I met him online. He invited me to a little diner in his town and I readily obliged although it was well past midnight.
He wasn’t anything special, not all that attractive in any way, wasn’t well spoken, but he gave me attention in that moment. It might have been the insomnia or the need for attention that pushed me to go see him although every cell in my body told me not too. We spoke of nothing important in our first meeting and he held a kind of eye contact that made me squirm in my seat with uneasiness.
I never once felt comfortable.
He insisted that I come back with him to his house to watch a movie – I was very apprehensive, but being the person who can’t handle conflict, I agreed. We sat next to each other on his messy king size bed watching the beginning of the indie movie and he continues to try to pull me against him. In order to not upset him I allow him to hold onto me. I once again let him know that I have no interest in sex, which he assures me is completely fine with him. Soon he has his hands down my pants trying to pull them off as he reiterates that we won’t have sex.
I laugh off his, “I just want to have a little fun since you came so far,” because he’s told me multiple times that we won’t have sex.
I’m extremely uncomfortable but I play along to avoid any anger that may arise. I’m completely empty and sick to my stomach as he has his fingers inside of me, ignoring my pleas for him to stop. I don’t sound assertive and don’t push him away, but I’m nauseated. This continues for God knows how much longer with him stopping apprehensively multiple times, throwing his hands up saying, “Okay, okay, I understand what no means,” after I tell him to please slow down and that it’s enough, but soon after his hands find their way back down south.
“Oh you’re so beautiful…I can see that you are enjoying this.”
Yet in reality I am still telling him that I want to stop, but I’m shushed by him telling me that it’s all okay. It’s not okay, very much not okay, but I continue to play along hoping it all ends soon. He pushes at my shirt and tries to pull it off constantly except that is one aspect I manage to keep control of and it never leaves my body. I hold onto the fact that I have control over my clothed torso through all of the ordeal. All of a sudden he is inside of me. I am in no way aroused and am very much in pain. He slams into me fast and dry with quick thrusts – I tell him that I’m in pain and need him to stop. He stops, telling me that it’s okay, but soon after is in me again trying again telling me how wonderful I feel. I once again tell him to stop.
The cycle continues for much much longer than I would ever like to admit.
He friended me on Facebook that morning. He texted me “Hey babe” right before my shift at work started. He acted as though we were in a relationship. I told him that I very much did not enjoy what had happened and that it should not have happened. He replied quickly with, “I’m sorry you are having morning after regrets.”
I blocked him on every platform and sat down on my break to have tears prickle the back of my eyes. At that moment all I could feel is hate towards myself for allowing that to happen.
I can still smell him on me, feel his sweaty hands on me. To this day I can’t wear the jeans and top from that night, they make me sick to even look at. I don’t know when I’ll be able to accept that maybe this wasn’t my fault because everything I did was wrong and not enough.