Raped by Text: Consent in a Digital World

In order to survive, we have to learn to navigate love and coupling in the face of these powerful and distorting tools, because they are here to stay.

Note from the author: Current statistics show that 1 in 4 women will be victims of violent sexual assault. That fact is real, tragic and must change. Use of the word “rape” in the title of this story is not intended to minimize the horrific experiences of survivors.

While this is not a story about violence, it is a story about power and consent. In a digital world, where we fall in love and destroy one another with photos alone, this is a story of digital date rape.

I was stalked by one of my first connections on Tinder. The whole thing began as something conventional and cliche, with the successive revelations — actually, his photos were fake. Actually, he was married. Actually, he was a Dom. And, actually, on some twisted level he had fallen in love, even though we had never met. Though it was painful and complicated, I got out, mostly unscathed. He said his name was Ben, and that, I think might be true.

A year later, I matched with another Ben, who was located at just about the same distance from me. Different pictures. Different bio, with one exception. Like the first guy, this Ben also made a point of saying that because he had only been divorced a month, he was not looking for anything too serious. Just like me.

It took two weeks of texting with new Ben, with his making excuse after excuse of how he was dying to meet, just not today, before I began to recognize his verbal patterns.

The night that the shit hit the fan moved fast, from text, to voice, to threats. Actually, he had saved every picture he swore he deleted. Actually, I was a whore. Actually, now that I had rebuffed him again, he would release them all.

The irony was that it had been him, during the first break up, who made me promise to never again share a photo that included my face but not clothes, because I never knew with whom I was connecting.

The irony was that it had been him, during the first break up, who made me promise to never again share a photo that included my face but not clothes, because I never knew with whom I was connecting.

Not really, anyway.

He had been a sad liar, but I was grateful to him for that 21st-century lesson.

And I listened. I’m still terrified of him though, as not knowing his real identity, I have no way of sending cops to his door and no way of knowing what he has done or will do with those photos.

Perhaps because I am a glutton for punishment, I still swim from time to time in the cesspool that is Tinder. Never in the urban US, as those waters are toxic beyond repair. But, in the rest of the world, with the right gear, one can occasionally meet someone real and worthwhile, even in those murky waters.

But, now I am much more cautious.

My 5 Golden Rules

1. Always swipe left on profiles with no photos, no faces, or photos but no bios.
2. People who look like models are models.
3. Send photos with caution, and never ones that include my face but not clothes.
4. Only the real world is real. Photos, texts, voice memos, videos, are constructs and only tell you about the construct your match is creating. Nothing else.
5. No meeting in the first two weeks = no meeting at all.

Excuses are lies, and there is always a reason

Of all of my rules, the one I am strictest about is #5 “no meeting within 2 weeks = no meeting at all.” Because excuses are lies, and there is always a reason.

Rule #5 was why I had cut off ties with Matt, even though he was divorced, attractive, ran a successful business, and had the sexiest voice. When I told him that I’d no longer be responding to his near-daily overtures, it was with the clear invitation for him to be in touch to schedule a date whenever his desire to meet me overwhelmed his excuses. But he persisted. He understood why I had labeled him as not serious and he would prove me wrong. He very much wanted to meet. It was just a busy time.

One night, I answered the phone when he called, and we talked for an hour. The experience of knowing someone day after day gives the impression of intimacy, even when there is none, and a steady stream of text messages morning and night, compliments and personal stories are more than enough to fool the heart. The conversation was tender, like one shared by friends who like and respect one another. We hung up the phone with a sense of longing, my hope strong that we would finally meet in person that weekend. My phone lit up within an instant of when I put it down. “I want you.” “Let me see you.” Here is a photo of my face wanting you. “Get in bed and send me yours.”

The first night we had phone sex, I denied consent more than ten times before I gave it, but I did give it in the end.

And it was amazing. I woke up the next morning and texted him, “Last night felt like a real first date. Thank you.” And, through it all, I never sent a photo. I still had my wits about me. Then. It was me who initiated the phone sex a few nights later. I wanted to hear his voice again. I wanted to feel close to him again. He wanted to exchange videos.

Weeks earlier, when cutting off daily contact with him, I had written to him “You know that I like you, that I think you’re sweet and funny, and sexy from afar, but this has all begun to feel like a game to me. Next week or next year, when you’re ready, ask me out, but I’m not interested in video conversations in the place of a first date.” But, time had passed since then. Things had changed. We were in the uncharted territory beyond the jurisdiction of Rule #5 and he had earned my trust.

That night too, I only said no. He seduced. I refused. On it went. Until finally, swept up in the heat of it all, I sent him two recordings of me talking to him, my face, not so many clothes. We both came that night. I went to sleep blissful, and woke up feeling bonded.

By the next morning, Matt was gone. 48 hours passed before he responded to a single text message. Such behavior, of hiding after sex is common in the wild west of dating, but here, the stakes are so much higher than a few hurt feelings.

I had sent this man, whom I’ve never met, videos of me that could destroy my career. Because I liked him. And, because he had turned me on. Though I remembered saying no so many times, I gave in, in the end.

Power and consent are such complicated matters now that the 21st century has made love and technology bedfellows. Gender dynamics, loneliness and privacy complicate things further. As a woman, whether natural or learned, I love being seen and wanted, and the fact that I’m looking for love makes me an easy mark. Even as state after state pass laws protecting against revenge porn, they do not nearly have the teeth to protect we who chose (or are coerced) to use digital tools to express feelings of intimacy, as evidenced by the fall of Congresswoman Katie Hill. For better or worse, we are at the mercy of the social contracts that bind us, which is to say that we are extremely vulnerable.

Rape is a strong word, but not stronger than the consequences of revenge porn, and this is a story of digital date rape.

Matt had asked us to exchange videos from the start, and though it took him two months of persuasion, he got what he wanted. Though I was the one who recorded and sent, love and longing had made me far more intoxicated than any tequila could. Now, I have to live with the consequences.

The digital revolution has the potential to cause the total breakdown of human civilization, as we’re already starting to see in Japan and Singapore, with people choosing not to unplug and not to reproduce. In order to survive, we have to learn to navigate love and coupling in the face of these powerful and distorting tools, because they are here to stay.