Not all men teach us a lesson when they’re done with us. Some are just fun for a while and then we move on with a few fond memories and another story to tell. Some teach us about ourselves, some teach us about trust and honesty, and some teach us about sex. But then there are those that so many women meet that teach us something much scarier. They teach us about trusting our instincts and about the danger of overly charming men. They teach us to question ourselves, to second guess every action, and to protect our sexual freedom. I went over 30 years of my life without ever encountering one of these men, until I met Jeff.
Jeff pursued me on instagram after following me and liking my posts for months. He was cute, light brown hair and dark eyes, a few years younger than I was but talked like a man who knew what he was doing. He lived in Aguora Hills or Thousand Oaks or somewhere way up in the valley that I was too lazy to drive to, so I didn’t really know if we’d ever wind up meeting. I liked talking to Jeff; we would talk about the thirsty guys in the comments on my instagram posts, my hilarious date stories, his date stories, and everything in between. We developed a comfortable and flirtatious friendship via text message, which I resisted even engaging in for at least a couple of weeks. It’s not so much that I play hard to get, but I’m a naturally guarded person and when I start to develop some sort of friendship (or more) with someone I truly take my time in making sure I want to give them access to my life. I like to think I’m a good judge of character, but when a guy is as charming and attractive as Jeff was, even I let my guard down.
After a month or so of talking and flirting, I finally agreed to hang out with Jeff. I very rarely would allow a man I’d never met to come to my place, but I felt comfortable with him and I have a taser. We’d had conversations about how men who message me are always expecting something, and I even told him about a time when a guy I met up with got a little too handsy and he acted appalled that someone would behave that way. He seemed to understand where I was coming from, even talked about how he had sisters and how he was very protective of them. I felt comfortable inviting him over because I thought I knew him at this point. I mean, come on, a guy with sisters he’s close to should be pretty safe, right? I was very clear with Jeff that even though I was letting him come over I was not guaranteeing anything physical with him and not to expect sex or anything. I know what kind of image I put out there, and as much as I love sex, I also still feel the need to make it clear that I don’t owe anyone sex. No one does. He said he understood and he was looking forward to getting to know me.
Yeah, sure he was.
Jeff showed up and was hotter in person. At least a foot taller than I was, a gorgeous smile and a typical southern California boy tan. He greeted me with a hug and I poured us each a glass of wine and we talked for a few minutes in my kitchen. He was so cute. I liked the way he looked at me and the way he smirked when he talked. I was still in the process of moving into my place so my living and dining area was completely empty, no furniture yet, and my roommate was asleep so I suggested that we hang out in my bedroom, the only room with furniture at the moment. He sat on the end of my bed and I walked around it and sat on the far corner of it from him. We sipped our wine, talked and joked for a little while and I was genuinely having a good time. That
didn’t last long though. We talked for maybe 5 minutes more before Jeff lunged forward and his tongue was down my throat. It kind of blindsided me and I pulled back and asked him to slow down. I’d never really experienced this before. Why wasn’t I into this? He was hot, I liked him, but for some reason I was suddenly uneasy and turned off. He slowed down and kissed me more gently then we started talking again…for a little while. I barely made it through one glass of wine before he was all over me, on top of me. I did not want this. I resisted for a bit, asking him to stop and slow down a couple of times before I just kind of said whatever and began unenthusiastically kissing him back. Why did I give in? I have never had a problem pulling away or not kissing back when I wasn’t interested. So why did I just let him kiss me? I wasn’t enjoying any of this. I’m always the first woman to tell others that you can say no, that you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But here I was just giving in. I guess I felt like I owed him for driving all the way to Culver City to see me, or something. Maybe I felt obligated to at least kiss him because after all, I’d flirted with him, I’d invited him over. Everything in me knows that I did not owe him even the privilege of touching me, but for whatever reason, whatever deep, ingrained insecurity about feeling obligated to a man I apparently had, I passively kissed back. Maybe I thought that if I started kissing back I would begin to enjoy it and it would be okay. Maybe I thought he would be less aggressive if he knew I was into it. Or the thought I’m most ashamed of having: maybe he would like me more.
Things progressed to where Jeff was aggressively taking off my clothes. His hands seemed to be everywhere, and before I knew it I was completely naked, vulnerable, and he slipped his fingers inside of me. Too rough. Now, I’m not a prude or some kind of pussy, and I enjoy some moderately rough sex, but I didn’t enjoy this. Sex is supposed to be fun for everyone involved. I was not having fun. He then grabbed me by the hair with one hand and pulled me onto all fours. He slapped my ass so hard it made my eyes water as he pulled his dick out and basically shoved it in my mouth. I jerked my head back and told him to stop and that he was being too rough. He laughed, called me a slut, and said he knew I liked it.
But I didn’t like it. I didn’t want this.
I tried to pull back a few more times and told him to stop again. But he wasn’t stopping. He never let go of my hair and continued to slap my ass and sometimes my face, much harder than I ever wanted. I wanted to stop. I said stop. But he was twice my size and I thought if I just let him finish then it’ll be over. So I just let him fuck my face until he was done. I just wanted it to be over.
When Jeff finished he laughed, tossed my clothes at me, pulled his pants back on and said “I’m getting outta here.” I was shaking. I had never felt this way in my life. A combination of scared, angry, traumatized, and violated. I felt out of my body. You know when you have a dream that you’re throwing a punch or something but you’re moving in slow motion? I don’t even know how I got from naked, on my bed, to dressed and right in front of him, but it was as if my body finally allowed me to react, to fight back, and I felt my face get hot and I tried to slap him. He blocked my swing, and then acted like I was the crazy one and actually told me I should never hit someone. Like are you fucking kidding me?? You just basically raped my face bro, and you have
the audacity to tell me not to take a swing at you? Get the fuck out of here.
I told Jeff to get out and never to contact me again. I blocked him on everything, but not before sending him a lengthy text message letting him know that what he did to me was sexual assault and that I told him to stop. I don’t know if he even gives a shit or ever thinks about it. I’m sure I’m not the only girl he’s done something similar to, and he probably doesn’t think he’s ever done anything wrong. I cried myself to sleep that night. The next night too. My scalp was sore from how hard he pulled my hair and my ass was slightly bruised from how hard he slapped it. Everything hurt.
As time went by after my night with Jeff I started to think, was it my fault? I invited him over, I continued to kiss him, and ultimately I stopped fighting back. So did I have it coming? Did I deserve what happened because of our flirtatious conversations or the way I present myself sexually? Am I to blame for what happened? We are taught as little girls that when a boy is mean to you, pulls your hair on the playground, that means he likes you and that we should be flattered. When that boy pushes you down and kisses you, you are supposed to be thrilled. I never thought about the absurdity of that until I thought about the fact that I kissed Jeff back even though I didn’t want to. We literally teach little girls that abuse is a sign of affection. How fucking insane is that? As a 32-year-old woman with sexual confidence and a good head on her shoulders, that way of thinking was still in my head. I don’t have a daughter, and I doubt if I ever will, but if I do I will never EVER allow her to believe or accept that bullshit.
Hoe tip: Hoes can say no, too.
I have always been a woman who advocates for other women. I firmly believe that your sexuality does not make you any more or less of a person. No one should ever be made to feel ashamed of enjoying sex. Just because I enjoy sex does not mean I owe it to every guy who wants it. I should not have to hide who I am. I do not owe anyone anything. This is my body and I can do whatever I want with it. I deserve just as much respect as anyone else does, sex is my choice. It should have been my choice that night with Jeff, but he took that choice away from me.
I never heard from Jeff again and I don’t really think about him much or what he did to me. But what I do think about is how unfair it is that I spent so much time thinking I deserved what happened. I asked him to stop. I didn’t want to perform oral sex on him. I didn’t want to be slapped so hard I had marks on my ass for days. I didn’t want my hair pulled so hard my scalp was sore the next day. And I certainly did not deserve to get my face fucked when I told him to stop. I enjoy sex. I enjoy rough sex sometimes too. But on my terms, and with my consent. As women, we shouldn’t have to hide our sexuality or feel like we owe a man sex for any reason other than because we want to have sex with him. And in that same way, men shouldn’t feel that they owe a woman sex for any other reason either. Sex isn’t a form of currency. It should be fun for everyone involved. And after that night with Jeff, I promised myself that I’d never let anyone make me feel differently.
According to U.S. Rape Response Services, one in five women have been the victim of attempted or completed rape in their lifetime. One in two women have experienced or will experience some form of sexual violence other than rape in their lifetime. I’m part of that statistic now. Think about your friends, your family. Your best friends, your sisters, cousins, aunts. Not one single one of them deserved it. Sex is a choice, and everyone has the right to say no. I never reported Jeff to the police. I felt like it would just victimize me all over again, and at the end of the day it was a he-said she-said and likely nothing would happen. I knew I would be blamed for it and that he would argue that it was consensual. So many women never report their sexual assaults for the same reason. They get dragged through the mud and made to feel that they are to blame. I don’t know if that’s going to change, but I sure hope it does. Instead of teaching women they should censor themselves and be less sexual beings, how about we teach men to respect consent? While we’re out here being diligent and teaching women how to prevent rape, how about we spend time teaching men just not to rape?
I hope you read this, Jeff, and I hope you realize what you did and hope that next time a woman asks you to stop, you fucking listen.
*Name and locations have been changed for privacy reasons as no formal charges were filed*