{"id":169,"date":"2020-02-13T11:40:00","date_gmt":"2020-02-13T11:40:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/stevesearls.com\/?p=169"},"modified":"2020-01-30T17:08:26","modified_gmt":"2020-01-30T17:08:26","slug":"my-rape-story-warning-may-trigger-sexual-assault-victims-not-appropriate-for-under-18-years-of-age","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/stevesearls.com\/?p=169","title":{"rendered":"My Rape Story (Warning: May Trigger Sexual Assault Victims – Not Appropriate for under 18 years of Age)"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Originally published at Medium <\/a>on August 30, 2018. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

On February 13, 2015, I stepped out from behind my online moniker in a post at Daily Kos (republished at Caucus99<\/a>). Besides my real name, I revealed a lot of personal information about myself, including referencing a diary at Daily Kos (posted in 2011 and now archived at my Medium site<\/a>) in which I came out as bi-sexual. What I chose not to mention, however, is that in my early twenties I was raped. Until today, I have never felt compelled to go public about what is a very private and painful memory. But that changed yesterday.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My\n life at the time was a mess. My second marriage had collapsed after my \nex-wife, who had encouraged the exploration of my sexuality, left me for\n an older man with a high paying job. I worked at a dead end job and was\n extremely depressed. I used the gay club scene in Denver and abused \nnumerous recreational drugs (abusing recreational drugs (marijuana, \nnitrous oxide, amyl nitrite, amphetamines and Quaaludes, among others) \nto escape my feelings of worthlessness and despair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve\n often found it hard to describe why I found the gay scene of the early \neighties so appealing. However, as a severely shy person with low \nself-esteem, gay clubs were a revelation for me. In gay slang, I would \nbe called today a \u201ctwink.\u201d<\/a>\n I was very slender at 5’11 and 145 pounds and was often mistaken for a \nunderage teenager. At a gay club, I didn\u2019t have to pretend to be \nmasculine, or display macho behaviors. I could express the effeminate \ntraits that I suppressed during my \u201cnormal\u201d life without fear of being \nderided or shunned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And\n to accentuate my effeminate appearance, I wore makeup, women\u2019s perfume,\n jewelry, curled my hair and dressed in camisoles or silk blouses and \nwore tight jeans. Instead of being seen as perverse or immoral, this was\n accepted behavior among the gay community. Going to a gay club allowed \nme the liberty of not having to find a partner and face rejection. \nInstead, many gay men found me attractive. I was an object of desire for\n the first time in my life. Men pursued me. I could choose whether I \nwanted to dance with them, accept a drink from them or have a sexual \nencounter with them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was also incredibly naive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Many\n parents go to great lengths to warn our daughter girls and young women \nof the dangers of sexually aggressive men. Wrongly or rightly, we \nfrequently micromanage our daughter\u2019s appearance, impose greater \nrestrictions on their relationships and generally express mote concern \nfor the risk that they may suffer sexual abuse or assault. Those efforts\n often fail or prove counter-productive, but many of us still tend to go\n feel the need to \u201cprotect the girls.\u201d We constantly warn them of the \npossibility of rape and other forms of sexual assault.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

With\n boys, on the other hand, it is usually the exact opposite. Parents \nhardly ever warn our sons that they also may become the victims of \nsexual predators. I know in my youth I did not expect that I could be \nsexually assaulted by gay men. That they too, might might force \nthemselves on me and not take no for an answer. So when it happened, I \nwas completely unprepared.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\n was an evening in late Fall. Lacking a car, I took a cab to the club. I\n danced with a number of men, got more than a little drunk, and made \ngenerous use of \u201cpoppers\u201d<\/a>\n and other drugs provided by my dance partners. At one point in the \nevening, I noticed a large man, over six feet tall and weighing more \nthan 250 pounds, standing with a female companion. eyeing me intently. \nDuring a break in the music, they came over and asked if I would have a \ndrink with them. I said, sure why not. That was what I was there for, \nanyway. It was just a drink after all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We\n sat and chatted for a bit. The man did all the talking. He kept saying \nhow pretty I was. Not uncommon, but something seemed a little off about \nhim and her. When I asked the them about their relationship, the man \nsaid they were just friends that liked to have threesomes together \nsometimes. He asked me if I was interested. I wasn\u2019t attracted to either\n one. However, not wanting to create any hard feelings, I made excuses, \nsaid that I had too much to drink, and had to work in the morning. I \nthanked them for the offer, but essentially I tried to convey in the \nnicest way possible that I wasn\u2019t interested. The man protested for a \nwhile, so I said my goodbyes and left them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Shortly\n thereafter, I walked out the door of the club, but found no cabs \nwaiting for fares. I wasn\u2019t comfortable standing around with the usual \nDenver cops who always seemed to be around the entrance, so I went back \ninside and asked the bartender if he could call a me a taxi. That\u2019s when\n he said the police had been cracking down on cabs parking near the \nclub, and many of the cab companies just refused to pick people up \nthere. If I wanted one, I would have to go downtown, a walk of about six\n blocks. He asked me if I\u2019d come with anyone, and when I said no, that I\n was alone, he said he\u2019d try to find someone who would escort me. The \ngist? He didn\u2019t think it was safe for someone looking like me to make \nthat trek alone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When\n he returned, it was with the couple I\u2019d just left. The bartender said \nhe knew them, and they were happy to help me out. Okay, I thought, sure.\n We went to the woman\u2019s car. She drove. The man got in the back seat \nwith me, and crowded next to me. I was uncomfortable but didn\u2019t want to \nmake a fuss. Halfway to my studio apartment in the Congress Park area, \nhe started kissing me, grabbing my face and turning it toward him. I \ntold him to stop, and after I pushed him away, he did, mumbling \nsomething I can\u2019t recall. His breath stunk from alcohol. I was \nconcerned, but figured he\u2019d just had too much to drink.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When\n we arrived at my address, he insisted on walking me up to my apartment.\n Wouldn\u2019t let me out until I agreed. Now I was starting to get afraid. I\n asked the woman to join us, but he said she needed to stay with the \ncar. As we walked up the stairs to my studio, he kept his hands on me at\n all times. At the door, I thanked him for the ride and told him \ngoodnight. Again, he demanded a kiss. I relented, after getting him to \npromise to leave afterward. He finished and took a step back. I opened \nmy door and said good night, but he forced himself inside, literally \npushing me with his body. I told him I wanted him to go. That he had \npromised. That his girlfriend was waiting for him. But he grabbed my \nhand, and took my keys away. Then he began pushing me toward my mattress\n that served as my bed in one corner of the floor. Then he said \nsomething I\u2019ll never forget.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re pretty. I wanna fuck you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By\n this time, he had grabbed both my arms and was pushing me onto the \nmattress. I said no, again. I said a lot of things trying to get him to \nstop. Nothing mattered. He just kept repeating his little mantra, \u201cI \nwanna fuck you.\u201d After forcing me onto the bed, he pulled my jeans off, \nand then the silk shirt I wore. I didn\u2019t resist, I just froze. I don\u2019t \nbelieve I\u2019ve ever been more frightened in my life. He pushed me over \nonto my belly, unzipped his pants, spread my legs and, with the full \nweight of his body crushing me, he fucked me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\n was too scared to do anything but just lie there and let him do it. The\n physical pain was awful, but the psychological fear was much worse. \nEvery bad thing you can imagine went through my head. I was convinced he\n was going to kill me. He was bigger, stronger. It was terrifying. He \nfinished and fell asleep on top of me. I couldn\u2019t move. He was too \nheavy. After about twenty minutes, just as I managed to wiggle my upper \nhalf out from under him, he woke up. And then he did it again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This\n time when he was done he mashed me into the wall against which my \nmattress rested. We lay like that for what seemed forever, though it was\n probably only fifteen or twenty minutes, him snoring, me silently \nfreaking out. I finally manged to get off the bed, and find a robe to \ncover myself. I may have gone to the bathroom. Why I didn\u2019t try to leave\n I\u2019ll never understand. Instead, I went over and woke him up. It took a \nwhile. He was groggy, disoriented. I told him thanks for the wonderful \ntime (yes, I remember saying that) but he needed to go now. I just kept \nsaying he needed to go now, as I helped him pull up his pants, and \nwalked him to my door. I remember waving after him as he stumbled down \nthe stairs. Then when he was far enough away, I locked myself in, sat on\n the toilet and bawled my eyes out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The\n next day I moved out of that apartment and went back to living with my \nparents. After that I rarely went to a gay club again. I never explained\n why to anyone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019d\n worked as a counselor at a group home for adolescent girls, many of who\n had been sexually abused by their fathers or uncles or whomever. I \nthought I understood how rape victims felt, thought I knew the emotional\n issues they faced, but I didn\u2019t, not deep down in my gut. Now I did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Did\n I ever report the rape to the police? No. I had no expectations the \nDenver police would do anything. After all, I was just a little faggot \nto them. I had no physical scars to show that I\u2019d been raped, other than\n some bleeding from my anus, and I doubted they would even bother \nlooking for the guy. But I was also afraid. Afraid they might find him, \nor that he might find me. Better to stay quiet. Safer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And\n I was ashamed. I blamed myself for what my rapist had done to me. You \ncan\u2019t imagine how often the words, \u201cif I\u2019d only done this \u2026\u201d \nreverberated through my head. Worse, I was ashamed that I hadn\u2019t fought \nback. I mean, that\u2019s what everyone says you;\u2019e supposed to do. Even \nthough from my own work with those teen girls who\u2019d been raped I knew \nthat most victims usually don;t resist, I still felt I should have done \nmore. I was raised as most boys are in America. Someone tries to hurt \nyou, you fight back. You stand your ground. Only cowards give up, give \nin. And I hadn\u2019t done that. I\u2019d failed as a man.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So\n I repressed the memory of that night as best I could. And when I \ncouldn\u2019t, I told myself the story that it hadn\u2019t really been all that \nbad. That I handled it the best way possible. I survived, right? Became a\n successful attorney. Had a family who loved me. But despite the passage\n of time, even years, some wounds never really heal.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Originally published at Medium on August 30, 2018. On February 13, 2015, I stepped out from behind my online moniker in a post at Daily Kos (republished at Caucus99). Besides…<\/p>\n

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