Helen's Story
Here is something very few people know about me-I hate pale blue bathroom tile.
There are many very personal details about me on this blog. I talk a lot about sex, and I have no problem with doing that here. When it comes to sex and sex topics, pretty much anything goes with me (and…er…has done, too). But there are a few things that I will not do in bed: no Fido. No little Lars. Bless the beasts and the children, and protect them from the rigors of the bedroom.
And I will not have anal sex.
This is not because it is a religious problem with me. It’s not because I find it repulsive. It’s not due to the whole silly adage that “if it goes out the hole, it doesn’t go in” (if you believe that one, perhaps you should strike off blow-jobs, folks. And since no one wants to strike that one off…)
The reason I do not have anal sex is not only do I not find it comfortable, but I was raped that way when I was 19.
I was living with a partner at the time, and one day in the shower, he forced it. I remember that we were arguing at the time. What about, I am not sure-it seems irrelevant now that there are bigger issues. The steam of the shower was strong, the argument was heated, and something made my partner snap. He grabbed me and pushed me against the wall, holding my head against a towel bar (WHY do people put towel bars in the shower? Why?). He was a weight lifter, and much stronger than me, and since I was on the curved end of the bathtub and struggling to hold my purchase on where I stood, I wasn’t able to wiggle around much.
And then he forced himself into me. Anally. I remember searing, blinding pain. He grabbed some shampoo to aid in getting it in easier, and the pain was accompanied by stinging the likes of which I had never felt. It was as though I had been sliding down a slide of razor blades and landed in a pool of alcohol. I had this weird, heavy weighty feeling inside of me like I had to go to the bathroom.
He held my face hard against the towel bar and all I could see was the shoddy caulking job that held the towel bar on the wall, bits of lumpy grey caulk with protruding bits. I could see the clear shower curtain, and the open bathroom door.
And the pale blue tile that my face was held against.
I think I croaked out the word no. Or maybe I didn’t. I can’t really recall, and if I said anything, it is unlikely he heard me anyway. I remember that the front of my body was outside of the spray of the shower and I was freezing. The back of my body was scalding hot from the steam and perhaps the pain, which was very, very real. He finished, and got out of the shower.
And I just stood there.
You know that scene in “Leaving Las Vegas” where the prostitute who has been raped anally just sits in the shower and bleeds? That is exactly what I did. I just stood there and bled, dripping out a mixture of bright red blood and semen. I stood there until the hot water went cold, and then I finally I got out of the shower, dried off, and went about my life.
We broke up very soon after. And even though I live across the Atlantic now, a restraining order I have against him still stands. The truth is, I don’t hate him and I don’t wish him ill. I actually don’t even think about him. The last I heard he had married and had a kid. And you know, I hope he has a good life. I don’t even wish any vengeance on him. If you rape someone, you obviously have issues-and my hope is that someday he gets his sorted out.
There are a lot of bloggers that have addressed the issue of rape, including Layne, Jim, Jamie, and many others. For a lot of people, rape is something that has been the pinnacle of trauma, and it changes the person forever due to the horrible forced sexual situation. And the truth of the matter is, rape is horrible. It is about complete and utter loss of control. It is about abuse, pain, and anger. It is violation the likes of which you can’t come back from.
But for me, being raped did not change my life. It is not something I think about, hardly ever, really. I am not burying it and hiding it, I just won’t let it own me. I know that I handle it a bit differently than most people-neither better nor worse, this is just the way that I played with the hand I was dealt. Everyone handles things differently. I have some issues with my life, but none of them stem back to this incident-for that's all it was-one ugly, horrible incident.
The thing of it is, I took a step back from what happened and said: Yup. That was a bad situation, and I never want to be there again. And what happened was this: he took advantage of my body. He tried to take away my security and peace of mind. He tried to take control and show me that he is stronger than I am. But he doesn’t get to have that. I am not going to give this guy my peace of mind.
So he may have fucked my body, but he sure as hell does not have the chance to fuck with my spirit.
What happened afterwards? Well, I bled for a few days, so much so that I even had to wear a maxi-pad. I had a funny crease-mark shape on the side of my cheek where my face was held against the towel bar. But that was about it, and physically and emotionally I just moved on. I have plenty of horrible memories about other things that I re-live and struggle with. This is not one of them. Because I just won’t let him hurt me like that.
The only lingering side effects from what happened are this:
I will not have anal sex.
I get viciously angry at men that hurt women.
And I absolutely, positively hate pale blue tile.
***This was re-posted with Helen's permission from her blog, Everyday Stranger.***
There are many very personal details about me on this blog. I talk a lot about sex, and I have no problem with doing that here. When it comes to sex and sex topics, pretty much anything goes with me (and…er…has done, too). But there are a few things that I will not do in bed: no Fido. No little Lars. Bless the beasts and the children, and protect them from the rigors of the bedroom.
And I will not have anal sex.
This is not because it is a religious problem with me. It’s not because I find it repulsive. It’s not due to the whole silly adage that “if it goes out the hole, it doesn’t go in” (if you believe that one, perhaps you should strike off blow-jobs, folks. And since no one wants to strike that one off…)
The reason I do not have anal sex is not only do I not find it comfortable, but I was raped that way when I was 19.
I was living with a partner at the time, and one day in the shower, he forced it. I remember that we were arguing at the time. What about, I am not sure-it seems irrelevant now that there are bigger issues. The steam of the shower was strong, the argument was heated, and something made my partner snap. He grabbed me and pushed me against the wall, holding my head against a towel bar (WHY do people put towel bars in the shower? Why?). He was a weight lifter, and much stronger than me, and since I was on the curved end of the bathtub and struggling to hold my purchase on where I stood, I wasn’t able to wiggle around much.
And then he forced himself into me. Anally. I remember searing, blinding pain. He grabbed some shampoo to aid in getting it in easier, and the pain was accompanied by stinging the likes of which I had never felt. It was as though I had been sliding down a slide of razor blades and landed in a pool of alcohol. I had this weird, heavy weighty feeling inside of me like I had to go to the bathroom.
He held my face hard against the towel bar and all I could see was the shoddy caulking job that held the towel bar on the wall, bits of lumpy grey caulk with protruding bits. I could see the clear shower curtain, and the open bathroom door.
And the pale blue tile that my face was held against.
I think I croaked out the word no. Or maybe I didn’t. I can’t really recall, and if I said anything, it is unlikely he heard me anyway. I remember that the front of my body was outside of the spray of the shower and I was freezing. The back of my body was scalding hot from the steam and perhaps the pain, which was very, very real. He finished, and got out of the shower.
And I just stood there.
You know that scene in “Leaving Las Vegas” where the prostitute who has been raped anally just sits in the shower and bleeds? That is exactly what I did. I just stood there and bled, dripping out a mixture of bright red blood and semen. I stood there until the hot water went cold, and then I finally I got out of the shower, dried off, and went about my life.
We broke up very soon after. And even though I live across the Atlantic now, a restraining order I have against him still stands. The truth is, I don’t hate him and I don’t wish him ill. I actually don’t even think about him. The last I heard he had married and had a kid. And you know, I hope he has a good life. I don’t even wish any vengeance on him. If you rape someone, you obviously have issues-and my hope is that someday he gets his sorted out.
There are a lot of bloggers that have addressed the issue of rape, including Layne, Jim, Jamie, and many others. For a lot of people, rape is something that has been the pinnacle of trauma, and it changes the person forever due to the horrible forced sexual situation. And the truth of the matter is, rape is horrible. It is about complete and utter loss of control. It is about abuse, pain, and anger. It is violation the likes of which you can’t come back from.
But for me, being raped did not change my life. It is not something I think about, hardly ever, really. I am not burying it and hiding it, I just won’t let it own me. I know that I handle it a bit differently than most people-neither better nor worse, this is just the way that I played with the hand I was dealt. Everyone handles things differently. I have some issues with my life, but none of them stem back to this incident-for that's all it was-one ugly, horrible incident.
The thing of it is, I took a step back from what happened and said: Yup. That was a bad situation, and I never want to be there again. And what happened was this: he took advantage of my body. He tried to take away my security and peace of mind. He tried to take control and show me that he is stronger than I am. But he doesn’t get to have that. I am not going to give this guy my peace of mind.
So he may have fucked my body, but he sure as hell does not have the chance to fuck with my spirit.
What happened afterwards? Well, I bled for a few days, so much so that I even had to wear a maxi-pad. I had a funny crease-mark shape on the side of my cheek where my face was held against the towel bar. But that was about it, and physically and emotionally I just moved on. I have plenty of horrible memories about other things that I re-live and struggle with. This is not one of them. Because I just won’t let him hurt me like that.
The only lingering side effects from what happened are this:
I will not have anal sex.
I get viciously angry at men that hurt women.
And I absolutely, positively hate pale blue tile.
***This was re-posted with Helen's permission from her blog, Everyday Stranger.***
posted by Joan Crawford at 4/27/2005 06:40:00 PM
3 Comments:
Its the very reason I HATE wallpaper.When I was 11,my *uncle* took me out to his farm and gave me a horse.A beautiful big red horse...I rode him all day and until the sun went down.
But at night,he came in to my room.His daughter was asleep in the twin bed opposite me.She was only 5.He pressed his whiskey breathe into my neck and I faced the wall..looking into the wallpaper,counting the roses and the lines,watching the creases while he raped me.He stuck his dick into me.I shut my eyes and tried to imagine I was riding across the wide open paddocks.I could not make a sound in case I woke his daughter.It hurt.I bit my lip.But I was brave and I bore it.I had no idea that it would affect my life.He told me that if I ever told anyone he would kill my horse..Omballa.
At 14 I refused to go to the farm ever again.I went mad. I tried suicide but I had my stomach pumped.I went to the looney bin for 3 weeks.I saw people there that had real mental illness..they couldnt talk.They mumbled.They drooled.I ran away.
I became tough and hard ..but I was lost.
It took me many years to find my soul again.I didnt know that I could have sex and love with the same person.But I am healed now.A few years ago I had serious surgery and a life threatning illness.I had a cardiac arrest.My life passed before me.
I let it all go.I forgave that man.He died.Im happy.
You are more woman than I am. I have not forgiven. I don't think it is in me.
this is a real comment....not some capitalist marketing. i just wanted to thank everyone who has shared stories on this blog. it seems that it must be incredibly difficult mentally and emotionally to once again face these situations by writing about them. thanks so much for your courage. your voices are so necessary to confront gender and sexual violence. thanks again so much.
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