I was sexually assaulted on a first date
It doesn’t have to be rape to be assault
I have been internet dating for a long time. I actually met my husband on AOL 23 years ago. When I started dating again four years ago, I was comfortable with the concept. I was always careful. I got to know them as well as I could first. I arranged a meeting in a familiar public place. I let my friends know who I was meeting and where. And I never left with them.
I felt like I was a good judge of character. Most of the dates didn’t turn into a second, but I rarely had any issue feeling safe with the ones that did. Once, a man invited me to get stoned on our second date and seemed irritated when I declined. It soon became apparent that he had been hoping to get me high and convince me to have sex, so I quickly decided to leave.
But in all my dating, that was the worst. A bad feeling. A red flag. A gut reaction. That was, until tonight.
Anthony suggested we meet for a drink, which is something I don’t usually do. But I had already told him I could only stay for an hour and I would only have one drink. Nothing about him had given me any red flags, so I felt fine.
When he walked into the bar, he came over to give me a quick hug. It lasted a little longer than it should, but not bad. He fumbled with his wallet and mumbled his order to the waitress. Then I smelled it. He was drunk. In hindsight, I should have left then. But we had already put in our order, and it was only an hour, right? I told myself he was probably nervous and had a drink before he came in. I knew I wouldn’t see him again, but I didn’t see too much harm in seeing the date through.
At first, our conversation was semi-normal. He would pause in his story to add how lonely he was, or how bad his luck with women is. I didn’t fall for the sympathy trick. He began touching my arm when he wanted to make a point. I didn’t really like it, but it seemed harmless. I moved my arm. He kept showering me with over the top compliments, which became irritating. And then, within seconds, it turned into a nightmare.
We were sitting on bar stools at a tall table. He stood up, pushed his body against my arm and leaned in to whisper in my ear. “I have a 10-inch cock, and it wants you.” His groin was pressing into me.
“Whoah!” I exclaimed as I pulled away. I knew it had escalated, but I had no idea what to do. Did this man really just do that in public? The waitress had started a tab with my card, so in my thinking, I couldn’t just leave. He suddenly sat back down, apologizing. I told him I had never left in the middle of a date before, but I would if he tried anything like that again. In my mind, I was buying time, trying to figure out what to do. My head was spinning.
I motioned for the waitress to cash us out and hoped that ending the date would stop him. But he soon stood up again and repeated his disgusting display of toxic masculinity. This time he did not sit back down but kept repeating it in my ear, rubbing himself against my arm. I froze while I did a quick mental risk assessment and some calculations. Every woman knows this drill.
What will end the situation the fastest, with the least risk of escalation?
I firmly told him he was making me extremely uncomfortable and could he please just sit down. That didn’t work. I told him I needed to leave, hoping he wouldn’t get angry. He sat down, apologizing more and telling me he was a nice guy. Oh shit. It’s that line. I looked him in the eye and said to him that a nice guy wouldn’t have rubbed his crotch on me. I signed the receipt and stood up to put my coat on.
As I was walking toward the door, he grabbed me by both shoulders and tried to kiss me. Earlier in the date, I had told him that I never kiss on the first date and to please not ask. Yet, here he was trying to force himself on me. I turned my head as I tried to push him back. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I was standing in the middle of a sparsely filled bar, being assaulted.
Then something entirely out of character happened. I got angry and stopped caring. I didn’t care what the bartender thought. I didn’t care what the customers thought. I didn’t care what this drunk man thought. All my years of good-girl training to grin and bear it and not make a scene were suddenly wiped clean.
I yelled at him. “Do not kiss me! I told you not to kiss me. I do not give you permission to kiss me. I do not want you to kiss me. Leave me alone!” As I hurried to the door I worried he would try to follow me to my car. I got outside and ran, locking my car after I got in. I was several blocks away before the shock started wearing off. That’s when the tears started.
By the time I got home, I was angry. I was furious. Memories of 40 years of this kind of behavior started flooding my brain. This was the first time I had been physically assaulted as an adult, but I’ve been assaulted all my life. Sometimes it came in the form of a man trying to inebriate me to lessen my ability to refuse. Sometimes it came as a man who begs and pleads to just let him fuck me. He’s so lonely and horny. Won’t I just let him fuck me?
Sometimes it came as men who wore me down, telling me that I’m nothing and will never do any better, so I might as well settle and let him fuck me. Sometimes it came with shame and humiliation after declining, using words like tease, frigid, cunt, and bitch
But most often, it came with lies. Lies of false flattery and fleeting attention. Lies of declarations of love, knowing it’s just to get into my pants. Lies of saying they want to be with me, knowing it’s just until someone better comes along.
None of these men cared what I wanted, only what they wanted. None of them saw me as a person with autonomy and desires. None of them recognized I had feelings, emotions, or fears.
I was 11 years old the first time a boy tried to assault me using one of these tricks. I was 47 the last time. When does it stop?
