I don't really like putting it that way, but sometimes that's way I think about it. A few weeks ago I was drunk downtown and accepted a ride from two strangers. They seemed friendly and were going toward my neighborhood so I went with them. About halfway there she - the driver - started rubbing my chest and holding my hand, changing her voice, etc. We pulled over by a park and she came into the backseat. Her friend, a gay (my educated guess) guy went out for a cigarette. Meanwhile she kissed me, bit me (a lot! On the tongue, even), touched me, made me touch her, started to take off my belt. I'll have to admit I kissed back a bit, and touched her breast ~ but it was more the automatic response of a frightened thing at the foot of a towering presence. Anyways. He came back in and watched for a bit, and I was able to push her off me by taking her number. For a moment I couldn't find the car door and I thought I might not escape. When I did reach it, she blew a kiss as I left and I didn't turn around.
I've told a number of friends, and they generally have the same reaction about I did: at first they laugh, then they start to feel sorry and grey - liked they realized it was black humor, and the joke was on them. I got very stoned afterward and wrote some awful poetry and came close to crying, though the tears were rooted more in confusion than anger, humiliation or fear. I just don't know what it was. I didn't want it to happen. I feel sad when I think or talk about it. I don't hold any anger toward them. When I think about it now, it feels like another part of me, sectioned off and held by a loose string ~ that the encounter split me into two parts: one that had the experience, and the other that simply knows about it. I don't know if there's a next step for me, I don't know if I want one, need one...I think I just am looking for someone outside myself to acknowledge it as a serious thing, tell me that I was brave, and let me cry a bit and it'll be taken care of.