Random shades of green

December 09, 2000
It’s been about 7 months since the last time I was raped. I know—you’re thinking “what does she mean the last time? How many times does one get raped?” Well, I don’t know that I can truly count the times. It has been by three separate people though.

Sometimes I wonder if I can even count the things my step-dad did as rape, it went on so long- is there a certain time limit that passes and then makes the act consensual- I mean if you let it go on for so long, is it discredited?

Anyway, back to the people, the second time- or person- was a boyfriend I had. We were pretty close; on occasion, we discussed the possibility of marriage. We probably did more than we should have together - I suppose in some ways that one was my fault too; if I didn’t want it to happen, I should have never been messing around with him in the first place.

The most recent however, was totally unexpected. I was on a walk with a friend of mine one night- it was around 11pm. She and I were walking through a questionable part of town- past a park to be exact. These guys jumped out in front of us… she ran…. I was paralyzed- perhaps because I knew what was coming next and in a deranged way was resolved to letting it happen. I mean hell, what’s one more to add to the list? Well, I stood there and allowed these 3 guys to complete the task they had apparently set out to commit. My mind wasn’t even in that state of fear I hear most girls who have experienced this violation talk about. I was actually wondering what my friend would tell everyone back at the house… how the guys would react…would they call the police? would they come running and play hero? Was any of that even worth it? These questions were never answered- once my attackers (and I use the word hesitatingly) were done, they left me laying there, half naked, in the park… I got up, found the rest of my clothing and re-dressed. I began the walk back to the house. Would I tell my friends what happened, or could I come up with something believable off the top of my head? I think the latter would have been better; instead, when they approached all tender and concerned, I gave them this, “I know how to deal with this, will you all just leave me alone.”

Probably the stupidest thing I could have said- now I’m in all kinds of crappy help groups where the line of the hour is “IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT.” I hate hearing that- who came up with that line- whose fault is it then? Am I not the one who sat in silence for 8 years while my drunken stepfather would come into my room, pull back my covers and climb into my bed? Am I not the one who allowed a relationship to teeter on the edge? And, was it not my choice to go for a walk at night in a neighborhood I was unfamiliar with? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that all the other girls who have been through this deserved it- but that road is not for me. Thanks to my over-concerned, do-gooder friends, I am here listening day after day to sob stories of how something was stolen, taken, ripped from us; how we deserve vindication. I wish they could have all stayed out of it- it was my business to begin with- this was my issue. I was fine with it- no one had to know… my image was clear; I was pure; a virgin waiting for the right man- now I am stained for life and they all know it. I am clearly not like these girls- I am not scarred in the way they are….. I am fine. God I hate being here!



December 14, 2000
Today I had to sit through another cry fest. I cannot believe the stories the girls here tell. Maybe it’s because most of them are here as a result of their own choice; they thought they needed support. I on the other hand was given no option.

“Well, I was in his car, we’d just finished dinner; it was our 4 month anniversary. He’s been pressuring sex for a while, but I wasn’t ready. We drove to a remote look out; you could see the whole city from there. It was so romantic. We started making out, and….” <Insert crying here> “… and he just wouldn’t stop.” <sob, sob, sob> “I cried the whole drive home…. I mean…” <sniffle, sniffle> “… I thought he loved me; I thought he respected that I wanted to wait.”

“It’s not your fault Melissa, there is nothing you did to deserve that. He obviously didn’t know what love was at all.”

“We’re all here for you honey.”

“Does anybody else want to share today?”

“Well, it was no secret that I made my way through many guys. Sex was never that important to me…basically it was a more involved make-out session to me. The thing I never realized- well, at least not until I was raped, was that even though there were many guys, it was always my choice. I was at a party one night, as usual, I had been drinking a lot. I went upstairs to slow down for a while…. (there were no immediate prospects, so I thought I’d break for a while and see if the night would produce)… I guess I fell asleep… I woke up to some guy I had never met pushing himself into me…” <tears> “I asked him what the hell he was doing…. ‘you know what I’m doing… you’ve done it before…. c’mon you should be used to this he said.” <pause for more crying> “I had a lot of careless sex, sure, but that didn’t mean I wanted to have it with everyone. I can’t believe this happened to me. Why would someone be so cruel?”

“Oh, Erin, it doesn’t matter how many partners you had in the past, there is no excuse for rape. There is no magical number you pass that makes it alright for a man to force sex upon you”

Give me a break. I felt like I was on the set of an after school special. Can you believe this is the shit I have to listen to every day? Occasionally Margaret (our main counselor) asks me if I want to share anything…. Right, like she would be prepared for that…… I mean, I’m at the point where, after listening to these sob stories, I’m ready to scrap the whole idea of counting what Robby did to me as rape. I apparently just didn’t draw the line dark enough for him… and even if I had, I’d clouded so much of it over with my own actions and sexual initiations that I couldn’t really hold him accountable for going too far.

But there’s no way in hell Mrs. Margaret, Melissa, Kim, Lisa, Erin or any of the other poor picked on rape “victims” would ever be ready to hear my stories……..


My sister used to wet the bed. Each night either my mom or step-dad would come into our room at about midnight and wake her up to have her use the rest room. One night when I was thirteen, I woke up to my sister crying.

‘What’s wrong’ I asked, annoyed. Assuming it was just a bad dream.
‘Ken tried to rape me.’
Now in an even more annoyed tone I asked ‘How do you know?’
She was still crying. ‘He woke me up. I went to the bathroom and when I came back he was still in here, he started touching me.’
My ten year old sister was telling me that the man my mother trusted to rouse her child in the middle of the night to pee had touched her and tried to rape her. On top of that, she told me the only reason he stopped was my mother calling out to him.
‘Can I sleep with you?’

So, there I was, thirteen years old, lying in my twin size bed with my younger sister crying herself to sleep next to me. Every night after that I would lie awake in my bed and wait until the lights in the living room went out and I heard my parents retire to their bedroom. I would sneak quietly into the living room and grab the cordless phone. I would tip-toe back into my bedroom and hide the phone under my bed- this way if and when he came in, he would not see nor feel the phone in my bed…. If he tried anything, I could call my dad or the police…

… I never used that phone…

…when he did finally come again, I stirred first- before he could wake my sister. I lay there perfectly still. And quiet. He pulled back my covers, climbed on top of me, used one hand to pull my floral cotton underpants down while the other hand forged its way into my small vagina. I winced in pain but remained silent. He never looked at me… he just hissed the words “it could have been Rachelle… are you going to keep protecting her?…” the alcohol covered breath dried some of my silent tears as he slid out of my room.

It became a weekly ritual. It took 2 months before he moved further and actually raped me…. Every week the same thing…. Of course, it wasn’t clock work- the nights varied- it depended on how much he’d have to drink, how soundly everyone else was sleeping- how daring he felt… sneaking out of their bed, quietly into mine- careful not to wake my sister….covering my face with the pillow so no sound could penetrate. Shoving his erect penis into my prepubescent body…. pulling in and out of the dry childish organs of my body…..


Is that what they were waiting to hear…. that I was being violated in every sense of the word, with no way out? I mean, at least they had retribution- they had the ability to do something about what was happening to them. For me to tell him to stop or threaten him was to put my sister in line for his pedophiliac desires. I was taking one for the team as it were…. God knows what he would have done if I’d have told anyone.


Maybe what they want to hear is that on a walk through a fairly decent neighbor hood, I was attacked by a group of 5 guys while my “friend” ran for safety…. that in the middle of a city park my favorite purple tank top was ripped off my body by one guy as another made his way into my new Calvin Klein jeans, jerking at the zipper so hard I later had bruises on my back where the waist had cut in, scrapes running down my thighs where the other three assisted in yanking them down around my ankles, rash marks on my pelvic area where my pure, white g-string was ripped from my frame. Maybe they want to listen as I explain that I was thrown up against the trunk of a tree so each guy could come into me harder and more aggressively- that for what seemed like an eternity I was passed around, used to fulfill any sadistic fantasy these monsters had. Perhaps they wanted to hear about how while one guy forced his way into my already invaded body, another was pushing himself into my mouth… about how a countless number of cars drove by just out of sight from what was happening to me.

These girls have no idea what rape is.