“I was raised in an extremely conservative Christian household. Sex was shameful. Even in marriage, sex is supposed to be about procreation and duty, not pleasure. (That’s what we were taught.) All my life, I’ve heard that argument that people ‘become’ gay, because they’ve been sexually assaulted. Contrary to that theory, I was not raped until I came out of the closet.
I was not exposed to people, outside of the conservative Christian community, until college. Anyway, when I was 18, I was invited to a friends house. (I had recently begun telling people close to me, that I was gay.) I remember bits and pieces of what happened, but that is it. I remember being asked if I would like a drink, by one of my male friends. Sometime later, I began to feel strange. I lost grip of reality and blacked out. I remember being in and out of consciousness, and the men taking turns having sex with me (I only knew one of the guys). The only one that I knew, was the friend who invited me over. At first, I thought that I was having a vivid nightmare. I remember one of the guys talking to me, while he was raping me. He was telling me that I would thank them for this, later. That this would ‘save me’ and prevent me from going to Hell. He complimented how ‘tight’ I was, and said that he would not let me waste myself and burn, eternally, for lusting after women. What’s worse is, I think that they truly believed that they were helping me. I was completely sure that I had been dreaming. I woke up late the next day, naked in my friend’s shower. I was naked and bleeding (I was a virgin, as far as penetration). The guys did not try to hide what they’d done, they expected that I’d be grateful. They force fed me a ton of pills. I wasn’t sure what they were. (Turns out that it was a handful of birth control or their makeshift version of Plan B.) They pulled me out of the shower, and dried me off. They tried to be kind and gentle. Their demeanor had changed; they were sweet and calm, because they believed that I had ‘changed.’ I was still sort of out of it, when they dropped me off at home.
My friend took me to the doctor. The nurse came in and I couldn’t speak, I was inconsolable. She was kind. She held me for about 30 minutes, while I fell apart. I had a lot of complications from the rape. (The crazy amount of birth control stopped me from menstruating for several months. Sex can still be very painful.) I was such an optimist. I was the kid who made excuses, as to why anyone would do anything wrong. Those boys robbed that from me. I’m a writer and I cannot write about the rape. It is always ‘the rape’ or ‘the incident’ in my mind. I’ve never wanted to take ownership of what happened. I’ve never wanted to admit that I am the subject, the protagonist, of this story. I know it was not my fault; I could not have prevented it, but I am still ashamed.”