Do You Remember What You Did? Because I Can’t Forget
When I was sixteen…
Washington State law qualifies statutory rape as taking place when a 16-year-old engages in sexual activity with a person more than 60-months his or her senior and/or when there are drugs/alcohol involved. My boyfriend at the time was 21. He was the first guy I kissed. There were drugs and alcohol involved, and he was supplying them. He would guilt-trip me, say that I didn’t really love him, say that he was terribly sad, say that I needed to help him. Although at the time I complied, I was a child. He was a man and now (at age 21 myself) I feel that he should have known better than to coerce me into performing sexual acts that I was uncomfortable participating in. Does the fact that he is now diagnosed with bi-polar disorder excuse him?
When I was seventeen…
My third boyfriend was only a couple of years older than me. He had a fascination with anal sex, although I was NEVER comfortable exploring this. One morning after a night of heavy drinking, he informed me that we had engaged in anal intercourse. He told me that I had screamed and sobbed but that he did not stop for some time because I was “blacked out.” I do not remember this. I do not remember consenting to this. I never even considered consenting to this while I was sober—why would that have changed? I don’t think it did, really, I just think he did what he wanted to and I was too drunk to stop him. I wish that he had never told me. I don’t know why he did tell me. I tried to forget that he had told me, but the human memory is a tricky thing. I wish that I could live without this knowledge of what was done to me while I was “blacked out.”
When I was eighteen…
I woke up naked in bed with a co-worker whose house I had been drinking at the night before. I had no recollections of the night before, but I quickly gathered my clothes and left, hoping against all odds that nothing had happened. These hopes were dashed when said co-worker approached me at work the next day, took me aside and asked me not to say anything. Unbeknownst to me, he was involved with another girl at work. Kindly (or so I thought at the time), he gave me $60 so that I could purchase Plan B. I was confused at first, still hoping that nothing had happened. I bought and took the Plan B immediately after my shift and was thankful—in a way—that I remembered nothing.
What are these stories? Are they only stories of men taking advantage of me? Are they just stories of drunken teenage sex? Are they stories of rape? They were not violent. I did not walk away with bruises or cuts. I was not physically harmed. But years later…I still think of these instances. I remember them more clearly (what I can of them) and think about the way they make me feel more often than I think about the times I had great sex with someone I wanted to have sex with. What do these stories count as? How can I reconcile these instances within my own mind? How can I be at peace with them? Am I just a girl with a flair for the dramatic, hearing the “metoo” movement and stories of sexual assault and wanting to hop on the bandwagon? Am I a victim? Am I to blame because I drank too much? Am I the one who is truly at fault? Is this just “Boys Being Boys?”