The Time I Was Sexually Assaulted

It happened the first semester of my freshman year.

She was a sophomore [redacted for identification]. Let’s call her JS.

I had a girlfriend at the time. My first love. I was in California, she was in Boston. Stupid, right? The optimism of kids.

I liked flirting with this girl. I was 18 and it felt good to know she was interested in me. But I had also made it clear I wasn’t going to go any further.

So I would dance and hang with her at parties, and I had lunch with her and her friends a couple of times. Safe hangouts.

I was very straight edge until college, I did not know how to drink.

One night she invites me to an after-party at her dorm room. She says its like 20-30 people. That felt safe.

I had had six drinks in about 2.5 hours. Again, this was first semester freshman year, my skills were weak.

When I got there, she poured me a drink.

And when that drink was empty, another.

And then a shot with her.

And then two more drinks for me.

And then another shot with her, and two more for me.

I was the drunkest I had ever been in my whole life.

I laid on her bed and fell asleep.

Suddenly I looked up, and the party was gone. She was on top of me, with her top off. Her hand was on my crotch.

Yes, I was hard. I was an 18 year old being manually stimulated by a beautiful woman. The fact that I was aroused is irrelevant to what happened emotionally. Don’t be a shithead.

We didn’t have sex because I was incapable of staying hard, if that eases your prejudices.

I felt completely powerless. I felt like a toy, not a human. Imagine knowing, as they sit on you, that they could choke you to death, and you’d be powerless to stop them.

Imagine being 18 and this is the 3rd woman you’ve seen naked.

I still tear up when I think about it, 14 years later. You never forget that feeling. All you can do is process the flashbacks in healthier ways. I find it near impossible to have women straddle me like that. It immediately triggers that feeling of powerlessness and dehumanization.

I was arguably incapable of consent when I walked into that room. And I definitely was an hour later. She fed me the drinks, saw me fall asleep, had her friends end the party and then assaulted me. This was not “he said, she said”.

I was assaulted.

If the genders were reversed, no one would find the situation unclear.

Telling these stories makes me feel less sad. And braver. I write for myself, because it’s how I process and I’m on a timeline.

I said it before, I can’t talk about these things in person. My keyboard is how I express myself.

I publish because I want to prove to myself that I don’t have to be scared anymore.

I’m weak. And what’s wrong with that?

It’s a condition of being human.

And I’m not ashamed of it anymore.