I didn't deserve to be raped.

Nearly every woman has been sexually harassed, if not full on sexually assaulted in her lifetime. For me it started at 14.

My “first boyfriend” was the first boy I kissed, a boy I texted and ate lunch with for maybe two weeks before we broke up. I do not count him as one of my actual boyfriends. I forgot about his existence for quite a while to be honest, until Ryan asked me a question. I don’t remember what the question was exactly, something related to my high school experience. Whatever it was, I accidentally overshared much beyond his initial question.

My “boyfriend” was shocked I was a virgin, and laughed at me when he found out. We were both freshmen in high school, so 14 years old. Of course I was a virgin. After we broke up he cornered me in an empty room of the school once and stuck his hand down my pants. That summer he swam up behind me at the town’s public pool and assaulted me before I knew he was there. He pushed his finger into me hard enough that my swimsuit, wrapped around his finger, entered me. When I jumped, he laughed with his friend and swam away.

Turns out that guy is awaiting trial for murdering his girlfriend’s infant, so I guess he never stopped being a piece of shit.

Ryan seemed disturbed these memories didn’t particularly bother me. I just texted back, “I’m a woman. You get used to it.”

And you do. As soon as I got to college I was raped. I’d been on campus for maybe three days. I met an attractive man in the dining hall. I definitely wanted to fuck him, physically. Not mentally. Casual sex was not something I did at this point in my life. Knowing that I wanted to made it hard for me to realize it was actually rape for a while. It felt kind of icky… but did I deserve it?

I had gone back to his apartment shortly after meeting. We were making out in his bed. He started touching me and I was hesitant, but he insisted. I guess that’s okay. I touched him back, I think. I don’t really remember. He got on top of me, positioning himself to slide inside me. I was scared to stop him. He was large and muscular, probably 200 pounds. Literally twice as big as I was. And I was alone in his apartment.

“No,” I said after working up the courage. My knees like a vice on his hips, keeping them from thrusting. My hand on his chest, keeping it at arms length.

“Come on,” he said, leaning in to kiss me. I kissed him back. I wanted to kiss him, I just didn’t want to fuck him. After a kiss I withdrew again, straightening my arm.

“Not yet.”

“Just the tip,” he pleaded.

I didn’t move.

“Just the tip,” he repeated as he moved past my knees and stiff arm. I couldn’t stop him if I wanted to. The head grazed my lips. Just a little bit in, and then out. I let out a breath. Ok. That wasn’t so bad. In fact, I wanted more. But I didn’t. But I did.

Well, whether I wanted it or not he gave me more. The tip turned into full thrusts almost immediately. This shook me out of my frozen state. I pushed away from him and scrambled off his bed. I picked up my shorts with the underwear still inside them and slid them on together. I don’t remember what words bumbled out of my mouth as I left.

He didn’t grab me. He didn’t block me from leaving. He didn’t yell or chase after me. He let me go easily and peacefully. That couldn’t be rape, right? And I’d wanted him to fuck me. That’s why my “no” had been hesitant. I hadn’t been forceful enough. It was my fault. I deserved it.

A year later a boy I was not interested in was very interested in me. He had a huge crush on me and I tried to be nice. I was okay with being his friend but that is all I wanted.

The first time he fucked me I was so drunk I was struggling to stay awake. I let it happen because at that point I just couldn’t care enough. We were friends, right? Was it that big of a deal?

We started a sexual relationship after that. Because I’d already slept with him, so what did it matter? And if I had consensual sex with him for a couple months after that, clearly I hadn’t been raped, right? Clearly, I deserved it.

Later that school year I was drunk with another guy that had a huge crush on me. Another very large man that could easily overpower me.

I don’t know why I need to clarify that. Every man can overpower me.

We were both intoxicated and I knew he wanted to fuck me. I knew I couldn’t stop him if he decided to. And I felt uneasy, like he might exert that power. I excused myself to find Dakota. Even when we weren’t together, even when I was shitfaced, my brain knew he was a safe person. I went up a flight of stairs in our dorm and knocked on his door. It was probably 1am. But he answered.

I told him what was happening, and I’m sure my speech was slurred as I did so. He followed me back to my room and told my friend he needed to help me with my medical supplies, which was true. He stuck around long enough for the guy to give up and go back to his own dorm for the night. I didn’t get raped that night because I thought ahead. Because that night I didn’t deserve it.

Shortly after Dakota and I got back together I was quite drunk again. You know, it was college. As we were drinking I got horny. As you do. I told him I wanted him to fuck me when we got in bed. Later, as I got onto my bed I got dizzy. I pushed him away, I needed him to not touch me, I needed a moment to myself. After a moment I tried to reinitiate but he wouldn’t. He said I was too drunk. No I wasn't! I argued. I was very drunk, too drunk to consent, but not too drunk to consent to him. I loved him. I’d already slept with him so many times. It was fine.

But he wouldn’t. Because he’s not a rapist.

Only rapists rape. And their victims never deserve it. No matter how drunk, no matter how scantily dressed, no matter how flirty. No matter how far they let the other person get before deciding they don’t want to go any further.

I didn’t deserved to be raped. None of the times. I didn’t deserve to be groped repeatedly in college by men I didn’t know. I didn’t owe anyone sex. I didn’t deserve for it to be taken from me.