Anonymous Story: 13 years to realise i was raped

Anonymous Story: 13 years to realise i was raped

When I was seventeen and I met an American musician in a nightclub. He wasn’t famous, he was touring with an incredibly famous rock icon as a session musician, this was enough to be impressive though, so when he asked me if I knew where he could buy cocaine I tried my best to help, I’d never had it but wanted to impress the proxy rockstar. He bought me and my friends drinks all night, bizarrely my mum and her friend ended up at the club too, he met and charmed my mum, he was much closer to her age, if not older. When the club was closing he invited us all back to the relatively new Hilton hotel a short walk away, it was the tallest building in the city, boasting envious views. Nobody wanted to go, but I did. He had invited us all, so it seemed above board. I really just wanted to see these unrivalled views.

Now at 30 it seems outrageous that I was allowed to go. It feels even more unbelievable to me that I was so naive, I truly didn’t see the harm. I’ve always got on better with lads, that’s all this was. I knew lots of older men from the local music scene and I got on well with them. Most importantly on the night was how it didn’t even occur to me that I was a sexual object. It had been raining and my hair was a mess before I entered the club. I had 3/4 jeans on, a vest top and a lime green cardigan! It’s not like he fancied me, I don’t think he’d even made an advance at this point. So ridiculous now but it wasn’t weird me going back, alone, to a hotel, with two men.

We got there, he offered me a drink, I accepted and talked about how exciting the view was, bored them about the city’s history. He put his arm around my waist I leapt away pointing out my favourite teams stadium in the distance, as if I’d only just spotted it, I didn’t want him to feel rejected or embarrassed for making the advance. I used the football ground to spare his feelings! Then I began to feel guilty, I really exaggerated how much I just wanted to see the views and I remember trying to keep a polite distance from him at the window, I didn’t want him to think I’d just used him for a glimpse into the fancy hotel. It would be impolite to leave now. It was still dark but it wouldn’t be long until the busses started again. If I kept us all talking it would ne ok, no harm done.

Next thing I remember was waking up on the bed, there was daylight and my body felt heavy, I couldn’t move my head, which was turned to the side, my jaw slack, bleary eyed. My body being rocked back and forth. I was at the foot of the bed, above the covers, my legs pushed up. I my jeans pulled down only just enough for him to have access to my vagina. My top still on. It’s not that I didn’t know what was happening, it’s like I was too weak or tired or heavy or lethargic to even properly acknowledge anything was happening other than the unpleasant sensation of him shunting of my body. Each thrust seemed to crumple me in on myself there was something suffocating about it. I wasn’t scared tho, just so disoriented and bewildered and sort of sad but consigned to it. I must have passed back out because the next thing I remember was proper daylight/morning. I was in the same spot at the foot of the bed, I was startled i panicked. All the emotions I should have had the night before rushed at once. I was horrified and disgusted and ashamed and confused, was it a dream? What happened? My jeans were undone there was smears of redish brown blood on the bed near me. There was a small bit of sick near where my head had lay. I felt like the sky was falling in. Like when something terrible happens and you just shout no no no this can’t be happening.

I glanced at him asleep in the correct part of the bed, he left me at the foot of the bed once he’d got what he wanted and he slept soundly on his pillow. He rolled over and threw £5 note at me. I took it. An action I’ve punished myself for since. That was my main evidence in my head for 13 years that at the end of the day I’m a cheap tart. Even if I hadn’t fully woke up yet and hadn’t realised what he’d done, my subconscious wouldn’t have accepted a fiver off a man that raped me? Well I did. I took the money and I just wanted to get out of the building invisible as possible. The walk of shame across the foyer the wait at the bus stop was agonising, I just wanted to get into bed and stop myself remembering it.

I got home and I shut it out. It never happened. The rocking of my body? I thought maybe you were mistaken or maybe he was fingering you but he certainly didn’t rape you. The tenderness in my vagina? Again probably just got a bit rough with his fingers. You are a virgin, fingering could be enough to make you sore, and if you’d lost your virginity you’d be more sore! I could deal with unwanted sexual assault of his hands but not rape, be couldn’t possibly have taken my virginity. I couldn’t let that happen in my mind, so I didn’t. I thought too that I would have woke up properly if it was rape? So it couldn’t be. I’d have been scared if was rape, but I remember that I didn’t seem to care what was happening at the time. I wouldn’t let myself believe that it could happen without waking me. I even considered the possibility that if I couldn’t remember then I could t easily have been enjoying it. But mostly the lack of memory for a long time proved to me it wasn’t rape. It couldn’t have been rape so I denied it. He never penetrated me with his penis, that was laughable suggestion and I was being dramatic if I even dared think about it.

Except he did. And I let the little voice speak in my head that had been trying to tell me all along, I let her speak. Then I told my friend and I felt a weight has been lifted but I also feel angry with my self that I denied myself of dealing with it at the time. I feel violated and ashamed and frightened, but I feel it’s too late. It’s crying over spilled milk. Writing this down is the most in depth I’ve thought about it. And it’s exhausting. My chest is tight now, I feel all the disorientation I felt that morning. I feel cheap. I feel cheaper because he couldn’t have possibly fancied me, I was a mess, the sex was a means to an end for him. I feel disgusting for even letting that matter. I’ve carried a small part of the feeling i felt the next morning, the disgust and the dirty feeling around with me, I’ve felt it during almost every sexual encounter since.

Deep down I’ve hated myself for 13 years for allowing it to happen. I’ve felt dirty and disgusting after almost every sexual encounter since.

I know tho that sharing this is helping me and maybe someone else. It’s helping because I’ve felt so lost scouring the internet for a similar story and not finding one. Reading other stories and thinking I was intruding on her experience because her rape was worse and I have no right to compare. When in my rational mind I know rape is rape regardless. I may only be realising a lot of it now, but I finally see what he did to me, what he took away from me, the self respect I’ve lacked because of him. The effect he had on my sexual self, how I valued sex at the level he set. I’m so glad I finally realised and accepted I was raped.

Author

WYR

WYR

When You're Ready.org is a community for survivors of sexual violence to share their stories.

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