It’s Not that Simple

It’s Not That Simple My Struggle with Sexual Assault

By Linda Beigel

[Trigger Warning: This is a first-person account of sexual assault.]

“Last spring, I was sexually assaulted—twice.” This sentence is true. This sentence is one I have spoken and written many times, with ever-increasing frequency over the past few months. This sentence floats in and out of my consciousness all day, a lens that colors my perceptions, that changes the way I speak, the way I act, the way I think. Most of all, this is a sentence that does not even come close to telling the full story.

Because what if, … what if, … and I know not to blame the victim, I know, I know, I know, but what if, … what if the victim honestly fucked up?

“If you’re stupid enough to put yourself in those situations, you deserve whatever happens to you.”

This sentence, I do not speak or write. This sentence follows in the wake of the first, always trailing just a step behind, to remind me (lest I become too comfortable indulging in self-pity) that I brought this all upon myself.

HOW I FUCKED UP #1 – January 2012 • Mistake #1: Being a drunk girl at Harris • Mistake #2: Leaving Harris with a stranger after dancing with him for about 30 seconds • Mistake #3: Consenting to sex, even though I told myself before I started drinking that the most I would do that night was make out • Mistake #4: Saying yes when asked if I wanted to “try something kinky” • Mistake #5: Not demanding clarification as to what exactly he meant by “kinky” • Mistake #6: Not immediately kicking him out when it turned out “kinky” was humiliating and painful—so painful I had to ask him to stop almost immediately • Mistake #8: Not punching him in the fucking face when he re-penetrated me without changing the condom, as I had asked him to • Mistake #9: Making out with him at several other parties after the night in question (although I never ended up taking him back to my room again)

The “kinky” act in question was anal sex, without lube. He knew what he was doing. He had had anal sex before, and I’m sure he knew that without lube, it is extraordinarily painful.

I was not asked or even warned before penetration; he simply did what he wanted to my body without concern for my emotional or physical wellbeing. His sexual gratification, it seems, was far more important to him than sparing me the risk of a bacterial infection, sparing me the shame of the blood he drew from my body, sparing me the humiliation I feel each time I tell this story. He just didn’t care.

HOW I FUCKED UP #2 – April 2012 • Mistake #1: Being a drunk girl at Harris • Mistake #2: Leaving with a friend of a friend and assuming the lack of anonymity ensured my safety • Mistake #3: Assuming he would put on the condom I handed him, as I asked • Mistake #4: Smiling bemusedly upon finding the unused condom on the floor the next morning (Rage would have been a more appropriate response) • Mistake #5: Hooking up with him again many times throughout the rest of the semester, always without a condom, because I never got the nerve to ask him to wear one again after that first time.

Tough to pity someone that dumb, isn’t it?

One of the worst parts is knowing I’m smarter than that. Re- Passages from the Grinnell Sexual Misconduct Policy ally. I’m so much smarter than that. I know better than to leave Non-Consensual Sexual Intercourse or rape is any sexual inHarris with some sketchy guy I’ve never even seen before. tercourse (anal, oral, or vaginal),

But this train of thought is no good. Once you start to pull at • however slight, the threads, the whole thing comes apart; it’s nothing but slut- • with any object, shaming. Good girls don’t hook up, right? Or rather, smart • by a man, woman, or transgender(ed) person upon a girls don’t? I shouldn’t have to be “smart” enough to only have man, woman, or transgender(ed) person sex in committed monogamous relationships. I should be able to fuck any willing partner, relationship or no, without fear of being assaulted. So no, I’m not “smarter than that.” In fact, I, the informed consumer, was actively seeking random dudes for no-strings-attached sex. The whole point of my • without effective consent Sexual exploitation happens: • when a student takes non-consensual, unjust or abusive advantage of another for his/her/hir own advantage or benefit, grand experimentation with the hook up scene was to leave • or to benefit or advantage anyone other than the one Harris with as many sketchy guys as I wanted. Liking sex, seek- being exploited, ing out sex, doesn’t make me a bad person, and it doesn’t mean • and that behavior does not otherwise constitute one of I don’t have boundaries, or that it’s okay to transgress them. the other three sexual misconduct offenses.

So screameth feminism, into the patriarchal void. Effective Consent - Effective Consent is informed, freely and

It’s almost funny to remember the way I thought taking actively given, mutually-understandable words or actions, GWSS classes and reading angsty Third Wave blogs was a kind which indicate a willingness to participate in mutually-agreed of protection—I thought it meant that men couldn’t use me any- upon sexual activity. Consent is not effective if it results from more. I thought it meant I could go out and play the field, have the use of physical force, threats, intimidation, or coercion. hot but meaningless encounters, and stick with it as long as I wanted to, because SEXUAL LIBERATION and BIRTH CONTROL and ORGASMS. I thought nothing bad could happen to me. putting myself in danger, then no more guilt, no more panic, no

Now I can’t help but feel a little betrayed. Wasn’t this all sup- more shame — just no more. posed to be liberating? Wasn’t I supposed to feel good about But the definitions don’t change. hooking up? Each time I check, after waking up or in between classes or

Am I just doing it wrong? late at night, each time I check, the answers are still staring me

Or, more sinister still, is this all just some elaborate plot of in the face. patriarchy? To make you feel safe, make you feel like you’re in No. No, I was not informed. No, the sexual activity was not control, and then BAM! Surprise anal sex!? To leave you stunned mutually-agreed upon. No, I did not give effective consent. and speechless thinking, “Well, I wanted to experiment, didn’t Yes. Yes, I am a survivor. I?” To leave you with some nagging voice in the back of your I know that on the spectrum of sexual violence, my experimind, whispering, “Something was off, something about that ences are on the milder end. I know the physical pain I felt, wasn’t quite right,”a voice you ignore and ignore and ignore, the emotional pain I feel, is not the same, is maybe not even because—and understand this, please understand—because in the same ballpark as many other survivors. But I am still a you don’t want to be a victim. survivor, and I will not apologize for labeling myself as such,

Understand that I ignored that voice for months in the hopes not anymore. that it would go away, because once you see yourself as a vic- Because I can’t ever go back now, can’t ever be the same tim, everything has to change. The ground shifts under your woman I used to be, who felt safe. Now I know I’m not. Now I feet and the certainties you put faith in lose their power. know that there are men who will look at me and see a means

If I have been assaulted, then what does it mean that I let to an end. They’ll see tits, an ass, a potential orgasm; they’ll both of those men touch me again, kiss me weigh how naïve I look, how timid I look, how again, that I even sought them out? Do I easy I’ll be to manipulate. They’ll see an have so little respect for myself, so little I’m not sure. Let’s wait. I need more time. orifice. A receptacle. self-worth? Am I really that sad, that pa- No! I’m not ready. I’m not sure. Let’s wait. I have to walk around each day thetic? I need more time. No! I’m not ready. knowing I have already met two

To accept that I have been assault- I’m not sure. Let’s wait. such men, knowing the way they saw ed is to acknowledge that I am not the woman I thought I was. *** I need more time. I’m not sure. I need more No! I’m time. me; sometimes I can’t help but see myself that way too. Weak. Cheap. Easy. Not worth the 15 fucking seconds it takes to put on a fucking condom. No! I’m not ready. I’m not ready. No! Let’s wait. not ready.

So, you see, my one shot at redemption is Let’s wait. And I can’t ever, won’t ever, forgive mythe fading hope that it wasn’t sexual assault. I’m not ready. I need more time. self. I will always feel ashamed, humiliated,

The logic is simple: if they did nothing wrong Let’s wait. less-than, living with the knowledge that these then I have not been wronged then I can go to Harris without fear, then I can drink without worrying that I’m No! men thought they could treat me like shit and get away with it. And they were right.