October 31, 2013: I went to a party with my best friend and her roommate. I was planning on meeting up with a guy I had met at a club the previous Saturday night later on. My friend was supposed to come with me, but she decided she wanted to have sex with her boyfriend instead. She said she would come with me if I really needed her to, but I told her to go ahead, I would be fine. Instead, another girl, a mutual acquaintance of ours, came with me to the club down the street. At that point, I was pretty drunk. But I ordered a drink anyway, just to bide my time while waiting for my “date.” I should have seen this coming- this guy had tried to get me to go to a different bar with him the first time we had met, in order to (I realized after the fact) get me away from my friends who would have protected me from strange men. He did it again this time. Only I did not have my posse to keep me from leaving with him, and he knew that. He was sneaky a bout it this time- he took advantage of the fact that the line outside the club was really long, and texted me to come outside and wait with him. Only when I got outside, he said let’s go to the bar across the street, it’s too crowded here. Like a moron I went with him. We got to the other club, danced, made out, and then he wanted to leave. We got into a cab. I wanted to be dropped off at my friend’s place, so I told the taxi driver the address. But he refused to take me there…apparently he only drove to Back Bay (where this guy lived)? I said please just drop me off, it’s not that far out of the way! Then my “date” told me I was being rude…for wanting to be dropped off at my friend’s apartment which was literally two blocks down the street. For some reason I actually apologized and started kissing him again. We got to his place. I suddenly realized what was about to happen- he knew I was wasted, he knew I had not wanted to co me home with him but none of that seemed to matter. He kept saying how he needed to buy condoms. I started to freak out. I thought maybe if I start crying he will think it’s not worth it. I fell to the ground and started crying, begging him please don’t hurt me. Apparently that wasn’t enough. He dragged me off the floor and took me up to his apartment. At that point I thought maybe I had just better do it. So I took off my clothes. We got in bed, and for some reason he kept slapping my breasts really hard. I don’t know if he thought I would like that, or what, but it really hurt. I was sort of too shocked to even say anything so I just kept letting him slap me and finger me. He kept wanting me to go down on him, kept pushing my head down. When I wouldn’t, he told me to take his boxers off. I said no, I really don’t want to do this. So he took them off himself, and started shoving himself inside me. As a matter of fact, I had never actually had sex before. I didn’t want my first time to be like this. Finally he left to go get condoms, and so when he was gone I rushed to put on my clothes and leave. As I was about to run out the door he came back. My heart was in my throat at that point. I guess he finally decided it wasn’t worth it, and so he let me leave.
I didn’t start calling it sexual assault until recently, because I didn’t know whether it was or not. I described the incident to a friend the next day, and he actually said the words “you asked for it.” He apologized immediately, but I still have not been able to get those words out of my head. I have a friend who was an RA, and he would always say that even if a person describes a sexual assault or rape, the person they are describing it to can’t or shouldn’t call it that unless the person it happened to says the exact words “sexual assault” or “rape” themselves. I disagree- I wish someone had told me, it would have saved me a whole lot of confusion and guilt.
— Survivor, age 25