My Rapist was my Boyfriend

There have been a number of conversations lately regarding consent. After reading this article by Tracy Clark-Flory about safewords being ignored, I decided it was time I talked about my own experience.

TRIGGER WARNING: Rape

When I was 23, I was raped.

It took me a long time to realise what happened was in fact rape. I had thought just acknowledging it would be enough to come to terms with what happened, and it did, for a short time. I hope by talking about it now, it will give me some closure, and perhaps stop the same thing from happening to at least one other person.

I was young, inexperienced, naïve and in my first BDSM relationship. French was my Master, and I was his submissive. I was completely infatuated with him, and trusted him completely. I couldn’t talk to anyone else about the relationship, because I was French’s secret mistress, and he didn’t want it getting back to his partner. I got it in my head that because they were having problems, he would leave her for me, and to help that happen, I would do anything to please him.

One night French sent me a text to say he was coming round. I was to meet him at the door completely naked, or we would have anal sex (which we had not had together up until that point, because I was not ready, and had told him so, repeatedly). That was the whole extent of the negotiation. No discussion of safewords, hard limits, or anything else. I didn’t think I would ever never a safeword. Why would I? I (thought I) was in love with French, and trusted him completely. He would never force me to do anything I didn’t want to do. Would he?

I was living in a flat by myself at this point. So I had no safety back up, someone to help me make sure nothing went wrong. Again, I didn’t think I would need to.

I sat on the couch, naked under my bathrobe, eagerly awaiting French’s arrival. He knocked, I disrobed, and opened the door. I thought (mistakenly) that this would show him that I truly had no desire to engage in any anal sex with him that night.

French led me to my bedroom. Some foreplay ensued. He grabbed a condom, put it on. Then it happened. He flipped me over onto my front and pinned me down. I tried to get away, while saying “No! I don’t want to!” He ignored my pleas, even though consensual non-consent was not part of our dynamic (I didn’t even know such a thing existed). There was no preparation, no lube. I stopped struggling, and lay there silently, trying to move into a position where maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much, just wanting it to be over.

When he was finished, I felt numb, unsure what had just happened. Rape never even crossed my mind, after all, he was my boyfriend. Boyfriends don’t rape their girlfriends.

I ignored whatever I was feeling. Dirty. Used. After putting my bathrobe back on, I joined French on the couch, and we watched Project Runway together. And he went home.

A couple of weeks later, French and I parted ways. I had met J, and, after falling for him completely (for real this time), wanted to be exclusive.

About two years later, French got in contact with me again. By this point I had realised the true extent of what had happened, and I told him as such. He sheepishly said he didn’t realise, and had just gotten caught up in the moment. I believe that was his “apology.” I have not talked to him since, and have no desire too.

I know now that I, in no way, deserved what happened to me. I had followed the rules, and he had taken advantage of my innocence.

I don’t regret what happened though, it has helped make me who I am today, and I’m pretty ok with that person.

When a Scene Goes Wrong

It can happen to anyone.

I highly recommend everyone who has ever partaken in a scene, or plans to in the future, read this account of a public rope suspension that goes wrong.

Midori has 20 years of experience. The fifth comment at the end of the post is Mistress Tokyo‘s account of what happened (she was the bottom in the scene, and has over a decade of experience). They are both professionals, and that is more telling than anything that this could happen to anyone.

We are only human, and this shows no matter how experienced you are, how many workshops you attend, mistake can still be made, and accidents happen. “We do not ever know how we will react to an event until it happens” (seventh comment on post, Gray Dancer, kink educator).

This situation is not only a hypothetical, not an “if it happens”, but a “when it happens”. The more scenes you do, the bigger chance there is that something will go wrong. We need to become more aware of this possibility, so we can be more prepared when something does go wrong. It doesn’t matter how many times you say “That won’t happen to me”, that’s not a vaccine to prevent it from happening.

Frankly, not being able to admit that there’s the possibility of an accident happening would not make you a safe scene partner. That would be like saying you/your bottom doesn’t need a safeword, or that aftercare is not important.

h/t Kitty, PurrVersatility

You’re Doing it Wrong

Dan Savage. His advice column can certainly be polarizing sometimes. However, I find his response to the following question to be spot on, and really something that you could apply to many different areas of your life (sea green = question; magenta = my note):

I’m into BDSM and my safe word is “safe word.” It’s short, memorable, and unmistakable in its intent. Someone recently told me that “any serious BDSM player” would laugh me out of the community if I used that. Is she right? Is she just being a dickhead? Should I have to say something silly like “grapefruit” in order to get my point across?

Grapefruits Aren’t Good

I may not be the best person to adjudicate this dispute, GAG, as my safe word is “popcorn.” (And, yes, I cross my arms over my chest when I use it, as demonstrated here: tinyurl.com/safewordpopcorn. FAE NOTE: Unfortunately this video is only available in the US.) But in my opinion, the woman who informed you that you would be laughed out of “the community” for your choice of safe word is being a huge dickhead. In fact, it sounds like she has a bad case of You’re Doing It Wrong.

YDIW is a social-skills disorder that members of the BDSM community are at particular risk of acquiring. (Others at heightened risk: religious conservatives, sports fans, advice columnists.) BDSMers with YDIW feel they have a right to inform other BDSMers that they’re doing it wrong—whatever it might be—even if the “it” being done wrong poses no risk to the YDIW sufferer or anyone else.

BDSM players should speak up, of course, when they witness other BDSMers doing something dangerously wrong. BDSMers who observe dangerous or nonconsensual play at public parties have a responsibility to speak the fuck up before someone is seriously injured. The secondary, tertiary, and quaternary goals of creating a BDSM community were the sharing of skills, the promotion of good play practices, and the holding of dangerous or malicious players to account, respectively. (The primary goal? Getting BDSMers laid.) But some BDSMers confuse a responsibility to speak up when they witness dangerous play for an invitation to critique other people’s kinks, sexual interests, preferred fetish roles, safe words, etc.

YDIW in BDSMers—and social conservatives—can be treated and cured through the application of “NO ONE GIVES A FUCK WHAT YOU THINK, ASSHOLE.” It should be applied liberally whenever YDIW flares up.

Savage Love

(c) All rights reserved by suivusev