By: Cathy Huang

Trigger warning: sexual assault

I told you he wouldn’t stop and you agreed that it was fucked up. But then I told you I went back and you said you told me not to. You said they were drunk. I told you how scared I had been and you said you didn’t think he was actually a bad guy. You said you weren’t going to pick sides. You said your opinion wasn’t somehow less valid because you were a guy. But it is.

He forced himself on me and I went along with it. He never asked if it was okay to wake me up by kissing my neck even though we hardly knew each other. But it was all right at first and it had been a while, so I let it happen.

But then I changed my mind. All of a sudden his fingers were in me and on me and his lips were on my lips, my neck, my body and I didn’t want that anymore.

I told him no. I told him no over and over. He didn’t listen. He thought I was being coy. Or maybe he thought he could change my mind. “You’re not going to change my mind,” I told him. I wasn’t playing hard to get.

I pushed against his body, his wandering hands. His forceful hands. I told him no and that should’ve been enough. I said I didn’t think it was a good idea and it would just make things awkward. He kept going.

I tried to be nice. I didn’t raise my voice or resist him too much. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. But soon it got to be too much so I finally pushed him off. I pushed him hard. And I felt guilty for not doing it sooner.

He asked me what was wrong and I just said, “it’s too weird.” I should have asked him why he didn’t stop when I said no the first time, or the second time, or the third time.

Because what if I hadn’t said no? What if I had just let him keep going while I laid there because I was too afraid to move? He would never have asked if it was okay to continue if he wouldn’t even stop when I told him to. I walked home because I didn’t want to be in a car alone with him. Is it worse if he didn’t know what he did wrong or if he did?

I could have been one of them. One of those girls. The ones you hear about on the news, but rarely. The ones that get sympathetically written about in Rolling Stone, only for the article to be retracted because some frat guys claimed it was a lie. The girls that have to prove themselves to other people over and over again while they purse their lips at you and ask if you made it clear to him that you didn’t want to do anything. You shrink back and mumble a “no” because you were too scared. They tsk and raise their judgemental eyebrows and ask what you were wearing. What YOU were wearing when someone took advantage of you and completely disregarded your boundaries. What you were WEARING even though nothing I wear means I’m asking to get raped.

I’m tired of having to carefully decide who I talk to, and immediately regretting it when I trust the wrong person.

You said your opinion wasn’t somehow less valid because you were a guy. But it is. You don’t know what it’s like to be scared walking home alone. So you always make sure you have a buddy, preferably a male one. You don’t know how it feels to hear someone honk at you from a passing car and yell, “damn!” Or to hear it two inches from your ear as they pass by behind you. You don’t go to the club only to have half the guys in there try to snake their arms around you without asking you first. They don’t keep asking you to dance thinking you’ll change your mind and say yes just because they said please. No means no, asshole. I shouldn’t have to say it more than once. Your friends don’t tell you to be careful of how much you drink and to never put your cup down. You hardly have to worry about being drugged and date raped. And you don’t have to worry about someone you know and trust taking advantage of you.

You can’t feel the inequality women experience every day because you’ve never been a woman. Male privilege is very real, and maybe instead of arguing that not all men are like that, you should start thinking about why things are the way they are.

No one, female or male, should have to apologize for being raped.