My rape was framed as BDSM. We had been texting for two or three weeks, about hooking up, and what types of sex we enjoyed. Eventually the topic of BDSM came up and we chatted about what BDSM meant to us, and what our limits were within hooking up & BDSM. Like many people who live with in the experiences of BDSM, the things I do with hookups and the things I do with longterm partners vary drastically. He introduced some topics that I quickly vetoed as being off limits for a hook up.
He came over immediately after bootcamp, he had texted me instructing me to start drinking before he got there. Am I ever glad I do not respond to authority well. Out of playful spite I did not start drinking. The up side to being sober is that I remember everything. The down side to being sober is that I remember everything. And these memories crop up at the worst times, even three years later.
Afterwards, men that I confided in & considered friends had the nerve to pose the question “Had it just been BDSM gone wrong?” or “Hadnt I asked for it?” (for the record, I never asked to be punched in the back of the head – or suffocated under pillows). These same men wondered why women would just shut down mid conversation about these topics. Broaching a difficult topic and being told that maybe we just have it all wrong, or having our friends play the “devils advocate” with our psychological well being isnt exactly something that will make us bare our hearts.
It took me a long time to feel angry. Feeling hurt happened almost immediately, but anger took a while. Anger felt like a luxury, as the guys had mentioned – Hadnt I invited this? No. I hadnt. I did not invite someone to take violent liberties with my body. I had invited someone to take pleasure in my body within a set of limits that I had set. Those limits were not only tested but broken. In that moment it became a non-consensual act. It became rape. Rape. RAPE. Does that word make you uncomfortable? Good. Being raped made me incredibly uncomfortable.