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Aimee

Me too, of course, like all the other women :( - metooproject2017@gmail.com - Gmail I can't recall exactly how old I was the first time I was sexually assaulted. I was probably around age 6 when a MUCH older boy (high school) was at my house while all of our parents were partying (we had zero supervision) and he said we were going to play house.  I think everyone else was outside and we went to my bedroom where he had me get in my bed under the covers and proceeded to touch me and kiss me while telling me it was our secret we were playing husband and wife.  He would put his hands down my pants. I never told.   Around the same time for approximately 2-3 years, every time my parents were outside a creepy man would call the house and when I answered he would say things like, "Can I lick your kitty" and "Do you play with your pussy"... I talked to other friends of mine who said the same thing was happening to them.  I think I told my parents because one day when it happened, my dad picked up the phone too.  A man that I had gotten a creepy vibe from moved from our town shortly after that and the calls stopped.  

When, again my parents were out partying, I was the only girl of all the boys out of my parents friends.  There were several instances when we had a babysitter and when the baby sitter would put us all to bed together, my classmate would grope and kiss me.  This went on for MANY years maybe from ages 5-8 or so.  I never told.  

Then as some of the older boys started to get into high school, they would tell me we had to play strip poker or spin the bottle.  I was probably 8-10 and they were 14-16.  I would play because they would tell me they would hurt me if I didn't.  I remember several instances of the boys making me strip and would kiss me or touch me.  One time one of the boys put a bottle up my vagina.  Several of the boys dry humped me and/or put their hands in my pants.  I never told.   One of the boys (our neighbor and parents friends) would slam my body into the wall/floor/etc if I didn't listen to him when he asked me to remove my clothes or kiss him.  I never told.  

My first cousin who is 5 years older than me sexually abused me when I was around 8 years old.  We were spending time at my aunt and uncles house for Thanksgiving and all us kids (my female cousin who is my same age, my brother who is year younger and my youngest cousin who is 3 years younger) were watching a thanksgiving movie.  Our oldest cousin came into the basement (again all the adults were upstairs drinking) and he sat on the couch next to me. I was kind of hanging over the edge of the sectional and he got under the blanket with me.  He proceeded to put his hands down my pants and then started shoving his foot in my vagina.  The pain was so intense and I didn't know what to do.  He was holding the power.  He did it while my other cousins (his siblings) and my brother were all on the sectional watching the movie. Afterwards, I had blood all over my panties and had no idea what to do.  He followed me and when I came out of the bathroom he told me never to tell anyone or he'd kill me.  I packed my panties away deep in my duffel bag and when we got home, I buried them in the trash.  I didn't tell anyone for 20 years.   When I got into college I was cat-called/groped/etc more times than I can count. I became so used to it I thought it was normal.  I started playing rugby my second year in college and the sexual harassment was unreal and almost constant.  Basically the premise of rugby is to get so shit faced you can forget the pain of the game.  I was raped in an opposing teams bus while I was passed out one evening.  I came to when he was taking my pants off.  And he didn't stop when I said no.  I never told.  I thought that was completely my fault because I had gotten too drunk.  And I was flirting.  And I was "asking for it."

After college I married a real asshole.  Knowing what I know now about sexual assault there were many many times I said no and he just forced himself on and in me.  I thought thats how marriage worked. I've never told.  

Then in 2006 I was attending a country music festival and working at the festival because I didn't want to pay for a ticket.  I entered the festival grounds early to work my shifts and was camping in a secluded area.  There weren't supposed to be any concert goers there until the entire festival opened.  However, when I came back from an 8 hour shift, there was a whole camp set up next to me with a camper and two tents.  There were about 8 people in the camp next to me and they said they just paid a fee to get in early.  That night, they invited me over to party with them.  I brought my own beer (2 to be exact).  I had an uneasy feeling and didn't particularly like the group. Two beers after being out in the sun all day got me buzzed, to which I let down my guard and took a drink from them.  I began to feel really really funny.  There were several women in the group and I asked one of them to walk me over to my tent.  I had purchased a lock for my tent but was so drugged up I couldn't find it.  The woman (I think she was maybe even a nurse) zipped up my tent and that is one of the last things I can consistently remember.  I don't remember him coming into my tent.  I must have started coming to after quite a while.  I had to puke and I remember him pushing my head out the tent door so I could puke and he pulled me back in.  I remember pain and I remember saying no/stop.  I don't remember much more until that morning when my alarm went off for my shift.  He was still raping me. He left my tent and I stood up in so much pain... blood all over the sheets I had over my blow up mattress... three condoms laying around the tent... and bruises all over my body.  I went to my work shift and as I was walking by their site, another man in the group drug his finger across his neck with a menacing look.  I knew that meant not to snitch.  I went to my work crew and a woman I was talking with was talking about statistics of rape at the festival (one in every three women).  I said nothing.  When my friends got to the festival the following day, my bruises on my arms, breasts, legs, face, neck were very visible, along with a cut on my mouth and nose.  Two of my best friends asked me point blank if I was raped and I said no.  It wasn't until about a week later my friend Craig got it out of me.  He took me to the doctor and they took photographical evidence of my still very deep and dark bruises.  

After that I spiraled down down down the abyss into self destruction.  Although I swung the direction of being "over-sexualized" I was made to do things I didn't want to do with partners I didn't know how to say no to or who disregarded my "no's".  I went to trauma treatment for two months in 2007.  

When I moved to Portland I dated a guy who forced me to do many sexual acts I didn't want to do.  I would say no and he would manipulate me exhaustively until I said yes, or he would just do it and tell me to be a "good little slut" or he would yell abusive shit at me until I finally did it.  .  

I truly didn't realize the magnitude of what happened to me until just writing this out.  It was cathartic writing it... but really glad I have a therapy appointment next week.  

[metooproject-blog]

Whitney

I’ve asked others to share their story so It’s probably appropriate I start with mine.

I’ve experienced sexual harassment in the past. Being touched by the older neighbor when I was a child. We played “Jurassic Park” and he would pretend to rip off my clothes and touch me. I was too ashamed to tell. I’ve been in relationships where I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t cute enough to have my hand held in public. Some more aggression from random men, being called a bitch if I agree with their creepy compliments (”Your husband is a lucky guy.” “I know” “Oh, okay, stupid bitch. I wouldn’t get that cocky”). 

But the worst was just over a month ago. I was out at a friends house meeting her boyfriend and hanging out with her friends. Leading up to that night, I hadn’t been drinking much because I’ve been having stomach issues. That night, I drank entirely too much vodka soda’s and by the end of the evening (2:15am) I was in and out of blackout drunk. I called for an Uber.

Once he pulled up, I got into the front seat. I figured it was better for talking. I like to talk and flirt when I drink. I don’t remember too much. I know we stopped in a parking lot in front of a pizza place and we touched, then the next thing I remember is pulling up outside of a porn store. I remember him telling me “this is the only place I can think of.” Then I remember walking in and cutting to the right where they keep the booths for people to watch porn.

There was another man there. I don’t really remember what he looked like. My driver and I went into a booth by ourselves. I remember him standing in front of me, and I vaguely remember him touching me. I blacked out, then remember I stumbled from one booth to the second where the other man was. I don’t remember how long I was in that room before grabbing my wallet and stumbling back out. We must have gotten back in his car and continued the ride home, because the next thing I remember is telling him to turn right a block early. I had him drop me off at the corner and I waited until I saw his tail lights turn the corner, then I walked home.

From my friends house to my house, it should have only taken about 20 minutes. Instead, I left her home at 2:15 AM and didn’t get home until 3:30 AM. He stopped the ride with Uber about 5 minutes north of the porn store, and it’s about 10 minutes from the porn store to my house. There are large periods of time I can’t remember where anything could have happened. While I know that some things did happen, I don’t know to what extent.

At first I blamed myself; I shouldn’t have had so much to drink. I shouldn’t have worn a low cut dress. I should have rode in the back seat. I should have just stayed at my friends house. I shouldn’t be so flirty and aggressive when I drink. I made excuses for him; what if he couldn’t tell I’d been as drunk as I was? What if we went into the porn store, he realized how drunk I was, then got me out of there? But here’s the bottom line. I was clearly drunk. I requested a ride home. He didn’t take me home. He was completely sober and made the decision to stop the ride I had requested and take me to a porn store. I talked to my therapist and she pointed out that even if I had been sober and asked for the attention, it was still wrong because he had 1 job to do. To get me safely to my destination. Regardless if I had been flirting or not. Regardless if I asked for attention or not. I was too drunk to consent.

I filed a police report and a report with Uber. I called the porn store to ask them to hold security footage for the police. Uber was fantastic. They put together a report for the police and suspended his driving privileges. I’m still waiting to hear back from the police about his side of the story and what they found on the security camera.

It could have been so much worse. I’m thankful it wasn’t. My husband has been by my side the entire way. Holding me when I cry, reminding me he loves me, and being strong for me when I can’t be. I couldn’t have married a better partner. My friends and parents have been there, too. I’m so lucky to have such an amazing support system. But here’s the thing; it could have been so much better. I could have been delivered directly home safely. And I wasn’t. That’s his fault. Not mine.