The Time I Had ‘Unwanted Sex’

What do we call consent violation that isn’t ‘really’ rape, but still leaves us feeling defiled?

Almost two years ago I ended up having sex with someone that I really, really didn’t want to have sex with. I even told the person ‘no’ multiple times, but he kept insisting, and then it just, sort of happened…

I’ve recently posted a few stories about my past experiences with verbal abuse, talking about how emotional abuse can be vague and not easy to pin down. It’s made me ponder degrees of seriousness when it comes to assault in general. How do we define all of the instances that fall into the vague, blurry, grey-zone—in-between what is and what isn’t?

Is it possible to be raped ‘just a little?’

Reading Lara Sterling’s story, What If I Was Only Raped a Little? made me revisit an experience of my own, which I wouldn’t call actual rape—but that nonetheless left me feeling violated.

In sex-positive circles, we talk about enthusiastic consent, which says that, if it’s not an enthusiastic yes, then it’s a no. By these standards, this was a clear no, in fact, the word yes was never even uttered. Even so, the whole thing is confusing, and, to this day, I hold myself accountable.

How does sex ever ‘just happen’?

I’m not a pushover. I generally hold my own, but on this peculiar evening, my defenses dropped and I let something happen that I didn’t actually want.

To explain how, I’ll tell you my story, while recounting my mistakes:

Mistake 1: I was emotionally compromised—I should have stayed home.

The event took place on the last night before my ex of a decade, and the father of my child—let’s refer to him as X—moved halfway across the planet. I was overwhelmed by the situation and petrified to be left with the sole responsibility of our daughter. And, while I was relieved to be out of a destructive and abusive relationship, I was still grieving.

Leaving his daughter indefinitely, X had asked if he could put her to bed that night. I let him. He had then offered to stay at my apartment so I could get one last night out. I accepted that too, convinced it was my final night of freedom.

Mistake 2: I went to a sex party.

Wanting to make the most of my last hurrah, I decided on a ‘play-party’. This is a whole other story (waiting to be written), but after leaving X, I had blossomed sexually in ways I never imagined possible.

A few months into singlehood, I found myself immersed in the kink-scene, which had been nothing but liberating and empowering to date. Learning to talk about sex and express my wants and desires for the first time, I had unleashed sides of myself that had long been dormant. I felt strong, confident and radiant.

Mistake 3: I put myself in a situation where I was likely to be triggered.

To add yet another twist to the story, my big crush and lover at the time was going to be at the party as well. Except not with me.

My Norse God-impersonate—we’ll call him Thor—was in an open relationship. I was flirting with the idea of ethical non-monogamy for myself, so this was a scenario I had been prepared for: Thor was going with his live-in-partner, who, I was told, didn’t want to know anything about his other affairs. He, therefore, requested I act like a complete stranger when we ran into each other.

I realized later that there was nothing ethical about his way of practicing non-monogamy, but being new to the game, I complied. Perhaps naively, I didn’t think the scenario would faze me, besides, I knew I’d meet several familiar faces there.

I told you it was a peculiar night.

Mistake 4: I was ‘dressed to fuck’.

I showed up at the dimly-lit, brick-walled dungeon wearing my over-knee boots, fishnet-stay ups, satin hot-pants, and strappy bra. Confidently, I strutted to the bar, pursed lips and high ponytail bouncing to the pep-in-my-step.

—Red wine, please!

Mistake 5: Yes, I was also drinking.

Immediately I was approached by some guy wearing little but a cock-ring. We chatted a bit, and while he wasn’t my type, I enjoyed the conversation and his company—in a purely platonic way—and divulged enough for him to get a glimpse into what was going on in my life. When he later asked if I was interested in ‘playing’, I politely declined.

—Let me know if you change your mind, he responded.

—Sure thing, I smirked.

Mistake 6: I had revealed my vulnerability.

I continued to mingle around the bar. I had another glass of wine. And then, another one.

Some guy petitioned me again, again…and then again. I maintained my position.

—Nope, not interested!

As expected, I ran into Thor and pretended he was a stranger, despite having shared the most intimate moments together.

I shot a tequila to boot.

Some guy tried a fifth time and I told him ‘NO!’—firmly this time.

Escaping to the bathrooms, I met Thor again, who grabbed my ass on his way out and whispered in my ear:

— You look so hot, I wish…

— Fuck! Me too. [sigh]

Back at the bar, I spotted him across the room, tying his partner up in ropes while kissing her gently on the neck.

Mistake 7: I didn’t go home when I should have.

At that point, I was beyond tipsy. Everyone I knew had either gone home or were getting busy somewhere. I debated leaving as well but decided against it. Leaning on the wall, I continued watching Thor, in-action with his girlfriend, when I felt a pair of hands gently massaging my shoulders.

Mistake 8: I let my guards down.

Vulnerable, and aching for tenderness of any kind, but mostly from the person I was watching touching someone else, I leaned in. For a while, I didn't care who it was.

When I eventually turned around to find some guy, he asked:

—D’you mind?

—Meh, why not? I responded. Massages are innocent, I thought to myself.

Mistake 9: I didn’t say ‘no’ a sixth time.

When he took my hand and led me to a more private area, I followed.

From that point, it got a bit blurry. I remember feeling torn between wanting to be held, and not wanting to be held by some guy.

The only way I can explain why I didn’t stop it at that point was that, in addition to previously stated mistakes, I ached for comfort and closeness, but had nowhere, or no one else, to turn to. The party wasn’t giving me what I craved, still, going home felt like the end of something I wasn’t quite ready to let go of.

So, it just happened…

Until, as if struck by lightning, I came back to myself and clearly saw what was going on: I was having sex with some guy, and I wasn’t enjoying it. On the contrary, I was uncomfortable, and on the verge of crying.

—STOP!

I shouted loudly, and he pulled back and looked at me, baffled.

—I’m fine. I just need some air. BRB, I lied.

I grabbed my stuff and bolted out. Covering my shame under a long wool coat while running down the street, tears streaming down my face, I didn’t stop until I reached my front door.

What had just happened?

Back home I found X napping on my couch. A sense of familiarity, even safety, washed over me.

Again, in dire need to be consoled, I fell into the only available arms around. I dug my face into X’s chest. For the very last time.

Clearly confused by my behavior, he asked if everything was fine.

— I’m ok, I’m just a bit emotional tonight, I beguiled.

Not one to compromise himself by showing his emotions, he simply held me for a while, until he excused himself and pulled away. For the very last time, I stood in our hallway, watching him put on his shoes and jacket.

The end of an era, I thought to myself as he shuffled out and closed the door— now my door—behind him.

The verdict.

As exhibited, I made multiple mistakes that night and I’m sure many will agree that, first, I probably shouldn’t have gone to a sex-party, at least not on such a night. I neither should have been drinking nor should I have exposed so much of myself—body or mind. I should have gone home earlier and I should have told some guy to fuck off, not only four or five, but six times.

Seeing I was clearly in a compromised state, I should have just stayed home. The last point being the only thing that would be guaranteed to prevent the incident. Or?

(…)

Well, the only thing, besides some guy hearing me the first—or second, or third, or fifth time I said ‘no’. But, I realize that’s a lot to expect, after all, I did look like I was asking for it.