My first real relationship ended in an attempted rape. I was way too young to know any better, so I kept it to myself. My second relationship ended in nearly the same way, only far more violently.
After I got to the university, my first boyfriend tried to rape me after a party, choking me nearly unconscious.
The irony is, any one of them could have had me if they hadn't attacked me. My friends sympathized with me, and tried to give me advice.
"It's like you're a date rape magnet," Allie said unhelpfully.
We'll find you a safe guy," Susan promised.
It's not that I'm not pretty. I have blonde hair, blue eyes, stand 5 foot 3 inches, weigh about 110 pounds, and have C cup breasts. I could find a boyfriend, it's just that I wanted one that wouldn't hit me when he got me alone.
Early in my sophomore year, I got set up with this frat brother who was a friend of Susan's brother. Everyone said he was a nice guy.
We went out to a party with my friends, and he seemed nice. I could tell he was interested and so was I. His eyes were soft and warm. Things went so well we decided to split and go to a little concert event on campus. I wanted to stop by my room to get my camera...and as we reached my door suddenly his hand was like a vise on my arm, his eyes hard like glass. I should have screamed, should have struggled while we were still in public. I shouldn't have unlocked the door. I didn't even scream when he ripped my blouse open, but he hit me anyway.
The morning found me with my face half caved in, a separated shoulder, Bill in jail and my virginity still intact. I remember the night. The way he made me to turn to him before hitting me again. The weird "thunk" my skull made when it bounced off the floor. Thank God Susan had brought her boyfriend home early. During sentencing he wouldn't even say what I had done to set him off. The girls philosophized that I gave off a pheromone that made men hit me. I even had to switch advisors, as while I sat in his office all I could do was stare at his hands and wonder if he was going to come over the desk at me. Which was funny, since he was 70 years old and needed a cane to stand.
Lord knows, I should have become a lesbian right then, but guys were so sexy. They had chests and eyes and butts and muscles, even if they just wanted to use me as a punching bag when they got me alone.
To make matters worse, when I masturbated, I fantasized about being raped. Clearly it was all my fault, and I was just another messed up little bitch. I avoided boys the rest of the year.
And then, at the start of my junior year, I met Josh.
Josh and I were paired up in Anthropology for a paper. He was on the lacrosse team—I know, I know, warning bells should have been going off. Josh was a gorgeous man, he was over six feet tall, had black hair, brown eyes, had a thin but muscular build, was both funny and smart. I was besotted.
At first we studied in the library, but after the paper was done we continued to study together at the library. Maybe I was a little flirtatious, maybe more than a little.
Josh finally asked me if we could "study" alone. I told him no, and I could see the light go out of his eyes. He offered a curt "good night" and avoided me like the plague the next day in class. I was shattered.
I finally interrupted his dinner with his teammates and asked if I could speak to him, twenty frozen eyes staring at me as he slowly rose and joined me in the lobby.
I poured out my entire pathetic story to him, how he would hit me if he was alone with me, coming unglued in the process. Afterwards, I stood there, blubbering like a child in front of everyone. He stepped forward and wrapped his strong arms around me and held me and silently stroked my hair until I calmed down.
