This is graphic. I’m sorry. Names have been changed.

Recently, I met a guy. And, for the first time in 19 years of life, he was interested in me. Now, I’m not saying I have low self-esteem, but it really gets a young, teenaged girl down when no one shows an interest in dating her.
Meeting this guy was a huge step for me. We talked for hours, laughed, held hands, and then I had my first kiss. On the way home I couldn’t believe this was happening to me, and I was so very happy.

This guy could be my future.

My first boyfriend.

We agreed to see each other briefly after he got off work two days later, but we’d texted like crazy before that. He’d say such cute stuff, like “You have beautiful eyes”, “Sweet dreams, dear”, and “I really like you a lot”. I was completely sucked in. It was when I received the text “I miss you a lot already. I’m tired… can I sleep next to you?? I mean, since we’re actually dating I don’t mind showing you my stupid side” that I got a little weirded out.

We’re ‘dating’?? I’m not good at flirting. No one has flirted with me so blatantly before. I didn’t know what to say.

“Sure lol XD” ended up being my reply.

To which he responded: “Can I hold you from behind??”

Mayb e you think it’s sweet. I was starting to get a little creeped out. I wormed my way out of answering it by saying “How are you going to do that from so far away??” I laughed it off, and a few texts later he sent me the message, “I really wanna make out with you.”

I googled “When a Man Moves too Fast” immediately, and I ignored all the advice given me. Who knew, maybe I was just freaking out?? But after that message, I told him as politely as I could that I thought we should slow down a bit; I’d only met him once, after all, and I didn’t know him that well.

So, that day after he got off work, he came over to see me. He met my best friends (who are dating and totally in love, not that it’s applicable), and they said they really liked him. We sat in my room and held hands when they weren’t looking. But at some point I was starting to wonder if I liked him as much as I thought.

We were running low on conversation, and when he said he had to leave, I was honestly a little relieved. But I was convinced was just scared because I’d never had to make a choice if I wanted to date a guy or not. We had plans for the next day to see each other, and I decided that I’d ask him if he thought we were ‘dating’ then, because he’d hadn’t asked if it was okay with me or anything.

Thursday, one week ago, arrived. He came over, and we still hadn’t decided what to do. Finally we agreed on watching a movie.

My first mistake was letting him sit with me on my bed.

A note to those who have never watched a movie with a man that likes you: unless you’re ready for some action, don’t. They don’t want to watch the movie. He started kissing me; I’d expected as much. It counted as my first real make-out session, but I was feeling really strange by the time this rolled around. We had nothing to talk about. I’d realized that he was moving much too quickly for my tastes, but when you’re kissing someone it actually makes you insane. Literally. A chemical reaction starts and you can’t think straight.

It’s the same as being drunk.

My second mistake was going to close the door.

I was worried my friend was going to walk past and see us kissing, and I wanted that privacy, so the door was shut. It was when his hand went up my shirt that I realized I didn’t know this man at all. This person was a total stranger, I’d only met him three times, and his hand was up my shirt.

I’d be lying if I said I was scared. I was only focused. Like I said, kissing makes you crazy. At this point, I didn’t know how to tell him I wanted to stop. This was getting much too intimate for a strange guy I barely knew, and I didn’t know how he’d react if I said “We need to slow down.” (Which I’d already said before via message.)

He never asked for consent. I never gave it.

(I’m sorry, this is graphic.)

He entered me without saying he was going to. F***, he didn’t even take off my underware. I hadn’t realized he moved it aside until it was too late. He also wasn’t wearing a condom, and he finished inside me.

Honestly, frankly, and seriously, I didn’t say no, I didn’t do anything to stop him, and I let him have s** with me, but the more I thought about it, the more it felt like r***.

I immediately felt dirty. There’s nothing wrong with s** or wanting to be intimate with someone you like or love, but the thing was, I had decided I didn’t even like him that much and didn’t want to hurt his feelings. This makes me a b****, yes, especially since I had the gall to feel violated.

Whe n he was done, he smiled at me and said softly, “I love you.”

Oh, f***.

We went on a walk and he held my hand the whole way. I was holding back tears the whole time. I wasn’t even sure it had actually happened. When we got back to my house I went to my friend’s room immediately. I didn’t want to be alone with him. Thank God, she realized I was distressed and said we looked really bored. I jumped ont he chance to send him home, saying we should see each other again when we had something to do.

He kissed me before he left.

I tried lying to my friend about what had happened because I was ashamed of myself, but it wasn’t something I could keep secret. I told her and she didn’t believe me.

“You did not have s**,” she said.

“We did.”

“You did not.”

“We did. We really did.”

I cried the rest of the day, and my dear friend held me. When I told her about the lack of condom the the matter of the potential baby or STD on the way, she drove me to the store to buy a Plan B. I felt like s***. I kept thinking that I shouldn’t have closed the door, I should have backed out when he was showing too much affection, I should have told him it was my first time and I didn’t really want to have s**, I should have said no, I should have done this and that…

I could have said no, but I didn’t.

I could have stopped him, but I didn’t.

Doesn’t that make it my fault??

When I confided in another friend and told her what happened, she whipped me into shape. “Beth,” she said, “You do realize you were raped, right??”

I’d thought about it. I’d entertained the idea. But what happened was my fault, so it couldn’t have been r***, because I didn’t say no.

“Beth, consent is mandatory. It has to be a clear YES from both parties, and you didn’t say a thing. Not speaking up is not a ‘yes’ by default.”

I said, “Okay, there wasn’t any communication. But it’s still my fault, because I closed the door and I didn’t stop him.”

“That was you wanting privacy while you kissed,” she said. “You didn’t stop him because it seems you didn’t know he was going to take it that far, and you have a problem where you feel obligated to follow through with things that start.”

I tried to argue, and she interrupted.

“Okay, Beth: did you want to have s** with him??”

“No,&q uot; I said.

“Did you feel unable to stop him once it started??”

“Yes.& quot;

“W ere you pressured into participating??”

“I don’t know…”

“Did you think that, since he’d told you he liked you and that you had beautiful eyes and that he missed you all the time that you were obligated to keep quiet and follow though with whatever he wanted??”

I thought about it. I really did. I cried some more and the answer was “Yes”.

My friend said, “Beth, sweetie, I’m so sorry this happened to you, but you have to understand two very important things.”

“W hat two thing??” I asked.

“You were raped,” she said. And then she finished, “and it wasn’t your fault.”

It’s been a week. Talking to my friends had helped me come to terms with what happened. Sometimes I still doubt that what happened to me was actual r***, because the media portrays it as something that is only ever violent and exponentially obvious. I’m still unsure if the law would view it as a s***** crime, because of the complicated circumstances.

But the more I think about it, and the more love I realize I have from my friends, the more assured I am that it truly wasn’t my fault. I may have closed the door, and I may have not spoken up, but that doesn’t make the lack of consent any less of a case of r***.

This is big. I’m really young, and it’s something I never thought I’d go through. I’m going to meet many more people who will like me in the future, and if it goes somewhere I’ll have to tell them this. But I mind less and less.

There are no victims here: only survivors.

R*** is never the survivor’s fault.

Never.

Ev en though I’ve told my friends that I know there is no fault on my part, I’m having a hard time believing it. The wound is still very fresh, and I hope I heal quickly.

I don’t want to feel at fault. I want to feel free. Thank God I have people around me that love me.

Thank you.

You mean the world to me.