“Did you say no?”
I finally worked up the courage to tell an ex-lover of mine about a certain sexual impropriety he had a habit of committing against me. For some reason he only initiated sex when I was asleep, and then I’d wake up, getting fucked, but not particularly enjoying it or interested in it because he only did it when he was coming off drugs and needed to cum in order to calm down enough to go to sleep. It sucked. Sure, I probably should have said something sooner, but I’m constantly working on myself, so talking about it a year later is the best I can do right now.
Of course he wants to know if I said no. If I tried to push him off me. If I told him to stop. He wants to know if I’m telling people he raped me. He wants to know if I think he’s a rapist.
But it’s more complex than that. Yes, I could have said ‘no.’ Yes, I should have told him to stop. But I didn’t. Because even then, I knew that it would be easier for both of us if I kept it to myself, if I kept my hurt feelings to myself, like the good little Catholic girl I am. I couldn’t even imagine saying ‘no.’ Because as soon as I said ‘no,’ I would have had to deal with either one of two possibilities: him not stopping or him stopping. If I said ‘no’ and he didn’t stop, then, yes, he would be a rapist, and I would have had to deal with the emotional burden of telling him he’s a rapist. If I said ‘no’ and he did stop, then he would have been a rapist, but with some gray area to it. It was easier for me to not say anything and not have to deal with the emotional pitfalls of accusing him of rape.
Instead, I didn’t say ‘no,’ and I waited a year to talk about it, and, no, he’s not a rapist. But he is the type of guy who likes to fuck unconscious women, and that is its own kind of gross.