Content Warning: Rape -Part One;
Stalking; Domestic Violence; Truth
He caught my eye in the most arousing way I ever experienced very early in the year. As soon as he entered the room and our eyes met, I felt animalistic. That hairy manly man just turned me on. Didn’t know what that felt like with an actual living person before. He taught me that sensation. I think in that moment I knew he was going to be given my virginity. Luckily for me, the feeling was somewhat mutual. We met up and kissed, odd handsy stuff. Usually within the gang of friends. I met up with him alone once. He drove a BMW. I embarrassed him when I was loud. We were never exclusive. He was 18 from a posh part of town.
Enter The Stalker:
During this period I met a boy at a bus stop on the way home from my dads. Couldn’t believe it! No make up and got the chatted up due my striking natural beauty, not the fake face I usually wore. Madness!
We arranged for him to take me (and my friends for safety) on a date to the cinema. He paid for me, my friend and her sister. Plus sweets. He offered. I found it all a bit cringey. My friends thought he was nuts.
I think we kissed. I was in no way interested in a second date. I gave stalker a chance. He wasn’t for me. I swerved him. I suggested friendship to let him down gently. My friends wanted me to just tell him to fuck off.
I carried on meeting up with Mr Virginity. I lost my virginity to him in June and broke contact the same night during another teen drinking gathering. All ended in a big row and he made it clear there was nothing real for us. All during sitting my GCSEs.
Next I had a summer holidays fling with an older fella, he was 23. Had a motorbike called a SuperDream. Bit of a bad boy. He was cool AF to me. My friend was besotted with his friend. We all just fell into place for a good few weeks. I did sleep with him. He did treat me kind. He was respectful enough during our intimacy. It was never going to be anything serious, but we enjoyed each other’s company and had very little sex really. He didn’t pressure me. Sometimes he even got a bit shy during our intimacy. I found that so sweet. He wasn’t rough or pushy. We’d sit off smoking joints and drinking mostly. He was often the subject to the cruel banter by the other lads, because he used to be overweight.
In hindsight it was never a relationship. It was a mutual, respectful convenience that we each benefited from. We never dated. It was never love. But we liked each other very much and we enjoyed each other’s company. When my friend and his friend split due to him cheating, we’d all drifted apart by mid- September.
I do remember he didn’t seem like he wanted to drift. He turned up at mine a few times. Looking for something in me. Whether that was convenience or not I don’t know. We parted respectfully. I saw him every now and again. Always pleasant, respectful and regretful if I’m honest. We asked about each other through friends many times. I was jealous AF when I knew he’d settled with a girl more his own age who was apparently lovely. I’m glad he found her though. He was a good man in my eyes.
We ended up working in the same place when I got my first job. Not closely, we were in different departments so only caught each other sometimes.
Start of sixth form: (Sept-Oct)
All Girls High School-
Mixed Sex Sixth Form
They let boys in yaaaay!
Who turns up in my school to study KS4?
Mr Stalker. Awkward.
I was always friendly with him, but kept my distance. I did feel guilty for his date that didn’t pay off, but I didn’t want to lead him on either. I had my eye on a different boy in school, Mr First. As you do at 16. Most girls were friendly with him, but also found him to be a bit creepy. I shared my past with a few close friends who also thought it weird that he came to my school.
Mr First was enjoying his pick of the ladies, going through them like a checklist, as he was the most attractive.
I found another boyfriend in early sixth form. Didn’t last long. He was gay and in denial. I thought I’d help him out while he figured it out. Take the pressure off. Didn’t last long. We used to hold hands in registration. It was all so innocent.
In sixth form I was friends with all, solid with none. That was my social ability. Once described by one of the “naughtier girls” as unique. I loved that.
I was also the period girl. The one who always had a stock of pads in her locker ready to give at a moments notice. I helped a lot of girls. I tried to help them feel less embarrassed by their bodily functions. Never asked for payment- I was given the odd 50p here and there when they insisted.
I also taught many girls how to keep the kitchen tidy as they has no independent skills like I had. Often spent my Friday free period cleaning the kitchen to save the cleaner a big job so she could have a break and a cuppa or go home early instead. It was often my friends mum who I stayed over at her house years before. A woman I knew had a bit of a tough home life. She was a dinner lady too, served me my breakfast most of my high school life. If I could show her a touch of respect each week, it was worth the graft.
Some sixth form girls were complimentary about how I even knew what to do to do a big clean. It baffled me.
I was also a member of school parliament and was voted deputy head girl.
That Night in November:
One Sunday evening, after we finished work, me and work friends went for a drink. We had school in the morning. Few sly ones on the route home. My job was selling pies. I wasn’t dressed to impress. I was in my black combat pants, work polo shirt (I think) Reebok trainers, ribbons in my hair. Not dolled up, but probably had make up on or I wouldn’t have got served in the pub.
Very grown up I felt, 16 and flying high.
Who turns up at the pub while I’m half cut? Mr Stalker. He joined us for drinks. Sat for a while with myself and my friend. Buying me drinks. Mr Stalker introduced me to my rapist. He was attractive. Older. Had money. Leader of the pack. He had his eye right on me. Grand!
I was pretty shit-faced by this point. I was getting steamboats (one of my mother’s favourites) bought for me by my rapist. Mr Stalker convinced my friend from work to leave with him. He’ll walk her home- in the opposite direction to my home. Keep her safe. I was high on life, I was adamant to stay for one or two more. This was around the point my mum was texting me and hounding me to come home. I switched off the phone. I was enjoying my grown up grownupping. I didn’t want to summonsed home like the child I was and doing my best to deny I was.
Thanks to 16 years of examination to the deepest parts of my memory. I have with great and painful effort, managed to piece together what I remember next.
I was very flirty. Giving the come on to my rapist. Enjoying the attention. Even bragged to the barman “I’ve scored, going home with him tonight!” All very liberal feminism. I was empowered. I was choosing that man. He’s the alpha. If he picks me, that makes me alpha too. An older man, leader of the gang, got a car, flashes his cash. Winning.
I remember from this point in very hazey details. Fractured memories that don’t quite connect. I remember the toilet being discussed as a possible place for an interaction. I know in my mind my entrance to the toilet would have been a necking sesh, bit of touching and rubbing then take me home to bed- where I probably in all honesty would have consented to sex with him. Like they do in the movies. Like Sex and the City.
That is not what happened.
I was completely shitfaced by this point. I must have entered the toilet of my own accord because it’s the only explanation. To carry me in in full view of the pub wouldn’t happen. But we both managed to enter the toilet unchallenged. After I’d been bragging to the lovely camp, bar man that I had “copped off.”
I don’t remember going in there. Once in there, I must have become unconscious. Unaware of my surroundings. Not sensory aware of the sensation of touch. Not in the capacity to make a fully informed, mutual sexual experience. My understanding mind was not receiving the events around me. I do not recall any kind of conversation that occurred. I have no memory.
Did I fall? Did I go to vomit in the toilet and slouch down to the floor in a drunken stupor. Did I lie down because could no longer stand? Bambi-legged through drink?
Just for arguments sake, say I did lay down in a way that would have appeared to be consenting to sex with him. What happened next I did not and would not have consented to. Even now as an adult women.
Anal penetration is something that is not in my sexually accepted repertoire. It was not an option. My choice is, was and always has been NO to that sexual practice. Certainly not while unconscious. Not on the floor of a toilet. Not without lubrication. Not with a man I’d just met. NOT AS A CHILD. Being forcefully bent in half, on my back to gain access to my anus.
If I couldn’t raise my own legs to be penetrated, was it consent?
The only flash of memory I have in that toilet is the vision of the light on the ceiling, through hazey eyes. It lasts only a few seconds. I’m saying ow as he tore my anus on insertion of what felt like a penis. Back to unconscious.
Mr SuperDream was absolutely disgusted when he found out what happened to me 2 months after we drifted apart. He actually knew the rapist from when he was younger. Not long after he found out, the police contacted me questioning me about a vicious assault upon my rapist. I don’t know if them two scenarios are intertwined. It did give me a fleeting moment of justice at least, whoever’s hands harmed the man who destroyed the young girl I was. It didn’t heal me.
Mr Stalker who introduced me to my rapist, came to see me afterwards trying to pour out affection to soothe my pain. Trying to hug me and comfort me. I recoiled when touched. I knew I’d be spending any future time at school sharing the space with him. My mind wanted to scream at him to get the fuck out of my life you creepy fucker. But if I wanted to get my qualifications, I needed to be civil. KIND. I hadn’t quite figured out/admitted to myself that he was connected. Convenient for me to be in such a fragile state being offered such a kind, knight in shining armour, to come make me feel like everything was going to be alright. You fucking left me there like an injured deer to the prowling lions. Hero my arse!
He did stand before me at one point and assure me that Mr First would never want me. He didn’t say the words, but his eyes said “now you’re damaged.”
I forget the context of the conversation or whether this was the same occasion as before but he said it when I was at my front door, while I was trying to politely get him to leave my mum’s house. One last stab at the fragile self esteem before he was booted? After being rejected again.
Within a month of returning to school, I was sitting across a table in a Frankie and Bennys restaurant behind school, sharing the oversized romantic ice cream with Mr First. Very Hollywood! We shared our first kiss. Very in your face Mr Stalker .
I have no recollection of Mr Stalker coming near me much after that. If he upset me now, I had someone to knock him out. His behaviour was aggressive in school at times. Having mantrums at the lockers, etc He was sportsy so I didn’t spend any time there, but heard stories about outbursts and general dickheadery. He was noted by most to keep your distance.
Mr First turned out to be my first love. We were best mates. Spent all our time on the phone or with each other. We flew the nest together after our rows brought bad attention at his mum’s and he was banned from my mum’s house. We had our own house within a year or 2. We got a dog! Happy Families 😊
Or was it?
He was the first man who financially abused me.
He was the first man to raise his hand to me.
He was the first man that gave me the fear and feelings of isolation to leave my only option for rescue being ring the police.
He took no care of me, even though it was my wages affording him his home for 2 years. Giving only £20 a week contribution of his measly apprentice wage. Never helped around the house. The worst behaviour he exposed me to was he never adjust his sexual expectations when factoring in he was the only person I’d slept with since my rape. Pornographic influences throughout his expectations. I watched porn with him. Never anal. I needed the love. I gave him what he asked for even when it hurt my pride, dignity and self respect.
Did I want cum on my face? No. Not really. Did I want to be “willy slapped” while I mindlessly watched TV? No. Did I want to give constant blow jobs when he’d never paid any attention to make me climax? No. Not one bit. If I heard him wash his nob in the sink before bed I knew what was coming. Such a gentleman “but I’ve washed me bob for you!” Romantic.
It was around this time I found great relief in cocaine. When the relationship finally came to an end, I was in full addiction, I’d cheated on Mr First with a male friend I’d grew up with. I trusted him. Sex = cuddles. I knew me and Mr First were done. I was left with the house, a dog, in debt and a surprise pregnancy I had I now had to deal with.
I wasn’t strong enough to be a mother. I had a body polluted with cocaine. I was mentally broken. Utterly broken. I was 20 years old when I had my first abortion.
My love for that child still haunts me, and the others. I owe that child my tears. Every year I honour the memory with a candle. I will forever ask for forgiveness, yet I know the life I would have provided would have caused them great pain and I couldn’t do that to them.