When I was 19, I got so drunk at a party that I passed out. I woke up in the middle of being raped. When I started to scream, he covered my mouth. I was confused, scared, a virgin, and thanks to TV and movies, I was pretty sure that he would murder me after he was done. All I could think of was how I wanted to see my little brother again, so I just lay there, with tears streaming down my face, waiting for it to end. When he finally left to get a cigarette, I snuck out to get help, hid in the bathroom with my friends, and cried. I'll call him "R" for the rest of this article. It stands for rapist and kind of reminds of a pirate, and pirates are funny.

Look, this is a rough topic. I'm gonna take the levity where I can find it, okay?

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Like from this pirate Pomeranian.

Long story short: rape blows, dudes. I totally do not recommend it. But after I pressed charges and took my experience to court, it became painfully obvious why the vast majority of women don't. Bringing this criminal to justice was, in a lot of ways, worse than the actual crime. Because it turns out ...

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