The Unspoken Consequences Of Sexual Assault
I am a victim of sexual assault. The first incidents I remember revolved around a much older man speaking to a prepubescent me in phrases reserved for porn sites. It wasn’t until a few years later that I connected the dots between his foreign words, leery behavior, and the horrible way he had made me felt. I didn’t speak up because I was clueless about sex and sexual predators. No adults in my life really spoke about these issues until the sex-ed talks of junior high. I was a child, scared silent.
Puberty was hell. Teens going through all those changes are insane, and rightfully so. I developed, awkwardly, into my sexual body. I had endless crushes, kissed a few of them. Things were smooth and safe. I trusted I was going to be respected and, thankfully, I was. I took time introducing myself to the world of romance. It was only after I graduated high school that I really invested myself into a relationship. It was awkward but loving. The boy, his home and his family became my safe place during a time when my parents and I were best kept at a distance. Our relationship fizzled, but I maintained a casual email relationship with him and his family.
A year after that first relationship ended, I was in a tough spot. I failed out of college my first term, got kicked out of my parents’ house, and discovered my friends at home were more-than experimenting with drugs. I emailed my ex’s parents for a little guidance. His father responded with concern, and asked to catch up over lunch. Our meal was full of solid advice and emotional outpours. It felt good to have an adult in my life that I could lean on during tough times. He then offered me a ride home and I took it.
It was in that Prius that things went horribly astray. Our conversation continued into the drive but got more intense. I snapped and started sobbing. He pulled the car over and leaned in for a consoling hug. Or so I expected. He leaned over and reached under my dress to hold my breast and kissed me. Something in him snapped and he revealed everything — how he had been thinking about me sexually since we were first introduced, how he envied his son’s physical closeness to me, how he looked forward to seeing my body in a new dress everyday. I still remember the sickly smell of his cologne mixed with the mint gum smacking between his teeth as he shattered my trust.
I called the cops the next day. They told me that because I was over 18 they couldn’t do a thing, unless he did it again. He was delivered a warning to not contact me again, or face arrest. I didn’t tell my parents. We still hadn’t had a conversation about sexual predation even though I was nineteen. Luckily, I ran into one of my high school teachers that day. He called one of his female coworkers. She housed me and counseled me for weeks after. I didn’t date, kiss, or even flirt with a man for the following nine months.
That was five years ago. I naturally developed an association between men who displayed their attraction to me and potential assault. It took me a while to trust that attraction could lead to respect and love. I eventually let down my barriers and allowed myself to love and be loved. Within the safe container of mutual, respectful love I was able to open myself fully.
At the end of my last relationship, I realized I kept myself partnered almost continually since I began to heal from the assault in 2009. Although I don’t think I consciously decided to live that way, it may have been a safety mechanism to keep predation to a minimum. If you are a claimed woman, men will generally respect the man that tied you down and choose another target. If you are single, no reservations. Tell her how fine her body looks in that dress as your eyes sweep up and down, resting a little too long on the curves that caught your eye. Tell her how the world must be full of blind men if a woman as sexy as her is single. Move in closer, rest your hand on the small of her back, tell her how good you treat women. Because that behavior makes women feel safe, empowered, and respected. I don’t know how to do single. I don’t know how to face senseless attacks on my body and sexuality.
I recently had a manager who has a reputation for being a flirt. We worked together at a night club, surrounded by eye candy nightly. He would make comments on lady’s outfits constantly, including mine. Comments on fashion? Hell yeah! Comments on your physique in that fashion? There’s a fine line between flattery and sleaze, and every blue moon, he’d cross that line saying what he’d like to do to my body. Here is a huge problem so many women face: men in positions of power saying or doing things to demean them. It’s much easier to say “fuck off” to a peer than to your boss.
Last November, I decided to go watch my friends perform at the night club where I worked. My roommate and I were drinking and dancing having an amazing time listening to our favorite jazz cats. My manager, who was working, asked me to follow him into the back. We had been discussing a few issues at the club and I assumed we were gonna keep talking work. He brought me into the green room and closed the door behind me. He grabbed me and kissed me. I felt something being placed in my hand, I was hoping my senses were failing me, he couldn’t… “This is what you can have, anytime you want it. This is just a taste, I’m not even hard.”
This man is married. With several young children. He is a manager at one of the busiest jazz clubs in New Orleans. He had a lot to lose by putting his penis in my hand. But he wasn’t thinking. He was acting. He took advantage of an intoxicated female who was in an environment in which she was extremely comfortable. Easy pickings.
He pushed his penis back in his pants and strutted out of the green room, cool as shit. I was left, mouth agape, shocked, confused, not knowing what to do. I walked past the kitchen, the other manager on duty standing at the expo window. I walked past the bar and the stage both full of some of the most important people in my community. I couldn’t believe what had happened. I couldn’t believe he dared to act like that while I was surrounded by support. I told my roommate immediately, but it wasn’t until I sobered that I really grasped what had happened.
The next day I told the manager on duty what had happened. The next few weeks were full of incredibly painful confrontation with the owners and managers of the business. The interactions began diplomatic but sympathetic. But as the conversations continued, victim blaming language seeped out. According to the white male night club owners: I should have been more careful. I should have either a)left the building immediately after the assault or b)told management immediately. I should not be intoxicated in public, ever. I have a reputation as a friendly woman, so I should expect this behavior.
The owners dealt with the issue quietly. They suspended my assaulter for seven days. They believe they adequately resolved the problem. He remains on the schedule, managing. Some shifts he is the sole manager on duty. No one but management knows what happened. But they insist they are starting a company-wide conversation on sexual assault.
I had to resign. I cannot work in a business that keeps an assaulter in a position of power.
My assaulter’s actions cost me my job and my income. My assaulters actions cost me my group of coworkers. My assaulters actions cost me my confidence and comfort in my community. My assaulters actions directly and intensely changed my life.
His continues on. The assaulting continues on. And no one, until now, is any wiser.
Writing this, revealing my story, is the only thing I know I can do. I do not want assaulters to remain in positions of power. I don’t want businesses or communities to allow sexual assault to continue. I want people to talk about sexual predation. I want parents to start the dialogue with their children. I want consent prior to action to be the norm. I want people to know they aren’t alone and they can stand up and scream, “NO.”
This is me screaming for all of you.