Nollywood actress, Victoria Inyama, has countered the stance of her colleague, Anita Joseph, who few days ago faulted the statement made by some married women that their husbands raped them when they weren’t in the mood for sex. Inyama Anita had in a video made with her husband, argued that a woman cannot claim her husband raped […]
A letter to all men
Content warning. Graphuc depictions of sexual assault and violence
AMERICAN FORK, Utah (ABC4 Utah) – Wherever Dayton Racer went he left a trail of victims. A deputy Utah County attorney said at least eight women were sexually attacked by the former collegiate wrestler. “He is essentially a serial date rapist,” said Julia Thomas with the Utah County attorney’s office. Racer was sentenced earlier this […]
I have a story and I hate it! I was date-raped at college….. So, I got flowers from some unknown person, I was a little scared! But I thought it might have been this guy that kept saying hi to me in the hallways of the college. He seemed harmless. His name even made me […]
A Spoken Word Piece
Submitted by: Empress Colleen
He said if I tell anyone he will kill me
I didn’t want to die so I didn’t tell,
I hid that secret very well.
He asked me how I feel?
I said fine.
What the hell do I know? I was nine.
I said I will tell my mother he said he didn’t care,
if she cared about you she would have never left you here.
Now allow me for one moment to get things clear
and I don’t give a damn who I anger in here.
But how can a mother sleep good at night
knowing something with her daughter just isn’t right?
He thought this was a joke but I had to keep playing
didn’t know my innocence was actually straying.
They say stop talking about it let it go sweep it under the rug.
They didn’t know all I wanted was a simple hug.
They lie when they said one size fit all.
These nasty perverts touching children from small.
Years built up of anger this thought never left my mind.
I wish someone can take away all my pain,
so I would never have to go through stress again,
no more walking in the rain
time to break these chains
wish there was less to lose n more to gain.
No more waiting in vain,
wish things can go back to normal or being the same.
I just need you to know you don’t have to be ashamed.
Sexual abuse is not a game.
Submitted by: PB
This is not a story of rape but a disturbing story of betrayal and somewhat incestual.
Grew up with parents and two brothers. One two years older and the other younger than me. In my teen years I was very active in high school – participated in the swim team, engaged in modern dance and junior year a cheerleader for the football team. Lots of good friends, both male and female.
My older brother had no friends at all. His only hobby was photography and actually had his own studio set up in our basement.
My parents were abruptly called in for a conference. Almost immediately there-after they kicked my bother out of the house. He joined the service and had remained the black sheep of the family ever since.
Never knew the real story until recently. He passed away and a friend and I went to clean out his apartment. On the shelf I found a shoebox filled with sealed envelopes – some marked $10 and others $20. They were nude photos of me! Some topless at my dressing table brushing my hair and others nude stepping in and out of my bathtub back from the time he was selling them to guys I knew at school. Just my photos in that shoe box. He had a computer but nobody had the password since he passed abruptly. Safe to assume it was filled with smut.
I look at those photos and try to determine just where he had that camera placed. Was it in his hands when taken or some kind of mechanical means to snap the shutter? If so, how did he know when I was unclothed? Best guess he was hiding in my closet.
He had a few really weird friends. I recall back then the neighbor boys had this unforgettable fascination with me back then. Wonder if that is why? They were young, maybe 14 or 15 at the time. I still have the same grouping of friends. Wonder how many have copies of these in their sock drawer to this day?
Submitted by: SK
The last thing I remembered was standing at a tiki bar talking to people. Then I woke up unsure of where I was, but I was in a tiny space. Someone I didn’t recognize was next to me. I was naked, so was he. I then realized I was on a boat, but I still didn’t know where. Was I in the middle of the ocean or at a dock? I couldn’t tell. I remember it being hot and stuffy in that small space.
I didn’t think I had sex, because I wasn’t medically able to at the time, and I didn’t feel like I had. I know if I had, I would have been sore from it, because I had had a medical procedure a few weeks prior. Then the guy got up and did something, came back, and tried to have sex with me. I told him no, I can’t, I was unable to because of my condition. He held me down and had his body weight on top of me and pushed himself into me no matter how many times I told him no, that I couldn’t. It was excruciating. I wanted to fight him off, and I would have had I known where exactly I was. I thought he might kill me and dump my body in the ocean or something. I can’t remember exactly how long it went on, but I kept telling him I was hurting and he needed to stop. He wouldn’t stop until he was finished. I was in so much pain. Then he suddenly became nice to me and handed me a water as if we were pals.
I finally got up and told him I had to use the bathroom. That’s when I realized we were at a dock. I still don’t know how I ended up on that boat. I have no memory of it whatsoever. I couldn’t find my keys, and even though we looked for them, they didn’t show up for four more days. I think the new bartender had something to do with that, and I wondered if that guy had put something in my drink. I never did find out the truth. I never saw the rapist again, but I did look up his name and found out he had a lengthy arrest record.
A few weeks later, I had to go back to the doctor, and that’s when I learned he’d given me an STD. I had never had one in my life, so I was shocked. It was like being raped all over again having to be tested for everything under the sun in an office where I knew someone that worked. Thankfully, it was easily curable, but it was humiliating having to tell my next partner about it. I stopped going out for several months after that.
Submitted by: MM
Backstory: This happened to me 25 years ago. I made a police report days later just to have a record of something, but because had washed away the evidence, I had no case. It was during the police interview that I learned I had most likely been drugged, as I had never felt so unable to move in my life. I wrote this as exactly how I felt and how the memories came back to me. It still haunts me to this day.
Movement. Sounds. Eyes crack open, exceptionally dark room, window, the outline of a short-haired male figure hovering above me, music playing. Different male laughing farther away. Groggy, numb, unfamiliar place, not dreaming… or am I? Thirsty, cotton scraping my tongue and roof of my mouth, cigarettes in my nose. Hard, cold floor, sheet or blanket, carpet. Hands on me, cannot see, cannot move.
An undetermined amount of time has passed before waking again. As if a nightlight has been switched on, it is dawn. Laughing male with a lit cigarette can be seen and heard moving around on a couch by a large window draped with a sheet. The long-sleeved turtleneck shirt I am wearing is pushed up to my bra, a blanket somewhat over me. Something is missing, something doesn’t feel right, something is wrong. Short hair and shoulder-length hair moving above me, everything seems surreal. Cannot move, don’t know where I am, how I got here, why I feel the way I do. Tears roll down my temples as Nirvana plays on the radio, the male on the couch laughing between stanzas. Laughing at what? No one is talking. Laughing at me? I fall back to darkness.
Night before… Valerie… dark, cold, windy… cold enough in Florida to wear long-sleeves, pants, boots. Dancing, laughing… Valerie… domestic beer, packed dance floor, lights flashing…. Valerie’s grungy boyfriend, his grubby friends… one: tall, blond, skinny, creepy… two: short, mousy, uninteresting… three: tattooed redhead… dancing, beer, lights… Sitting on beach dunes… freezing cold… Valerie?… creepy next to me, talking, talking, talking… wind blowing, sand blowing, sand in my boots, my socks, my eyes.
Awakened, the sun has risen. I can see everything… Valerie and her boyfriend sleeping on the floor across the room… the laughing redhead on the couch asleep… creepy and mousy sleeping on each side of me. I now recognize that I’m in a shady part of town where Valerie’s boyfriend stays, an apartment we’d stopped at before going out last night.
Head hurts, nauseated, lethargic. Why do I feel so weak? This is not a normal hangover. I force my way to a bathroom, wrapping a sheet around me. Only a few steps onto a matted, dirty carpet to a filthy bathroom, the toilet hasn’t been cleaned in months and no toilet paper. I look at the disgusting sink, no soap for my hands. Gross. No towels. A mirror above the sink is speckled with white spots, barely visible to see a reflection. Who lives like this? My entire body hurts, I hold my throbbing head. What the fuck happened? How did I end up here? Where are my pants? I use the sheet to wipe myself and tiptoe back to where I had been on the floor, finding my pants bunched up under a blanket.
I wake Valerie, whispering as to not disturb anyone else so I can have a clean escape. We search for my underwear, socks, boots. Everything is found except my underwear, which will no doubt become someone’s trophy. We grab our purses and head to her car where I tell her everything I remember.
Valerie knew? She knew what they were doing and didn’t stop them, didn’t know that I was unconscious. How could she not know I wouldn’t have wanted that to happen? She agrees they should not have done that, acts upset about it. I can’t believe she knew.
I feel somewhat relieved as I shut the door behind me at home, except that a whole new emotion has kicked in knowing that I have to rid of these repulsive clothes and shower away imaginary putrid maggots. A long hot shower washes tears and snot and puke down the drain. Water is warm and comforting. At least I have soap now, but it is not enough to cleanse the revolting filth that has encrusted my soul.
The victim’s mother called the pardon a “slap in the face.”