Trigger Warning for rape and abuse.

Over the past year or so, I’ve gone through some pretty major life changes.  Some of those changes involved really shitty human beings.  Here’s what I’d like to say to them:

First, a hearty Fuck You to B.H., my abuser.  Over a period of three years, you manipulated and threatened me into doing what you wanted.  We had so many good times together.  Who can forget the time, a few months into our relationship, that you stole my Facebook password, read my messages, and then got mad at me for talking to my ex-boyfriend?  The one who lived over a thousand miles away?  Or the (two!) times you urged me to make out with one of your female friends and then got mad at me for it afterward?  Or all the times you self-harmed or threatened to commit suicide because I wasn’t talking to you?  Or when you insisted on an open relationship but freaked the fuck out when I dated other people?  Good times.  Not dating you anymore is fucking wonderful, and I hope you are unhappily single forever and fail to find gainful employment.

Second, a fuck you to J.L, my rapist.  Over the years I knew you, there were enough red flags that, had my life been a movie, everyone in the audience would have predicted you were a rapist hours before the actual rape.  When we were housemates and you used to come to house dinners naked, just to shock people.  The time you upset our other housemate by walking up to her with your junk on a plate.  When you were upset about your breakup and you came into my room drunk and told me to take advantage of you.  You were a fucking creep way before you raped me.

I’m not saying I should have known–hindsight is 20/20, and an inability to read really obvious signs does not mean I deserve to be raped.  But damn, you were a fucking creeper.

The night you raped me we went out for dinner.  It was just after my birthday, and you had wanted to hang out just as friends.  So I brought you to a meetup with a bunch of people, and we had dinner and talked and had a pretty good time.   (I should have known–the last time I saw you, you walked me home and you kissed me for some reason and you tried to come in my door when I said I was going to bed.)  But anyway, you insisted on walking me home, and then when I sat down on my porch to say good night to you you started kissing me, and I didn’t want to be rude so I kissed back (even though you are totally not my type, like not at all ew.)  And then after a while I stopped kissing you and made some noises about going to bed, and you followed me and said “aren’t you going to invite me in this time?”

I don’t know why, but I felt obligated to let you in.  Something in the way you said it–something registered to me as that I didn’t have an option.  So I told you “sure, you can come in for a minute”, and we sat down on my bed and I tried to make conversation.  And then you pushed me down onto the bed and started kissing me.

I didn’t want to be rude!  I said something like “hey, what are you doing, cut it out” but didn’t really resist.  And then you started taking my clothes off, and I pushed your hands away a couple times and you didn’t stop.  And then you were touching my vulva and oh my god that felt gross.  In my head, I felt sick; I felt like your touch was corrupting my genitals and that afterwards I would have to cut them off or douse them in acid to get rid of the corruption.  Outwardly, I froze up and got very quiet.

Eventually, you took your dick out and started fucking me.  You were small and circumcised; I don’t remember much else about it besides that detail.  I was lying there on my back and you were fucking me and I was thinking about how I would get AIDS–you didn’t use a condom, rapist–and how my relationship would be ruined and how gross this all was.  But I didn’t want to be rude.

At some point you must have gotten bored, or perhaps realized something was wrong–is it normal for your sex partners to lie perfectly still and not make any noise?–because you stopped, and got off of me, and said “shouldn’t you turn out the lights?”

And that’s when I realized, dear rapist, that you were going to stay over.  I had let you in, and not tried too hard to stop you from fucking me, on the belief that this would be the only polite way to get you to leave.  I was in too much shock–or something–to argue, and I turned off the light and got back into bed, lying as far away from you as was humanly possible.

I lay there awake the whole night, rapist, thinking about how I would die of AIDS and how I had no chance of ever being loved, and radiating hatred at your side of the bed.  I think after a few hours I could cry, so I lay there dripping silent tears and waiting for morning.  I finally managed to get rid of you in the morning, going in to work early to get you the fuck out of there.

I haven’t been the same since.  I quit the kink community and no longer identify as sex-positive.  I blocked you on Facebook and deleted your phone number, but I haven’t ever been able to call you “rapist” or say “I was raped” to anyone in person.  (I told a close friend “he tried to have sex with me when I didn’t want to”, omitting the fact that you succeeded, and my boyfriend had to guess.  I still don’t know if my boyfriend knows we actually had intercourse.  I’ve told my therapist “yeah, you know, when my friend, you know, I guess I would say raped, me” and that’s the closest I’ve gotten.)

Third, a fuck you to P.D., a rapist who only avoided being my personal rapist by luck.  You’re another one where the red flags were numerous and obvious.  I was new to the scene, and you were one of those who prey on the new kids.  You were awkward–faux-awkward, really: you pretended you couldn’t read social cues to the point where you “unintentionally” pressured me into doing things I didn’t want to do.

I met you at my very first munch ever; I was new and scared and alone, and you liked that.  I came out to another munch later that week, and you offered me a ride home.  I took it; you were so well respected in the community!  And I didn’t want to be paranoid!  In the car you asked me to send you an email after you dropped me off “to prove that you didn’t rape me”.  To protect you from the scourge! of false! accusations!  I thought about getting out of the car right then and there, but we were on the Mass Pike at the time, so that wasn’t really an option, and anyway, you were so well respected in the community!  And I didn’t want to be rude!  And you were nice to me, and I was new, and I wanted to be on the good side of the Important People.

So I let you drive me home, and I fooled around with you a bit, because hey, I was horny and you were there.  I had fun, and I even wrote your stupid fucking “Thanks for not raping me” email (and hated myself a little while I was doing it).  And then a bit later I went to your house and had sex with you.  To be honest I had kind of a crush on you at that point, and I enjoyed our fooling around and even our internet chats–to a point.  And when you told me you were monogamous, I was pretty upset.

But after a month or so you started to creep me the fuck out.  The third time we played and you said “I love you”?  I said “…what?” and you said “…Yeah, I bet you weren’t expecting to hear that.”  I don’t know whether you meant it, or whether you were just trying to manipulate me somehow, but that was creepy as fuck.  And the chats where you wanted to talk about sex made me super uncomfortable, but when I tried to change the subject you would change that shit right the fuck back.

And then I found out you had raped your 19-year old girlfriend.  (You were 27, and she had been a virgin.)  That’s her story to tell, but holy shit.  I’m sorry I ever trusted you, and it hurts me to think that I may have enabled your abuse.  So you should go fuck yourself and never, ever come near young women like that again.

Finally, there is a fuck you to the kink community of Greater Boston.  You knew about P.D. and various other assholes I didn’t know well enough to name.  You knew, and you didn’t care enough to warn any of their victims about the kinds of shit they’d done in the past.  You knew, and you didn’t want it to tarnish their fucking reputations, so you kept it to yourselves.  You are a bunch of rapists and rape enablers, and the few good people in that community don’t even slightly make up for the rape and rape-enabling that goes on.

I used to believe that kink could be a good thing, that it could be used to dismantle rape culture instead of to bolster it, but I no longer do.  Maybe there are male tops out there who aren’t totally fucking rapey, but I only know of one (and possibly I just don’t know him well enough to find his rapey side).  It just doesn’t work, dominance and submission games in a rape culture.  It’s toxic, and it enables total fucking creepers like P.D. and B.H. and J.L., and it encourages people who are just partially creepy to go whole fucking hog.

Maybe someday I’ll come back to BDSM, but I doubt it.  There is just too much toxic shit that goes on in that community for me to find anything good in it.