The card that accompanied the flowers read, “Let’s go out for dinner.”
After a heart-wrenching breakup, I spent months trying to mend my broken heart. One evening, my friends persuaded me to join them at a local bar. “It’s time to get back into the dating scene,” they encouraged. As I stood at the bar, nursing a drink, his smile caught my eye.
He approached with the typical pickup lines, eliciting giggles from my friends who were cheering me on from a distance. Despite my initial reservations, I was charmed by his smile and the wad of cash he flaunted. He bought drinks for my friends all night, and his gaze was unwaveringly fixed on me. By the end of the night, buoyed by my friends’ encouragement, I handed him my number. My friends hugged me as we left, excited that I might have found someone new.
The next day, my dorm room was filled with the sweet fragrance of two dozen roses. I was flattered yet puzzled. How did he find my address? But I brushed aside my doubts – I deserved happiness after my heartache, didn’t I? “Let’s go out for dinner” felt like a harmless step forward.
In the following weeks, he showered me with gifts and meticulously planned our outings. Each date was more thrilling than the last, featuring spontaneous dinners at exclusive restaurants he’d reserved just for us and dazzling jewelry that made my friends swoon. “He’s the one!” they exclaimed, and I couldn’t help but wonder if they were right.
I slowly began to lower my guard, allowing myself to fantasize that he could be my Prince Charming. Yet, as he kissed me with increasing urgency, my instincts warned me. I longed for a slower pace and communicated that clearly. “I won’t wait forever,” he retorted.
And he didn’t.
The evening unfolded at his apartment, where he had invited me for a private dinner. The ambiance was set with candles, flowers, and soft music. But as soon as I stepped through the door, he enveloped me in his arms, kissing me forcefully. My hesitation seemed to fuel his desire. He led me to his bedroom, where I was met with an avalanche of fervent kisses. “It’s time,” he insisted. “We’ve been seeing each other for a month.”
I was just 19 and still a virgin. I wasn’t ready.
I said NO.
But he wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Come on, baby. It’s me. Let’s do this.”
NO.
“Do you know how much I’ve spent on you?”
NO.
Then it happened.
In a swift motion, he unbuttoned my pants and forcefully invaded my personal space. I cried out for him to stop, but my pleas only seemed to infuriate him. “You’re just a tease. You’re mine,” he sneered. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll do worse.”
As he brutally violated me, I felt my dignity shatter. When he was done, he tossed me aside without a second thought, telling me to leave. In just 20 minutes, my life changed forever.
I stumbled to my car, each step a painful reminder of my profound violation. I drove home, tears streaming down my face, ashamed and afraid to tell anyone about how my “Prince Charming” had sexually assaulted me.
In the solitude of my bathroom, as the hot water cascaded down my back, I wept, vowing never to speak of my trauma again. The weight of shame, like an ocean, washed over me, and I relived those moments for years.
I know now what it feels like to be violated in a darkened room, powerless to fight back. I understand the anguish of having my innocence stripped away and the flashbacks that haunt me even in moments of love and safety. I know what it’s like to hide this secret from the man who has supported me for the last two decades.
I’ve listened to other women share their stories of sexual assault and felt the urge to say, “Me too.” I understand the true meaning of being objectified, and it’s not the glamorous facade some men would like to portray. It is painful, and it’s a burden I carry with me every day. This is not just locker room talk or mere words; it is sexual assault, it is rape.
I couldn’t fight back in that dimly lit room over two decades ago, but recent events have compelled me to stand up. I refuse to remain silent, not only for myself but for those women still too ashamed to speak out. I will not allow rape culture to persist, nor will I let my daughter grow up in a world where such violations are normalized.
I will fight for a world where my daughter never looks me in the eye and says, “Me too, Mom.”
For further reading on similar experiences, check out this insightful post on Cervical Insemination. If you’re considering at-home insemination, you can explore this fertility supplement that can help boost your chances. Also, don’t miss this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination offered by Cleveland Clinic.
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