So fifteen years ago, a friend of mine (Scott) invited me to hang out with him and another of his friends, a flamboyantly gay man named Chris (I'm not changing names. Fuck these people).We went to the local gay bar, which I usually tried to avoid. Toxic masculinity is a thing with gay men, and this bar had a disproportionate amount of it. One can only take so much sexual harassment when one is standing at a urinal before figuring that it's best to just avoid the place.
Chris had been hitting on me all night, and I kept gently reminding him that he was barking up entirely the wrong tree. He was also getting increasingly drunk as the night went on. If I had my car there, I would have left before anything had happened. I should have called a cab, but I often forget that my town has cabs. Anyhow, I went to the bathroom to have a piss, and Chris followed shortly after. He commented on my dick and pleaded with me to let him suck it. I kept saying no, but he managed to get in front of me after I had finished. I hadn't had a chance to put my dick away, and I was fumbling at this point because I knew what was going to happen. He got on his knees and started trying to blow me, all while I'm protesting that I'm not into guys at all and do not want to get sucked off by one. He stopped when he heard someone coming into the bathroom, and I hurredly put myself away and went back out. I spent the rest of the night on the patio, chain smoking my cigarettes and only going in to get more drinks. I was pretty wasted by the time the bar called last call. Chris kept on trying to make out with me in the car, which I was not into. I made an excuse that I had to work the next day (which was a lie) and asked to be dropped off a few streets over from where I actually lived. I stumbled home, took a shower, and passed out in my bed.
I spent 15 years rationalizing the experience, figuring that it wasn't really sexual assault because I didn't defend myself. I could have cracked Chris's skull on the urinal. I could have stabbed him with the knife I always kept in my pocket. There were hundreds of things I told myself I could have done differently, all of them violent and thus out of character for me. I would say that at least I have conclusively proven to myself that I am entirely attracted to women, so I will never have moments where I question my sexuality.
I went back to that bar a few times because I had queer friends who saw it as a safe space. I found it difficult to agree with them, but I still went. I would refuse to use the men's restroom, though. If a woman commented on my using the ladies' room, I would say that I had my fill of sexual harassment while I was taking a piss. I just wanted to empty my bladder without someone commenting on the size and shape of my penis. I'd usually ask a lesbian friend to accompany me to the bathroom just so that I didn't appear creepy. Every time I saw Chris, I would find a reason to turn away and go somewhere else without being obvious about it. I still had to hang out with Scott, because no one else knew what had happened. Not even Scott knew the full extent, but I still blamed him for not backing me up at all when I was visibly uncomfortable.
I have difficulty considering myself a survivor, because I don't think my experience was as horrific as others. The only scar that I thought I could really identify is an inability to really enjoy receiving oral sex. Talking about it, though... It's making me realize that there's something deeper. I'm holding back tears as I type this, and I feel dirty all over. My first sexual experience was one I didn't consent to. Looking back on my life, I wonder how that affected my ability to establish romantic relationships with women. I wonder if that still affects my ability to establish a relationship. I also kick myself for not saying anything to my friends at the time, even at the risk of starting drama and forcing them to choose sides.
I have decided to start sharing my story for several reasons. Women who have experienced this trauma need to know that they aren't alone, and it isn't just women who understand what they're going through on a deep and personal level. Men who are survivors need to start speaking out. Maybe if enough of us do, we can redefine masculinity into something less toxic. I am not less of a man because I am a survivor, and neither is any other man who has survived sexual assault.
I originally posted my story on Reddit, at /r/TrollXChromosomes. The women there are fantastic, and I encourage anyone who has a similar story to tell to share it there. I have copied, pasted, and edited it here as I gradually become comfortable speaking publicly about my experience. I'm doing as well as one can after fifteen years of denial suddenly comes crashing down. I'm still processing what happened, and I'm feeling kind of numb about it right now. I will post updates when I am able, but right now I'm okay. I'm going to call RAINN and find out what I can do to expedite the healing process when I am able to. Right now, I just need to make it through this week.
