Anonymous Story: Kidnapped on a Tinder Date

I was a Study Abroad student spending a semester at the University of California, Riverside. Being new in town, I was eager to meet new people. I didn’t receive the welcome I’d hoped for when I started my course – I wasn’t formally introduced, and the American students saw me as a poser because I had an English accent. I hopped on Tinder in the hopes of meeting someone from my campus – hopefully someone I could hang out with and get to know more personally.

I met up with one guy called “L” – he was working as a student teacher. He was kind enough to take me grocery shopping and drop me back at my apartment. A week or so later, he got in touch to hang out again – this time to take me to dinner. He picked me up in the evening, and we headed to a restaurant nearby. He was very possessive of me that night, but also very rude. He told me he hated the British and he kept grabbing my hand because ‘it wasn’t a date otherwise’.

When I was visibly overwhelmed by the attention (and the insults) he accused me of being a lesbian and told me God would punish me. He then began talking about his love of guns and how the British are ‘gay’ for not liking them. I told him I was going to head to the bathroom, and then we could pay and go. By the time I came out from the ladies room, he had already paid and was ushering me out the door. As we got into the car, I asked him how much I owed him.

He insisted that I didn’t worry about it, and we headed back. I wasn’t familiar with the area, but I could tell we were taking longer to get back. I soon realised what was happening. He drove into a dark and empty car park and parked in a spot. I asked him what was going on – to which he replied ‘this…’ before pouncing on me and pushing my seat back. He screamed that I’d played him and covered my mouth. I reached for the door but couldn’t move. He’d pinned me down.

He smirked and chuckled, telling me to be quiet and that it would all be over soon. I was terrified. I thought of my family. I believed I was not only going to be raped – but I was going to die. I squirmed as much as I could and cried, but we were alone and I was trapped. The minutes felt like hours as he crushed me, but I noticed he was becoming turned off by my screams, and he got off me before committing the violence.

I was relieved on the one hand, but also disgusted. Disgusted that ‘at least he didn’t actually rape you’ were the words out of everyone’s mouths. I was a whore, a slut – I should’ve known better. I called the police – no evidence, no charges. There were no visible bruises – the redness had died down by the time I arrived home. Nobody spoke to me for the rest of the semester – I had reached out to people to help me. Only one man replied – one man who told me it was the hottest thing he’d ever heard.

I was completely traumatised, and kept it from my family so they wouldn’t know I was having an awful time. To this day, not one person has actually believed me. I was making it up for attention. I was lying. I was a woman.