall asleep, and an actual bed, not a sleeping bag stretched out in the closet. Terrific way to end the convention.
Got into bed. Cuddling. Heavy cuddling. Whispers about "yes, that's okay, but no farther. No, I don't want to have sex right now." (I was pretty forward, see? I was enlightened and aware of setting limits and all that.) He asked why not; I mumbled something about a boyfriend and this other guy. He asked if the boyfriend would be upset, and I said something like no, probably not really. He asked about birth control; I was on the pill. He kept trying to say "why not?" and explain away all my answers. I was firm about "no, I wouldn't get in trouble; I wouldn't get pregnant; I've got no great impulse to be 'faithful' to my boyfriend" (poly comes naturally to me; nothing else ever made sense), "I'm plenty attracted to you, but I don't want to do this. Not now. It's not even 'not with you,' just 'not now, not tonight.'" And he'd nod and whisper assent and continue to caress me. Which I enjoyed, but didn't want to go further. And told him so.
All this is in whispers. At this point, I'm not exactly comfortable, but I'm not too upset; I know who's sleeping in the other bed in the room--I know that if things get Out Of Hand, all I have to do is make enough noise and my friend in the next bed will cheerfully wake up and throw him out. And Dude isn't being violent, isn't trying to force me into anything...he's trying to convince me I want to be doing this.
And I do. Only not now. Not here. Dunno why, exactly, but I don't.
He goes into "now I'm all excited," and I'm unsure whether that's got an undertone of "and you put me in this state so you're responsible and you gotta let me", or just "and I can tell you're excited too" (which I was) "and let's get each other off & have fun." I tell him it's not my fault he's all excited; I told him before we got here that this would be cuddle-only. He backpedals; apparently, he's trying for the other argument. No, I keep telling him. In whispers. In the dark. Trying not to wake up the couple in the next bed. While he keeps trying to explain around my reasons, and I keep insisting, yes, that's true... but I don't wanna. Not now.
It's late; I'm tired. I don't remember if he agreed to the "no" and we fell asleep, or I just fell asleep. I woke up, probably just a couple of hours later, maybe less, and he was on me/in me. It didn't feel like "a violation;" it felt like waking up to cuddling that moves into sex, which I generally like. I was annoyed. I enjoyed the sex, I suppose... I didn't have the (ahem) refined judgement I do now, but he wasn't neglecting me. I thought about yelling "rape," and decided it wasn't worth it. This way, it was over in a minute or two (look, fellahs, I know that most of you think the actual intercourse part of sex feels like it lasts for hours. And for a rare few of you, it can... but the vast majority are inside for less than three minutes, especially after a long buildup), and I didn't have to get into any weird arguments about what I had, or had not, agreed to, in front of dozens of staff members.
He seemed to think I'd changed my mind. He took me out to breakfast at IHOP; we made small talk; he took me back to the convention & I finished my gophering & went home. I just wasn't up to telling him, "you know, Dude, I said no. I didn't want to have sex with you. When did you think that changed? When I was unconscious?" Wasn't worth the effort. I wasn't sure what I thought of it, other than tagging it as "the most pleasant I could possibly imagine a date-rape being."
I resented him for a long time. I mentioned it to a couple of people, including one of the 1½ boyfriends, who said, if it was really "rape," you should go to the police. You said no, he didn't stop--if you really think it's rape, you should report it. Or shut up about it. (Ahh, Chris, there are so many reasons I left you...) But his callousness reminded me that in the broader perspective, not much had happened... I hadn't set boundaries clear enough, and I'd had a sexual encounter that didn't turn out how I'd've liked. He wasn't the first guy I'd had sex with; he wasn't even one of my first ten. While I didn't think of myself as greatly experienced in casual sex & relationships, I wasn't a stranger to them, either; this wasn't my first one-night stand, nor my first experience with "guys I later decided it was stupid to have let lust override my common sense about."
And someone who was much less experienced probably wouldn't have had problems with him--if I'd been actively scared or nervous, I think he would've stopped. He wasn't being predatory, or looking to coerce an easy lay... he was looking for a chick to have fun with, and that's certainly the niche I was ready to fall into. This is the kind of fun I'd gone to the convention hoping to find, in fact. Wasn't sure why I didn't want it this time, and could certainly understand someone else not making any sense out of my refusal.
I wasn't sure how much clearer I could be about boundaries than "No, I don't want to do this." I suppose that ties into my only noticeable long-term effect: I don't flirt anymore. Not at all. Not with anyone. I never did much--I'm fairly shy & introverted--but this was probably the crux-point where I decided "If I'm not ready to jump into bed with them RIGHT NOW, I don't make sexual comments; I don't flirt; I don't drop subtle hints. If I'm not sure where I'd like it to end up, I don't suggest anything." (I am, just maybe, starting to get over this in small ways. But I can't convince myself it's actually important whether or not I flirt.) Other effect, often useful--I am absolutely clear, in my head at least, who I would, and who I would not, be willing to have sex with if the situation arose. (And having this clear makes flirting somewhat odd...there are no "maybes" in my relationships, only "yes," "no," and "only under X conditions," and I gather that some of the fun of flirting is pushing the maybe.)
So for years, I let it slide, and thought of it as a weirdly painful event, like an old bruise. It twinged now & then, but nothing to speak of in comparison with the horror stories I'd heard of violent rape and emotional manipulation & abuse. Mostly, I was annoyed with myself for not being clearer, further annoyed that I hadn't jumped up & cried "rape" at the time, and baffled that he'd just flat-out ignore my words when I said no. Not so much, "how could this happen to me," but more "what could he possibly have been thinking?"
... forward several years ...
I'm getting a ride home from a convention staff-meeting (I certainly wasn't giving up sci-fi conventions because of one creep), and chatting about sex at cons, and how many people fit in a bathtub, and other metaphysical matters, and the person giving me a ride mentions this time she & her boyfriend were almost asleep, and the couple in the next bed just wouldn't shut up. How he kept saying "c'mon," and she kept saying, "I dunno, I don't really want to..." and my ride said, "I just wanted to lean over and say, 'Just do him already; you know you're going to, so shaddup and do it so we can get some sleep already!'"
That was me. So that was what we sounded like from the outside. Wow.
I don't know why hearing that helped, but it did. It was one of the few incredible reality-tunnel snaps I've had in my life, where I discovered that what happened to me was an entirely different event to someone else who'd been there... I was so fascinated at the sheer difference that all the pain & confusion had nothing to hold onto anymore.
I still have no idea what he was thinking or feeling. I just know that it had absolutely no connection to what was going on in my head, to what I was experiencing... and while it frightens me somewhat that people in the same physical space, going through the same "objective" events, and have entirely different memories and experiences, I know that's how some things work. Apparently, that's how a lot of sex works.
Not sure if anything can, or should, be done about that. Not sure where this puts me in the whole "sexual abuse survivor" thing... was I abused? Err. It certainly feels silly for me to put my teenage confusion into any comparison with the women who were raped and beaten repeatedly, or with the guys who've been gang-raped with sharp objects because they "looked like a fag." It doesn't even compare with the office workers whose boss keeps patting them on the butt in the elevator and dropping hints about after-work meetings that could lead to a promotion.
Still. There's no rule that says "it only counts if you were horrifically traumatized," nor one that says "people who didn't have any notable problems because of it shouldn't share their stories." What helped me get past it, accept it as "just another encounter" was not what I'd've expected.
And one of the reasons I don't talk about it is that I don't want to get hit with, "You really are traumatized; you're just not admitting it. C'mon, we're all traumatized. Reach into yerr Wymyn Power and howl, sistah..." No, I really wasn't traumatized; I was confused and annoyed, and not sure if I was more annoyed at me or him. I was changed by it, sure, but I was also changed by my first experiences with oral sex, and my first semester at college, and the time I got stuck in San Francisco at two in the morning with no ride home.
It's hard to write about. Not because it's painful, but because it's a confused jumble; I'm not sure where to start or how to explain the the tangled mix of emotions I went through. (And it's inconsequential in the Grand Scheme of things, and not even that important in the Grand Scheme of Me, and it feels funny spending this many words on it. This is long. And jumbled.)
TimeCon. I forget what year; I was 19 or 20. (The LeBaron Timecon, if anyone remembers that far back.) I was gophering to cover my costs, and there was this security guy I'd been vaguely flirting with all weekend. Well, actually, there were probably several dozen guys I'd been vaguely flirting with all weekend, but this one is relevant to the story. I'll call him "Dude," because he'd've answered to that, and because I'm uncertain about revealing his identity to people I know. (FWIW, he's not in my current social circles at all; I haven't seen him or heard of him in the last 10 years.) Dude was anywhere from 5 to 10 years older than me.
Dead-dog party. They played the Rocky Horror soundtrack; several of us became an impromptu cast, acting out the parts we knew. I played Janet; Dude played Rocky. (I was on Hayward's cast at the time; Dude was tech crew for Berkeley's cast.) More flirting. As the party wound down, I was considering how much effort it would take to find sleeping space in one of the gopher holes (they assign one room to about 30 gophers), and Dude offered me space in his bed in one of the security-staff crashrooms.
I confirmed that he meant just sleeping space--I was interested in him, but was involved with 1½ boyfriends and confused about several relationship issues; didn't want to get more entanglements right now. He agreed, just sleep, nothing more unless I wanted it. Hey, cool, a person to cuddle with while I fall asleep, and an actual bed, not a sleeping bag stretched out in the closet. Terrific way to end the convention.
Got into bed. Cuddling. Heavy cuddling. Whispers about "yes, that's okay, but no farther. No, I don't want to have sex right now." (I was pretty forward, see? I was enlightened and aware of setting limits and all that.) He asked why not; I mumbled something about a boyfriend and this other guy. He asked if the boyfriend would be upset, and I said something like no, probably not really. He asked about birth control; I was on the pill. He kept trying to say "why not?" and explain away all my answers. I was firm about "no, I wouldn't get in trouble; I wouldn't get pregnant; I've got no great impulse to be 'faithful' to my boyfriend" (poly comes naturally to me; nothing else ever made sense), "I'm plenty attracted to you, but I don't want to do this. Not now. It's not even 'not with you,' just 'not now, not tonight.'" And he'd nod and whisper assent and continue to caress me. Which I enjoyed, but didn't want to go further. And told him so.
All this is in whispers. At this point, I'm not exactly comfortable, but I'm not too upset; I know who's sleeping in the other bed in the room--I know that if things get Out Of Hand, all I have to do is make enough noise and my friend in the next bed will cheerfully wake up and throw him out. And Dude isn't being violent, isn't trying to force me into anything...he's trying to convince me I want to be doing this.
And I do. Only not now. Not here. Dunno why, exactly, but I don't.
He goes into "now I'm all excited," and I'm unsure whether that's got an undertone of "and you put me in this state so you're responsible and you gotta let me", or just "and I can tell you're excited too" (which I was) "and let's get each other off & have fun." I tell him it's not my fault he's all excited; I told him before we got here that this would be cuddle-only. He backpedals; apparently, he's trying for the other argument. No, I keep telling him. In whispers. In the dark. Trying not to wake up the couple in the next bed. While he keeps trying to explain around my reasons, and I keep insisting, yes, that's true... but I don't wanna. Not now.
It's late; I'm tired. I don't remember if he agreed to the "no" and we fell asleep, or I just fell asleep. I woke up, probably just a couple of hours later, maybe less, and he was on me/in me. It didn't feel like "a violation;" it felt like waking up to cuddling that moves into sex, which I generally like. I was annoyed. I enjoyed the sex, I suppose... I didn't have the (ahem) refined judgement I do now, but he wasn't neglecting me. I thought about yelling "rape," and decided it wasn't worth it. This way, it was over in a minute or two (look, fellahs, I know that most of you think the actual intercourse part of sex feels like it lasts for hours. And for a rare few of you, it can... but the vast majority are inside for less than three minutes, especially after a long buildup), and I didn't have to get into any weird arguments about what I had, or had not, agreed to, in front of dozens of staff members.
He seemed to think I'd changed my mind. He took me out to breakfast at IHOP; we made small talk; he took me back to the convention & I finished my gophering & went home. I just wasn't up to telling him, "you know, Dude, I said no. I didn't want to have sex with you. When did you think that changed? When I was unconscious?" Wasn't worth the effort. I wasn't sure what I thought of it, other than tagging it as "the most pleasant I could possibly imagine a date-rape being."
I resented him for a long time. I mentioned it to a couple of people, including one of the 1½ boyfriends, who said, if it was really "rape," you should go to the police. You said no, he didn't stop--if you really think it's rape, you should report it. Or shut up about it. (Ahh, Chris, there are so many reasons I left you...) But his callousness reminded me that in the broader perspective, not much had happened... I hadn't set boundaries clear enough, and I'd had a sexual encounter that didn't turn out how I'd've liked. He wasn't the first guy I'd had sex with; he wasn't even one of my first ten. While I didn't think of myself as greatly experienced in casual sex & relationships, I wasn't a stranger to them, either; this wasn't my first one-night stand, nor my first experience with "guys I later decided it was stupid to have let lust override my common sense about."
And someone who was much less experienced probably wouldn't have had problems with him--if I'd been actively scared or nervous, I think he would've stopped. He wasn't being predatory, or looking to coerce an easy lay... he was looking for a chick to have fun with, and that's certainly the niche I was ready to fall into. This is the kind of fun I'd gone to the convention hoping to find, in fact. Wasn't sure why I didn't want it this time, and could certainly understand someone else not making any sense out of my refusal.
I wasn't sure how much clearer I could be about boundaries than "No, I don't want to do this." I suppose that ties into my only noticeable long-term effect: I don't flirt anymore. Not at all. Not with anyone. I never did much--I'm fairly shy & introverted--but this was probably the crux-point where I decided "If I'm not ready to jump into bed with them RIGHT NOW, I don't make sexual comments; I don't flirt; I don't drop subtle hints. If I'm not sure where I'd like it to end up, I don't suggest anything." (I am, just maybe, starting to get over this in small ways. But I can't convince myself it's actually important whether or not I flirt.) Other effect, often useful--I am absolutely clear, in my head at least, who I would, and who I would not, be willing to have sex with if the situation arose. (And having this clear makes flirting somewhat odd...there are no "maybes" in my relationships, only "yes," "no," and "only under X conditions," and I gather that some of the fun of flirting is pushing the maybe.)
So for years, I let it slide, and thought of it as a weirdly painful event, like an old bruise. It twinged now & then, but nothing to speak of in comparison with the horror stories I'd heard of violent rape and emotional manipulation & abuse. Mostly, I was annoyed with myself for not being clearer, further annoyed that I hadn't jumped up & cried "rape" at the time, and baffled that he'd just flat-out ignore my words when I said no. Not so much, "how could this happen to me," but more "what could he possibly have been thinking?"
... forward several years ...
I'm getting a ride home from a convention staff-meeting (I certainly wasn't giving up sci-fi conventions because of one creep), and chatting about sex at cons, and how many people fit in a bathtub, and other metaphysical matters, and the person giving me a ride mentions this time she & her boyfriend were almost asleep, and the couple in the next bed just wouldn't shut up. How he kept saying "c'mon," and she kept saying, "I dunno, I don't really want to..." and my ride said, "I just wanted to lean over and say, 'Just do him already; you know you're going to, so shaddup and do it so we can get some sleep already!'"
That was me. So that was what we sounded like from the outside. Wow.
I don't know why hearing that helped, but it did. It was one of the few incredible reality-tunnel snaps I've had in my life, where I discovered that what happened to me was an entirely different event to someone else who'd been there... I was so fascinated at the sheer difference that all the pain & confusion had nothing to hold onto anymore.
I still have no idea what he was thinking or feeling. I just know that it had absolutely no connection to what was going on in my head, to what I was experiencing... and while it frightens me somewhat that people in the same physical space, going through the same "objective" events, and have entirely different memories and experiences, I know that's how some things work. Apparently, that's how a lot of sex works.
Not sure if anything can, or should, be done about that. Not sure where this puts me in the whole "sexual abuse survivor" thing... was I abused? Err. It certainly feels silly for me to put my teenage confusion into any comparison with the women who were raped and beaten repeatedly, or with the guys who've been gang-raped with sharp objects because they "looked like a fag." It doesn't even compare with the office workers whose boss keeps patting them on the butt in the elevator and dropping hints about after-work meetings that could lead to a promotion.