When we experience unwanted sexual attention, there has been an unwritten protocol that requires us to decipher what has happened, and translate it into ‘police-speak’ and legal jargon. No more to that. It’s time we speak in our own voices, saying what we want to say, using metaphors when the memories are too painful to articulate. Our take on what happened to us is enough, and it’s time we started speaking – in our own terms.
“The Account” is a site is for you to state, say, log, record, describe, question and most importantly be heard when you try to make sense of unwanted sexual experiences (read: ANY activity that you did not actively give any indication that you were willing to engage in).
“The Account” is where you can record your experiences. You may wish to tell the police. You may wish to seek ‘justice’ under the umbrella of the criminal justice process. But, you may just want to add your account to this bank of stories (accounts). An account holding all our accounts. Growing (hopefully with interest) and making impact.
“The Account This happened to me, Just Saying” is a place where you can do that. Here, you can record what happened to you. No one will judge you. No one will question your version or memory or feelings (we can’t even do that). But other people will have the opportunity to reflect and try to understand how your experience might have affected you. “The Account” is an opportunity for you to convey how that unwanted experience has affected you, how it came about, and it might help other women to feel less alone, less isolated, and to be part of a bigger unwanted ‘club’ that we didn’t ask to join.
You could start off by joining in the anonymous Unwanted Sexual Experience Poll below
And what happened afterwards (also anonymous) …
You can write as much or as little as you want to … please feel free to be as candid, cross, carefree and crass as you like … all the ‘c’ words. Leave your reply below. You can use your real name, create a pseudonym or a nickname, but if you would like your comment to be completely anonymous, it will be.
And thank you.
A word after a word after a word is power.
Speaking of Justice 
You know, it just makes me so angry. And it makes me wonder if I brought it on myself, or if it’s even that bad. But it constantly makes my skin crawl when I think about it. I can’t imagine how people feel in worse situations than mine.
I’d met up with this boy a couple of times, he came to see me round mine once and we messed around a little bit, id also went to a party with him. I’d also seen him around quite a lot too, we had chatted over Facebook and after the second time of meeting I’d decided to tell him that I wasn’t really into him.. I wouldn’t want to lead anyone on. This didn’t go down very well and he proceeded to constantly message me and ask to see me. I make it clear that I’m happy to stay friends with him if he thinks he will be able to control his feelings.
A few weeks later he asks if I want to come round his for some food and then go to a party with him and his mates. I agree as we’re just friends now, right? We chat a little bit leading up to the Saturday night. As soon as I get there I feel uncomfortable, instantly reminded of why I didn’t like him. We order some food and watch and film and I’m sat on his other sofa, every two minutes he asks me to come and sit with him on his sofa and give him a cuddle.. I already want to go home at this point but I’ve had to get an hour long bus to his and it was the last one. So I go and sit on the other sofa with him eventually – why didn’t I stand my ground and tell him I didn’t want to? I’m usually such a strong person so why did I feel like I had to do something that I didn’t want to?
He keeps asking me for a kiss and I say I don’t want to, he pushes me down and tries to kiss me. I get up and go to the toilet, come back and sit on the other sofa.
He walks over and gets his cock out, pushes me down and tells me ‘daddy wants his little girl to suck this’ I try to push him away in a joking way because I can’t believe he would actually do this, and he forces it into my mouth. I have to beg him to get off me, eventually, after touching me and forcing things into my mouth and pulling my hair, he does.
(It’s his birthday the next day and it’s now like 11pm so he keeps using the excuse that it’s his birthday and he wants a birthday blowjob)
I don’t know why I didn’t just go home, why I didn’t call my mum or a friend. I knew someone could have picked me up. I’d done a few lines of ketamine at this point though and my head wasn’t straight. I’m glad I didn’t do anymore as I would have been too fucked to stop him.
I had left my bag of stuff in the hallway next to his bedroom so I get up and go and get my phone, I wish I would have just called somebody but I wasn’t even sure if what he did counted as being bad, he stopped I guess.
His bedroom door was open and I saw a plug so I put my phone on charge and sat on the side of his bed, he came in and pushed me down again and tells me how badly he wants to be inside me and he needs his cock sucking. He grabs me by my hair so hard and smacks me and tells me I have to be a good girl.
I get up and go to the living room and sit on the sofa as he walks toward me I’m holding back tears calmly asking him to stay away from me. He pushes me down and leans over me as I ask him to get off me.. slowly I turn to begging him to leave me alone and I don’t want this. He pulls my leggings down and forces his soft penis inside me for a couple of seconds until I tell him, “I will scream rape unless he you get the fuck off me.” I don’t know why I’m so calm, I should have kicked and bit him. After a few more seconds he realizes I’m serious and gets off me. I run off to the other room and shut the door and cry.
He comes through and says he feels kind of bad. I’m just sat in the side of the bed trying not to scream the place down with my tears. I’m tired, I’ve been at work since the early hours of the morning. I just want to go home and be alone. He’s trying to tell me he’s sorry, he asks if I think he’s just raped me.. I don’t even know if he has or what to say to him. He tells me that his friend will be round to pick us up soon so I should get ready for the party.
While I’m getting ready he tries a couple more times to do stuff with me, almost in a jokey way. But everytime he tries I have to hold back tears. WHY DID I STAY AFTER THAT AND KEEP QUIET ALL NIGHT. I almost hate myself more than him at this point, why wouldn’t I just leave. We go to the party. It’s fine. We don’t talk anymore.
He’s friends with a lot of my friends, the party scene is big. Everyone knows each other. Whenever I hear his name my body just closes up inside.
You saying that you’re not even sure if it’s that bad – that is exactly what I always think when I think about what happened to me, I always think that I shouldn’t let it affect me because much worse has happened to many others. However, if anyone else said something like that about themselves I would tell them not to be ridiculous. It does not matter how small you may think it is, no one has the right to make someone feel the way you now feel, no one deserves it. And don’t for a second blame yourself, I understand why you do as I have been there myself, but it is in no way your fault -it wouldn’t matter if you had been walking around stark naked, they still do not have the right to act that way toward you. You are not at fault so do not blame yourself.
Grooming from age 11/12 followed by repeated sexual assault at age of 16
Raped by 2 men when aged 20
Pressurised into sex by a friend when aged 28
Lost count of the times I’ve been groped in a bar or club.
I was forced to have sex at 13, my boyfriend at the time threatened to throw himself out of a window afterwards so I felt more confused and guilty, I have never recovered sexually and have always felt it’s a requirement, not something I want to do
I have been a victim twice.
It’s taken a long time to be able to call myself a victim; like many in my situation, you replay the events over and over in your mind, dissecting every minute detail and shouldering blame for a situation that is in no way your fault.
The first time, I was 14. It was the first time I had gotten drunk. A friend got her 24 year old cousin to buy us a bottle of vodka. A stupid teenager, I thought I could handle the booze. After finishing the bottle neat between us, the cousin took us to the pub and bought us more drinks. The rest of the night is a complete blur. He took us back to his house, took me to his bedroom. And he took advantage of me. I can remember snippets. I don’t know whether I was in and out of consciousness or whether my mind has just blanked out the events. But he took my virginity that night. I didn’t tell anyone for fear of being blamed. For being ostracized within the community.
For years after, I took a brazen attitude to sex and looking back I can see it was my teenage brain trying to justify and excuse what happened… if sex was an insignificant event, then what happened to me didn’t matter.
I think that was, in part, how I came to be in the situation where I was raped again.
I was 18 this time. Older, but not wiser. I was out with a friend, drinking, when we met a group of lads. We went out for a car ride, went back to one of their houses. She fancied one of the lads, and I hung out with the rest of the group. I remember kissing in a very drunken haze a couple of the men. I might even have teased them. But I definitely didn’t want to take things any further with any of them. Least of all because it was the ‘wrong time of the month’. Eventually the group dispersed and I was left with the lad that lived in the house and my friend wanted some ‘alone’ time with the lad she fancied, so I went to the bedroom of the lad whose house we were staying at. I went to sleep, fully clothed. I woke up with the man inside me. I’d been having a sexy dream about my ex-boyfriend and I was confused and scared about how I was in this state with no trousers on and a man penetrating me. And because of this, I didn’t scream, I didn’t tell him to stop. What was more mortifying was that when he was finished, I had to ask him whether he had removed my tampon before he put his penis on me and when he said no, I had to ask him to put his fingers in me to remove it.
I didn’t talk to him after this, I just got up, put my clothes on and got my friend and ordered a taxi. I didn’t say anything about it because I was embarrassed. I was confused. I didn’t know what I had done in my sleep. Perhaps I hadn’t spurned his advances? Perhaps I had somehow encouraged him?
But I know now. I am not responsible for their actions. Yes I was drunk. Yes, I was in a very stupid state, and I shouldn’t have allowed myself to be so vulnerable. But i didn’t asked for what happened to me. Even if I had wanted to, I was too inebriated to give consent. And whatever you think about the situation, if a woman does not give her explicit consent, it is rape.
It has taken me years to accept what happened and to label it as it was. I am not responsible for what happened, but I am a stronger person now for dealing with it. What happened does not define me any more.
I doubt that those men even think about me or what they did. I doubt they see any wrong in it. I just pray that when they have daughters, that no man does to their children what they did to me.
I was about 16 and my best friend at the time came over and we went to a party in a village outside of the city I lived in. She knew I fancied a boy called E, he knew I fancied him too. At the party we got chatting and he suggested we go upstairs. I wanted to go with him. We got into the bedroom and started having sex on the bottom bunk bed. It was all over quite fast and then he jumped up and threw the condom out of the window and left the room really quickly. Then I heard a huge cheer. I felt odd and confused. I didn’t know what was going on. I got up, got dressed and slowly walked along the landing until I got to the top of the stairs. What happened next haunted me for a long time. Sitting at the bottom of the stairs was my best friend and E, hugging and sitting like they were a couple. They spotted me and started laughing then everyone started jeering and calling me a slag. I walked down the stairs in shock, holding back the tears and walked straight out of the front door. I was miles away from home and without a coat or my bag. I walked with tears running down my face for a couple of hours until I got home. I found out “they planned it” to “teach me a lesson”. Why? I never found out. But I felt betrayed and assaulted by my best friend and him. It affected me for a long time afterwards. I didn’t return to college because I couldn’t face seeing them. I didn’t tell my family but they were really angry that I left college. I didn’t trust girls who wanted to be my friend. If I ever heard his name or he was anywhere I went, I felt cold and dead inside. It took me a long time (until this year and I’m now 48) to realise that what I went through was an assault. My friend pointed it out to me- I experienced an unwanted sexual encounter. Even though I consented to sex, I wouldn’t have consented to it had I known that they had planned for that to happen so they could humiliate me and hurt me. How did she think it was ok to do that? Does she ever think about it now? What about him? Does he think it was ok? Would they be ok about it if it happened to their 16 year old son or daughter? Jealousy is one of the reasons given for her behaviour but really? Would you go that far to make someone feel bad? No reason was given for his behaviour. I guess people thought it was normal for a guy to do such shit things. I imagined them plotting it all for a long time. Imagined the conversations…”yer you take her upstairs and fuck her and then come down and we will be a couple from then on…. and when she appears we can all laugh at her and make sure everyone else does too”.
I was sexually abused and raped over 8 years by my older brother. It started when I was 5 and ended when my mother caught him when I was 13. Last year I finished a 4 year court case, where he pleaded guilty to 3 counts of rape and 5 sexual assault charges. It took me many years to gather the strength to report it but I knew it was the right thing to do. I was fed up with opinions like ‘this is a family matter’ which means lets sweep it under the carpet. This to be honest was more damaging than elements of the abuse itself. I finally have justice, as for closure that will be ongoing. But time is the biggest healer, and speaking to other people of their experiences. I recommend going to survivor groups, it really makes you feel less alone. I tried to numb the pain in my teens addicted to drugs but leads to one end, it’s a waste. I feel so much more content being open, honest and clear minded. Don’t be ashamed of yourself for not screaming, not fighting. In those moments your body and mind work instinctually hoping you won’t die. You may be assaulted by someone you love and care about and trust, or maybe by a stranger who you have no idea what they are capable of. But it’s not your fault and don’t let anyone ever make you think it is!
So, I have a lot of stories. Stories of unwanted attention. Stories of unwanted sexual attention. Stories of rape. Stories of WTF?
I don’t feel like a victim. But I don’t feel like a survivor either. Those things that happened to me were just more things that contributed to the forming of me. Whether I liked me or not. I really don’t know how to feel that different about falling off my bike or falling off my roller skates than managing men in awkward situations. They all happened, and I can’t really remember that I was any more in control of a bike accident than I was when a man did what he wanted to me, regardless whether I wanted it too.
I think it was because I was never taught to say ‘stop it’. No one told me that if I thought something was wrong, then it was.
When my dad told me off, I accepted the naughty label. Even though I often thought he was wrong, I learned to keep quiet. My sassiness annoyed him. And I didn’t like annoying him. Over my life, I have come to realise that annoying men really worries me. Still. So I think I have learned to deal with that by annoying men intellectually. I still feel trapped in the ‘don’t make it personal’ and ‘don’t attack his manhood’ syndrome.
So, the first time that I remember fending off unwanted sexual advances was when I was about 13 or 14. It was a really cold and snowy winter’s morning, and I was waiting for my train to take me to school. The platform was frozen, and the train was delayed. The station master (yes I’m that old) whose name was Paddy (from Ireland!!) asked me if I’d like to get warm in his hut until the train came. I had known Paddy since I was about 8 years old. He was a friendly, cheerful man, who knew my parents – I liked him. He was Irish, and he was nice to me. He’d always chat.
And I liked the idea of getting warm, so I went into his hut. I had been in there before. There was no reason for me to think it was a danger area (my dad had forbidden me to walk on lone country footpaths alone, go out with boys, sleep over at my friend’s house), because he had never suggested that the friendly station master was someone to be afraid of.
So in I went. The fire was hot. I can still remember it burning my cheeks. And then the double burning of my cheeks, later. Even today, decades later when my cheeks burn near a fire I remember that morning, and the shame and embarrassment that I felt.
There was just one small bench in the hut, with a couple of cushions on it. I sat down, and he sat next to me. Very close. I remember thinking that he was very close because my family didn’t ever sit close to each other. I noticed the unfamiliar feeling of a man close to me. He started to compliment me. Another unfamiliar experience. How I’d grown. How bonny I was. And then he started to tell me how cold he was, and that we should keep each other warm. He got closer. And then he put his arm around me. I froze. I was horrified. He was so friendly all the time he was doing these things, and it seemed so rude to tell him to move away. Or even worse for me to move away – so that he would know that I wanted to move away. Then he put his other hand on my leg. I had my coat and scarf on, but it was very hot in in his hut, and he asked if i wanted to take them off. I said I didn’t, and wondered if the train might be there soon. I don’t remember what he said about the train, but he said it would be really nice if I would give him a kiss because he was a lonely old Paddy. I can’t remember if I answered him. I do remember feeling completely trapped. Uncles and Aunts asked for kisses. I always had to oblige. I had no other reference. But I didn’t want to kiss him. Anyway, I didn’t have a chance to say anything because he grabbed my head and turned it to him, and started kissing me. Wet, slobbering kisses. I was horrified. But frozen. Despite feeling confused and disgusted, I didn’t want to cause a scene. And I really didn’t want him to know how uncomfortable I felt because then I might make him feel bad. And the last thing I wanted to do was to annoy him.
So, the kissing went on for a while. An eternal while. I can’t remember how I got out of the hut. I can’t remember anything else about the incident. Nothing. No matter how hard I dig. But I remember the feeling I had when he invaded my space … me. It was frozen, it was helpless, it was scared to make a fuss, it was repulsed, it was rational, it was disconnected. I think that I may have learned to disassociate parts of what happened to me that day. Or maybe that’s just the day that have I realised that I do that.
I still had to get the train to school after that incident. I didn’t dare tell anyone because I was embarrassed for me and for him. I thought my father would try to kill him if I told him, and I thought about having to get the train again every day and how it would be if my father had tried to kill him. So I made it a secret. I still caught the train. What Paddy did made me feel really horrible. I felt guilty for letting him down just as much as I was revolted by the thought of kissing him. I remember the feeling in that little hut very clearly. His closeness, his hard lips, and his determination. My revulsion, my fear, and immobility. My feelings of inability to escape. Not knowing how to escape. I could have just walked out of the hut. He was holding me though. But I thought if I struggled, and made a fuss, I would have made a scene – over-reacted, and it would have been embarrassing for us both. I think I was aware that by refusing or struggling, it would have shown him up. I don’t remember feeling flattered at all, although I think maybe I realised I was meant to, but I did feel sad because I had thought he was a nice man, and after that I din’t like him at all. But I think I felt guilty for not liking him. Like I had done something wrong.
Sometimes he would ask if I wanted to wait in his hut, but I always went to the very end of the platform. As far away as I could get from the hut. And if the train was late, I sang David Bowies’ ‘Five Years’ to myself to take my mind off waiting.
Occasionally I drive over that level crossing. There’s no station master any more, and no hut. But every time I go there, I feel like that 14 year old again. But today I feel a lot amore about the whole thing. I feel sorry for her because she didn’t have tools to know what to do. Actually I don’t know what those tools are. But today I know that we know that there must be some tools.
I want to make a tool kit.
Anyway, Paddy was the first man who lived up to the terrors that my dad had instilled in me when he forbade me to do so many things. Sadly he was not the last.
On a trip out to San Francisco to visit my brother, I did a lot of exploring around the city by myself (as he had work). Done so, absolutely fine for the past few days.. Had spoken to lovely people and felt safe. Was waiting for a tram, in daylight, and this guy (around my age 22) struck up a conversation, we got chatting about crafts and sewing and so forth. after a little while of chatting he mentioned that up in the hotel lobby (behind the tram stop) there is a huge window looking over to the bridges and the marina. A downfall of mine is that I like to trust, I’m too trusting and my thought process of the offer is that ‘it’s the middle of the day and there will be staff and visitors in the hotel lobby, so will be safe’ agreed to go up and he showed me the view and the cool art work in the hotel. He then said there was a balcony with a better view next to the lobby, as we entered onto (what turned out to be a one way door fire escape) he closed the door. I was holding onto the last bit of trust and quickly looked at the view and said I wanted to leave. He kept striking up different conversations and then started taking photos of the view and then me. With each photo taken he would make my skirt shorter, show more skin, even with me telling him not too and to stop. I was to scared to scream, was on an unknown floor of a fire escape in a hotel with doors on each floor I couldn’t open. Got to the point where he was taking photos up my skirt, touching my vagina and boobs and the whole time I was telling him to stop. I was scared to make a scene, to shout and kick, to throw his phone of the baloney.. Just wanted it to be over and leave.
But sadly, another thought that went through my head is that this is normal… Been through a absusive relationship where my partner at the time forced himself on me lots of times, even though there’s tears and I’m telling him to stop… Where I’ve been told ‘it’s my job to sort out his erection,it’s what I have to do’ and if I don’t he’d either watch porn right in front of me and masterbat or force himself in me. Over the years I’ve sadly have accepted things like this to happen.
But when I think back to the guy in America and my ex it just makes my skin crawl and all I want to do is scream and kick and shout and let out all the anger I have towards myself for letting it happen.
How do you ever exorcise the horror of rape?- i was raped when I was 15. The shock left me unable to even say the word ‘rape’-after telling a friend what had happened, she was the one who gave it the word, and I guess from that moment it became real. I seem to have the ability to box trauma away quite neatly(and I did) and I do believe had the word not been spoken I would still be in denial of the rape. So here I am years later- in my late 40’s for fuck sake!- still traumatised and floundering around, horrified by the word and suffering physically because of boxed up trauma!
So, how do you ever exorcise the horror of rape………..?
Words are the start.