The Rape Joke

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(note: this post is a depiction of a rape, so if this is something you’d rather not read about, here’s your warning)

 

(interesting note: i had a dream about writing this post last night. Weird.)

 

I used to tell this funny story in certain company about this time I went home with a guy from a bar. Too many details aren’t necessary, but the point of the story was that I had to push him off me so I could go throw up in the bathroom and we went back to having sex.

 

Which yes, most people laughed at. I like sex, I like alcohol and drugs, these things usually gel, but sometimes there’s accidents. Right?

 

One night I told my “One time I had to stop having sex to throw up” story to a friend. I don’t really remember what we were talking about, exactly, but I think “sexual accidents” was the theme.

So, he stops me. What happened? How did you meet this guy? How did you get home?, etc.

I had to go through the entire story three times, and talking about it is as emotional to me as talking about how it rained last week, and how rain relates to the condensation cycle.

Until he told me to tell the story, but as if I had done it.

As in “I met two girls in a bar, bought drinks for us all night until the taller one got annoyed with me, but the other one really liked me because I got her “hello, world” reference, and at some point explained Descartes Three Types of Ideas to her.

We were there until bar close, and we were both pretty drunk so we walked home to my apartment. It was about a block away, she fell a few times. I live on the second floor, so she tried to get up the stairs, and after spending far too long falling, ripping jeans, and some how she miraculously falls halfway up my stairs, so I just carry her into bed.

I have to pee, so I tell her to take off her clothes, she manages to get her shirt off, but cannot manage to get her own bra off and her pants unbuttoned.

Great.

So, I get into bed with her, we start having sex and at some point, she loses consciousness and seems to stop breathing. I slap her a few times, and she’s back. I ask her if she just passed out, she denies it and seems really confused that I would ask her this.

 

Well, I’m going to cum tonight, fuck it.

 

I go back to fucking her, and at some point she starts to try to push me off. Lol, no.

Okay, now she seems really desperate and won’t stop. I let her up and she accomplishes an interesting combination of running and falling into my bathroom, it sounds like she’s emptying her stomach of everything that she’s eaten during the entire course of her life, I hear the sink start running, and eventually she walks back into the bedroom, curls up in the corner of the bed and tries to go to sleep.

 

Well, I’m going to cum tonight, fuck it.

 

I say something to her, and she says something about not feeling well.

Well, no, she probably doesn’t.

I start trying to roll her over, she starts whining and trying to get me to stop, but eventually gives up.

Back to the original story, I didn’t really consider this a rape or find it upsetting until someone made me tell them the whole story, and from the guy’s perspective.

 

I have no clue what happened after this point, except in the morning we got breakfast from McDonald’s, he drove me home before he went to work, and later that day I bought plan B and washed it down with warm beer.

Apparently at some point during the night I gave him my phone number, though, which made for an awkward phone call approximately a week later.

(Does anyone else thinks it’s weird that he was able to maintain an erection throughout this whole thing?)

I mean, I can tell this story from my perspective without problems, which isn’t…really “normal”, I guess, but talking/writing/thinking of it from the other perspective is difficult. The idea of myself being on top of a person who is severely intoxicated, and :

  1. unconscious and at some point, stops breathing long enough for me to have to slap them a few times to get them to start breathing/responding to stimuli again
  2. forcibly continuing sex with a person who had to terminate sex to vomit, and now has curled into fetal position and isn’t really communicating much beyond “I don’t feel good”…

…I cannot comprehend this man’s decision-making process and trying to follow along with it makes me ill. Not even upset, angry, or sorry for myself, just physically ill. My own reaction to getting hit on by someone who’s heavily intoxicated is “Haha, thanks, go to bed.”

I mean, I don’t feel like I’m insulting myself by saying this was probably not my peak sexual performance, and can’t imagine having sex with a person in this state is enjoyable or a thing a person would really feel good about? Is sex such a rare occurrence in this man’s life that this situation seems okay or manageable in some way?

 

I am not a huge fan of generalizations, but we should all try to operate under a couple rules:


A person who is so intoxicated that they cannot walk on their own is not really that interested in having sex with you.

Unconsciousness is not a come-on.


Water is wet.

6 thoughts on “The Rape Joke

  1. You have an intensity of perception, Joss, that both impels me towards being (getting) more aware of myself and scares me away from my sullied (was going to use ‘dirty’ but the assonance (or is it alliteration) makes it seem too trivial) depths.
    How does that make you feel?
    Kindness – Robert.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you. 🙂 I think acknowledging/digging into your dark parts and how they got there helps you in a couple ways. First, it helps you be nonjudgemental toward other people’s brokenness, but it also helps you not really act on your darkness as much as you would if you were unware of it.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Push against the door and it opens. Shed a light on the darkness and the shadows retreat. Warm the hand. Touch the skin. Smile – you’re not alone.

        Liked by 1 person

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