Trying to define a long-ago event that needs to be processed
Hello, all...I'd never thought of myself as a survivor and am still not certain that's what I am...I only know that I had an experience over 35 years ago that I brushed off at the time, but it seems to be coming up to be dealt with. And because I'm not quite sure how to define it, I don't know how to proceed. Maybe some of you, being outside of it, can shed some light on what happened so I can start making sense of it.
When I was 19, I accepted a date from a man...who was 36. I wasn't even completely out yet and it didn't occur to me that he was essentially twice my age. And back then...if someone showed an interest in me, that was enough for the most part as long as there was some sort of attraction for me. I didn't learn to be more picky until later.
We were supposed to go to dinner, with me meeting him at his apartment first. Turned out, he offered himself as the main course - he wanted to use the bathroom before we left, but when he came out he was naked and hard. Again, I was pretty naïve then. He wanted to have sex, I wanted him to like me. So I had sex with him. The key word here is that I consented.
I don't remember a whole lot - except that he wanted to fuck me. I was a virgin, at least anally - I certainly hadn't had much experience orally, either, at that point. I can't recall whether it hurt or not - what has stayed with me is me lying on my back while he was doing it, the radio blaring, me wishing it was over. I'm pretty sure I wanted to tell him to stop. I also tried to remind myself, with the limited knowledge I had then, that it wasn't supposed to feel good the first time. Just part and parcel, right? At least he used a condom; at least I'm pretty sure he did.
I bled for two days afterwards. And given this was the '80s, when what was considered assault was different and rapists were being romanticized on soap operas...well, I ended up chalking it up to a bad experience and burying it, except for the part that had me telling the next guy who fucked me a few years later to go easier on me. I didn't want to bleed again, nosiree! A friend who I described things to years later suggested I'd been raped; from what I told him, he figured my not-date hadn't used any lube, hence the bleeding. I certainly don't remember us doing any "prep work," as I would know to do now. He must have pretty much just put it in. It does strike me in retrospect that he wasn't very concerned about my comfort or pleasure.
I've always tended to lean toward the dramatic, but in the ensuing years I've often wondered, *was* I raped? I feel like no, because I gave my consent. But then, I wanted him off me and couldn't bring myself to say anything. Also, there are 3 songs I remember from the radio that night that I still can't listen to - I have walked out of stores when they've come on, or I've forced myself to stay all the while feeling like I wanted to run out. Does that indicate assault, then, if it wasn't rape? Would that suggest trauma? Or was it really just the bad experience I told myself it was back then?
Over the decades, I really hadn't given this much thought. I had almost-relationships and two major relationships, and I freely told partners about this experience without feeling particularly damaged by it.
In the present, I've been single 10 years, and I've been feeling an increased sense of trepidation about meeting someone new. I've never been a hookup guy, anyway, though in my youthful and twisted search for love I certainly accepted sex from some guys I barely knew when what I really wanted was affection. But the idea of weeding through guys today, most of whom just want sex - and the aggressiveness so many of them present with - has started to scare the hell out of me. I've had enough 12-Step programs and therapy over the years to realize that my unfortunate devirginizing is something that I've never processed. It seems to have floated up for a visit, and I feel like I shouldn't let it sink to the bottom again...
...but again, I don't even know how to define what happened. Or is that even important? Is it just enough that I didn't enjoy myself and that I bled afterwards? The fact that these songs still bother me would seem to point to some kind of PTSD. I just feel like, if I could figure out what to call what happened that night, it might point me in the direction of learning how to heal from it. I haven't had much luck with Ye Olde Google; there are too many gray areas in my episode for the general results that come up. And, as I can't really afford therapy right now, a sex therapist I'm friends with on Facebook suggested communicating here with you guys...so here I am.
I almost feel silly because so many of you have been through so much worse. Who am I to lament one episode from 37 years ago (though I did have some other ordeals which I'm sure left marks, including having had a pervy stepfather who wasn't very discreet about arguing about sex with my mother with me in earshot)? Of course, I also know that my experiences and feelings are my own, and equally valid - in that case, why not share them here? Any input any of you might have could help me determine next steps in healing from...whatever that was. Though I suppose that the very act of opening this up on here is a next step all unto itself.
Thank you, and peace be with all of you.
When I was 19, I accepted a date from a man...who was 36. I wasn't even completely out yet and it didn't occur to me that he was essentially twice my age. And back then...if someone showed an interest in me, that was enough for the most part as long as there was some sort of attraction for me. I didn't learn to be more picky until later.
We were supposed to go to dinner, with me meeting him at his apartment first. Turned out, he offered himself as the main course - he wanted to use the bathroom before we left, but when he came out he was naked and hard. Again, I was pretty naïve then. He wanted to have sex, I wanted him to like me. So I had sex with him. The key word here is that I consented.
I don't remember a whole lot - except that he wanted to fuck me. I was a virgin, at least anally - I certainly hadn't had much experience orally, either, at that point. I can't recall whether it hurt or not - what has stayed with me is me lying on my back while he was doing it, the radio blaring, me wishing it was over. I'm pretty sure I wanted to tell him to stop. I also tried to remind myself, with the limited knowledge I had then, that it wasn't supposed to feel good the first time. Just part and parcel, right? At least he used a condom; at least I'm pretty sure he did.
I bled for two days afterwards. And given this was the '80s, when what was considered assault was different and rapists were being romanticized on soap operas...well, I ended up chalking it up to a bad experience and burying it, except for the part that had me telling the next guy who fucked me a few years later to go easier on me. I didn't want to bleed again, nosiree! A friend who I described things to years later suggested I'd been raped; from what I told him, he figured my not-date hadn't used any lube, hence the bleeding. I certainly don't remember us doing any "prep work," as I would know to do now. He must have pretty much just put it in. It does strike me in retrospect that he wasn't very concerned about my comfort or pleasure.
I've always tended to lean toward the dramatic, but in the ensuing years I've often wondered, *was* I raped? I feel like no, because I gave my consent. But then, I wanted him off me and couldn't bring myself to say anything. Also, there are 3 songs I remember from the radio that night that I still can't listen to - I have walked out of stores when they've come on, or I've forced myself to stay all the while feeling like I wanted to run out. Does that indicate assault, then, if it wasn't rape? Would that suggest trauma? Or was it really just the bad experience I told myself it was back then?
Over the decades, I really hadn't given this much thought. I had almost-relationships and two major relationships, and I freely told partners about this experience without feeling particularly damaged by it.
In the present, I've been single 10 years, and I've been feeling an increased sense of trepidation about meeting someone new. I've never been a hookup guy, anyway, though in my youthful and twisted search for love I certainly accepted sex from some guys I barely knew when what I really wanted was affection. But the idea of weeding through guys today, most of whom just want sex - and the aggressiveness so many of them present with - has started to scare the hell out of me. I've had enough 12-Step programs and therapy over the years to realize that my unfortunate devirginizing is something that I've never processed. It seems to have floated up for a visit, and I feel like I shouldn't let it sink to the bottom again...
...but again, I don't even know how to define what happened. Or is that even important? Is it just enough that I didn't enjoy myself and that I bled afterwards? The fact that these songs still bother me would seem to point to some kind of PTSD. I just feel like, if I could figure out what to call what happened that night, it might point me in the direction of learning how to heal from it. I haven't had much luck with Ye Olde Google; there are too many gray areas in my episode for the general results that come up. And, as I can't really afford therapy right now, a sex therapist I'm friends with on Facebook suggested communicating here with you guys...so here I am.
I almost feel silly because so many of you have been through so much worse. Who am I to lament one episode from 37 years ago (though I did have some other ordeals which I'm sure left marks, including having had a pervy stepfather who wasn't very discreet about arguing about sex with my mother with me in earshot)? Of course, I also know that my experiences and feelings are my own, and equally valid - in that case, why not share them here? Any input any of you might have could help me determine next steps in healing from...whatever that was. Though I suppose that the very act of opening this up on here is a next step all unto itself.
Thank you, and peace be with all of you.
