“I tried desperately hard to be the kind of girl he would like…”


Testimony by Anonymous

His name was Ricky. He was 16, about a year older than me, as his birthday is a month before mine. This also put him 2 school years above me. He went to a school near my Nan’s house. Looking back it’s probably a lie, but he claimed to be leader of some sort of metalhead gang in his school. I think he was just a bully – he once punched his neighbour in the face, a boy my age who went to his school.

I thought he was amazing, with his black clothes, metal CDs and motorbike poster. I thought it was fantastic that he wanted to be my boyfriend, and, like any teen but also due to my failed-girl-feelings, I tried desperately hard to be the kind of girl he would like. I think now he had many girlfriends, and I was more the ‘other girl’ than any of them, but I was the one who met his mum. She was lovely, and fed me a lot. I was as skinny as a stick. Maybe she was just home at the wrong time, maybe she just thought he had lots of short relationships, maybe I was the most presentable girlfriend he had.

He spent most of the relationship trying to pressure me into sex; vaguely suggesting penetrative sex, harassing me for oral sex. He would try to get me alone as often as he could, and regularly got me high, to relax me. He would imply that if I loved him, I would do sexual things. I would tell him that I wasn’t ready. He had already broken up with me, by text, while I was at a school-arranged holiday camp. Being a naive kid, thinking him so amazing, I had gotten back together with him.

This time, I was at his house. His mum was out, and we were in his bedroom. We had shared a small joint, so I was a little high, but not out of it at all. He asked me for a blowjob, and I tried to deflect the conversation. Then, he unzipped his jeans and got his dick out. It was the first dick I had ever seen. He told me to suck it. I was so shocked that I just stared at it, not moving.

He was holding it with one hand, his right hand, and he reached out with his other hand. He grabbed me by the hair, yanking my head towards his dick, and I just collapsed at the knee, my body giving way as if I had fainted, and began to cry. I would say burst into tears, but they were silent, snivelling tears. I was sort of kneeling, sort of lying, my head about level with his knees.

I’m not sure why, as the rest of the incident is burned so clearly in my memory, but I cannot picture his dick at all. I can’t remember whether it was hard or soft, whether my reaction changed that at all.

He stood above me, dick still out, still in his hand, and looked at me with disgust. What he said next stuck with me the clearest, and I can still hear it clear as if he were in the room: “You’re frigid. So ugly when you cry. Get out of my house.”

The word ‘frigid’ still hurts to hear, even completely out of context by anyone, like a slap to the face. The second sentence really got to me, and I still find it hard to believe that I don’t turn into a hideous, snivelling, red-faced monster when I cry. I don’t remember what he did after that, but I got up, went downstairs, got my bag and coat, and went to the park. I didn’t go to my Nan’s house so I wouldn’t have to tell her, or my parents.

For many years, I blamed myself. At no point in our relationship did I ever say no. I said “I’m not ready yet.” I said “Um…” I said “Not now” or “Not here.” I changed the subject. I still wonder if he would have done that if I had said no. I think he would have just broken up with me. I never did anything about it, and I never saw him again.

When I was 16, he did come back into my life. He dated a friend of a friend, and I later found out he pressured her into sex, got her pregnant, and pressured her into an abortion, before breaking up with her over the incident, calling her a baby-killing whore. I feel guilty for feeling that I got off lightly, and I feel guilty because I could have done something about what he did to me, and prevented it; I feel guilty because I could do something now, and prevent him maybe doing something to someone else.

My Two Year Anniversary


Testimony by Lucy Kidd

This week was the two year anniversary of the last time I was sexually assaulted. This last time was the most traumatic to me for several reasons. First, It was the only one I actually shared with people in my life, second, there were witnesses, third, there was the combined trauma of the sexual assault and the victim-blaming, 4. my attacker wrote a letter of apology to my boyfriend for attacking me (but not to me, because apparently I’m  just my boyfriend’s property), and 5, I had a mental breakdown afterwards and had to quit my job, and 6, because the attack happened in my own home I no longer felt safe there, and 7. I couldn’t sit through a class without having a panic attack, so I had to withdraw from all my classes, even though I was supposed to graduate that semester. With my previous attacks I was able to cope somehow, but not this last time. Not two years ago.

To someone who hasn’t been sexually assaulted, it’s hard to explain the phenomena of the “anniversary,” but I will try.  For some reason, the memories come back in full force – unwelcome and all-consuming. The nightmares of being attacked returned this week as well, the uncontrollable crying, and the intense feelings of anger towards the people in my life who victim-blamed me. There are the feelings of intense shame and humiliation, and the inability to control my emotions.

There are some positive things that came out of my anniversary – it forced me to deal with the fact that I am not yet recovered, that I still have a lot of work to do. I finally had the courage this week to seek out sexual assault counseling.  two years overdue but never too late. I am now able to hold down a job and a loving relationship. These are things I can be proud of.

To the Reader: your input is welcome, so long as it is not victim blaming, slut shaming, or advice on how YOU would have dealt with being attacked. If it’s not your trauma, then you have no idea.


30 Years Later


Testimony by Anonymous

I think in my 20’s and 30’s there was always a shadow of the memory in the back of my head.

You know, like a quick mental picture, then it sinks back down. In my 40’s I went through a really tough time (considered suicide actually), A REALLY ROUGH TIME. But that’s another confession. These stressful times caused this memory to violently surface. A therapist said this is a common age for things of this nature to surface.

I don’t remember my actual age, 9 to 11, perhaps. A man (I know who he is) is in a shower with me and washing my back. And then I am washing his back and then his front. I am using a wash cloth on his penis and he tells me to make sure it’s really clean.

Now I’m sitting on his bed as he rolls pantyhose up my legs. We are camping in his back yard and he says this will keeps us nice and warm. he stands me up and pulls them up to my waist and his hands linger on my ass. His fingers slip into the waist band and slides around to the front, pulling the band down and under my penis and balls, then he kisses my penis and takes it into his mouth and begins sucking. This has never happened and I’m scared and at the same time it feels good. I can’t move.

I don’t know what is happening but soon I am cumming in his mouth, it feels good and hurts at the same time. Now he stands up and turns us around so he is sitting on the edge of the bed.

I am still scared, but I let him pull me close and kiss me then push me to the floor as he opens his robe. He takes my hand and uses it to rub his cock to life. It’s right there in front of me and he tells me to kiss it and I do. Then he tells me to open my mouth and I do.

He still has my hand in his and is now squeezing his hand over mine to grip his penis harder and we begin to stroke it. He has one hand on top of my head and I am scared and its hard to breathe.

Something splashes into my mouth and I am scared, thinking that he’s peeing, but then it’s not like that. He tells me to suck it all down. He lets go of my head and hand, and he lays back

on the bed. I’m still kneeling there when he says to go get a drink and get dressed, we have to go put the tent up. I remember thinking, this has to be ok, mom just dropped me off a while ago. I cant call her and say come get me. Her and dad were going somewhere. I don’t have anywhere to go. He then says he bought me a new scouting flashlight, one I wanted but couldn’t afford. I like the flashlight and finish getting dressed and then we go set up the tent.

I went back, I don’t know why. That’s what hurts me more than anything. Why would you go back after the first time. It was another backyard campout. There were supposed to be other boys

The shower again, washing my penis, then making me wash his. It seemed like a dream like I was watching me do it. My hands didn’t feel like they were attached to me.

Drying me off with a large towel, now I knew no one else was spending the night.

I was led to the bed were he again put pantyhose on me and had me stand up. His hands were moving up and down my legs, touching my butt.

Turning me to face him, he put something soft over my head. I didn’t know what is was, looking back, I realize it was a girls slip.

Again his hands roamed over me. And again he laid me back on
the bed and took my penis into his mouth. I was scared again because it felt good. I didn’t know.

I came soon and he pulled the hose back up, to cover me. I knew what was next. I could feel myself drop to my knees and his hands grabbed my head and forced my mouth onto his penis. I tried to think of anything else, but I could only feel his hands pulling my hair.

But then he stopped and stood up. I just knelt there. He came up behind me and pulled me up.

Hugged me from behind and then bent me over the bed. He pulled the hose down to my knees, and he stepped up and his hands grabbed my ass and I felt him stick a finger into me. It must have been well lubed because it went in before I could protest.

Then he was moving it in and out with his other arm on my back. I couldn’t move. Suddenly he was off me and I was empty, but just as quickly he put his penis inside me.

His hands grabbing my hips and pressing down on top of me. It was hurting my ass, but he didn’t stop. Grunting and breathing heavy, he came and lay on me for a moment. I cried that I couldn’t breath, and he finally got off, and told me to get those clothes off and get back in the shower.

He wasn’t nice like the first time. He was mad at me. I did something wrong. I showered. And then he made me sleep outside in the tent by myself. I don’t remember sleeping. I was worried why he was mad at me this time.

I remember 3 other times, I don’t want to tell anymore right now. I don’t know why I went back. I don’t remember any threats or blackmail type stuff. I don’t remember anything else that summer.

I went to therapy for a couple of months around my 40th birthday. She helped me see that even though it took 30 years to remember, it was still there, eating at me. I have never liked being in large groups. I don’t like to be touched and I hated holding my wife’s hand. I almost never initiated sex,

and would usually just tell her no, not tonight. I would masturbate regularly, but would often involve some aspect of pain. Such as clothes pins on my nipples or cord wrapped around
my testicles with slight weights.

I was, am married. For 17 years, lived together for over twenty. She never knew, heck I didn’t know. All she knew was that I didn’t want to have sex with her. I totally killed her self esteem. When she asked and I said no…I knew she would cry herself to sleep. I would lay there in the dark, wondering what was wrong with me, what kind of asshole doesn’t want to fuck his wife.

Eventually she found someone else. Someone who desired her. I found out, and some other things were happening in my life, so the stress was off the charts. Then my fleeting images of being in a shower evolved in to full fledged nightmares.

I can’t really blame her. I pushed her away for so long. It’s my fault. We are still together, but I don’t trust her. We have good days and bad days.

After Thanksgiving, 2012, we were talking on the phone while I was at work just before lunch.

I was happy and things were going ok. After lunch she just happened to call back and I was crying. In a complete reversal in less than 35 minutes, I was scared and panicking. I wanted to run and hide. I was literally under my desk crying and talking to her. She was scared and wanted to come get me, but it’s an hour drive to work. I told her I would sneak outside and let the cold air and sunshine work it out of me.

I was scared, but realized I had been having these little panic attacks for a long time. This one just the most severe and quickly forming. I went to the doctor, I had only told my therapist and wife what had happened. Now, I was about to tell a new male doctor, my previous doctor having been a woman, how I had been sexually abused. Telling a man what happened scared me very much, but my wife went with me to hold my hand, so to speak. He prescribed some anxiety medicine, and something for PTSD. These helped smooth out my moods swings. Bumpy sidewalks now, instead of roller coasters out of no where.

Run Rabbit Run



Testimony by “Mercy May”

At fourteen years old I was introduced to a ( what I thought was dreamy ) 27 year old guy that had long beautiful blonde hair, gorgeous blue eyes, stood six foot four and was a truck driver… With little concern from my parents ( or his ) we quickly moved from sneaking around, to ” dating” , then within months I was living with him. The first time he struck my in rage, I was shocked. My mother was a violent type of woman and so I retaliated. That surprised him. It was almost two years before he did it again. This time he broke ribs ( kicking me while i was down) , dislocated my jaw with one hit square in the jaw, and walked away smiling as I laid in the floor three months pregnant with his daughter. I spent time away, at my family’s home until healed enough to return, braced for more. This child would have a mother and father in her life and I wasn’t going to take that away from her. The night I went into labor, I interrupted him and his friends. No pictures were taken after delivery, I wouldn’t allow the black eye to be seen by her when she grew up. A child raising a child, with a husband on the road wasn’t easy but she was worth every heart ache. She was almost 3 years old when he finally couldn’t handle my happiness anymore. She witnessed many many restless nights of Momma and her ice packs. More than i care to share or admit. I left again with family after he pushed me from behind while walking with her in my arms. I feel across her and she (( and I blame myself still) hit her head on doorway, causing an immediate goose egg on her forehead. He had crossed a line. I got up, soothed her, rocked her stayed up all night with her afraid to let her sleep. The next day when he walked through the kitchen door of our home, I waylaid his ass with an aluminum baseball bat in the head as hard as I could at nineteen. Seventeen stitches down the side of his head, and I smiled, told him it wouldn’t happen again and waited for his retaliation in the coming days. No police were coming to get me, he didn’t want his families name drug through the mud. Within two weeks I learned we had a son on the way. I told him then it had to stop or I was leaving for good. ( never stay thinking it will get better- just go….) My son was born in March , spring time beautiful skies, dark bags under my eyes from being the best Mommy I could be, broken inside. I went to work, putting the two in day care, I helped introduce him to his Meth dealer ( a Co worker that he became friendly with) and then shit got real. Not only was he larger and meaner than me, now he seemed invincible. Broken collar bone, near miscarriage, dislocated shoulder, bruises….they watched it all unfold every night. He starred seeing ‘Cooks’ cousin, not behind my back but in our bed, in our home, in front of my kids. My attempt to leave then was unsuccessful, I truly loved what he was when we started and just knew he would realize his faults. Third child November of following year….bounced my head off of clothes dryer at his Mithra home, and she acted like she didn’t see it. Her baby boy could do no wrong. They were the perfect Baptist family, and we weren’t allowed to speak of it. His first birthday, I incited everyone, wanted it to be special for all three Kids. Streamers confetti balloons, I went all out. After party, I merely asked for a little help cleaning up the house. Second time I went downstairs and asked, he followed. But not to help. Everyday I look in a mirror now, I see how much he loved me. He cleared the dining room table with my head. I wear a partial, that’s why I cover my mouth when I smile or chew food. He took eight of my upper teeth at 24 years old. When I regained consciousness, my daughter ( five years old) was trying to put my bloody broken teeth back in my mouth. She was crying harder than anyone I have every seen to this day. Her brothers hiding in their closet and he was gone. Gone for days with no call no note on fridge no money on table and no car in driveway. I can tolerate pain now, like no other five foot woman should. I can tell you that the children will never see him hurt me again. I can tell you it wont stop till you leave. But I can’t tell you what its like to watch them grow up. After I left him, his family fought me for custody. And since 2007 have been in his family’s care, 278 miles away from me. Our divorce was finalized and I have no love in my heart left towards him. He beat the love from me, stripped me of my self dignity and has stolen their innocence from them . I can tell you, kids do remember. She told him last month she hated him. I feared he hit her. She hugged me, said Momma I will run, run away so far he wont ever find me. He still haunts my dreams. But I can’t feel what he does anymore. And it all could have been prevented if I had left the first time he backhanded me.. My kids were worth every scar every broken bone and every tear.
Feel free to shake your head at this point, I do every time I look in mirror

Moral of my lengthy story, ” Run run rabbit run away far far away, the first time.”

Much love tonight from Longview Texas.
Mercy May ( forgive but Momma doesn’t )

I pray someone, just one person, who needs to actually reads this and I pray you listen.

I Want to be Free of Him


Testimony by Danielle Piatanesi

When I was 15 I was fighting a lot with my Mom (my parents are alcoholics and I was fed up with it.) So, when my oldest Sister Jenn offered to let me live with her and help watch after my niece during the day I was like “SCORE!” and moved out as soon as my Mom agreed.
I was SO excited to be moving in with my cool sister and her even cooler husband. He let me stay up late and play video games and drink beer and smoke cigarettes, get high for the first time, he was SO cool! He also liked gambling at Tahoe and Reno so he would set me up with KILLER suits to watch my niece in while he gambled. I could order all the ppv and room service I wanted! Also got to run a muck in Circus Circus. I felt like I had a Dad for the first time in my life. (my dad while physically present was drunk and an emotionless robot. “hi” “goodnight” and “goodbye” were the only words I ever heard from him.) My brother in law actually talked to me, played games with me, made me laugh, took me shopping, spent quality time with me. I felt SO lucky!
Then, one night while my sister was sleeping in her bedroom (they slept separately, her in her room, him on the couch) and i was lying on the floor watching tv as usual… he got down off the couch, covered my mouth and told me to keep quiet. He pulled down my shelf bra tank top, exposing my breasts. He used my body that night. I was in shock I think, I couldn’t even say anything or move at all. I was totally frozen while experiencing hell.
The next morning as soon as my sister left the house he got to work “programming” me I guess. He told me this was my fault for walking around his house in a shelf bra tank top with no bra. That my breasts were begging to be played with. He told me that if I ever told anyone that they would take my niece away and she would have a horrible life in the child care system. That my father would know what a whore I am and would disown me. That I would have no place to go once my family knew what a slut I was. I would be all alone on the streets. And I BELIEVED Him.
My abuse went on for 5 years. I spent 5 years trapped in a house with him being raped over and over. I was 15 and while I wasn’t a virgin, I was so very inexperienced. He was the first person to eat me out. The first man to cause “good” feelings down there- of course mixed with fear and anger and horror and shame.
And now being eaten out feels icky to me. I see his face. I feel him. I just want it to stop.
I just want my life, my mind, and my body back. I want to be free of him.

I was Afraid of Him and I didn’t Know Why

Testimony by Leah

How do I begin to tell my story? It has been 5 and a half years since the beginning of my story took place, and I still don’t know how to begin. You never think you could be abused and violated by a friend so badly, but you can. Friends can rape friends. And that is exactly what happened to me.

I decided to go to party at my friend’s house with a couple of my girl friends, and was ensured a safe ride home by one who was not going to drink. After what I remember to only be two or three glasses of white wine, I walked into my friend’s bedroom to check on him. He and I had known each other for one year and in the course of that year we had gotten very close…so close that he had developed feelings for me. I had told him a few times that the feelings were not reciprocated in that way and that I valued our friendship but did not want to date him. I have to admit, there were times when hanging out with friends that our fun conversations led to flirting back and forth. I felt bad about that after hearing that he had feelings for me, and tried to go on with our friendship without the awkward drama. But here we were, together in his room. That is the last thing I remember before having my clothes ripped off.

I had blacked out. Perhaps it was the wine or the shock of what was happening or a combination of the two, but I cannot for the life of me remember what happened from the time I got into his room to the time I was naked on the bed. He was forceful and far from kind. It was excruciatingly painful…I was a virgin. He was so determined to get into me that he had no care for my body. I was pushed up against the wall, hitting it with my head. He wielded my body to and fro, trying to get in while on top, bottom, or with his finger…any way just to get the job done. The horror of these bits and pieces of memories went on for hours, until suddenly out of nowhere I felt aware of my surroundings and what was happening to me. It was almost as if I had sobered up the second he finally got in me. I shrieked in horror at what was happening, told him to get off of me, and ran to the bathroom completely naked (luckily he had one connected to his room). As I sat in pain on the toilet seat I started saying over and over, “what have I done?” After I wiped and saw the blood, I really freaked out and told my “friend” that I needed to go home. He tried to get me to stay with him but I was dressing faster than I ever had before in my life. My girl friend then drove me home.

He had got his revenge in a horrific way. I lay awake the whole night in shock and disbelief. I was bruised from head to toe. My inner thighs were so sore that I could barely get up the stairs without wincing. I had hickies on my breasts, lips, and neck that were so purple I had to wear turtle necks (it was September) and layers of makeup. I had nightmares every night. It was the first thing I thought of when I woke up and the last thing I thought of before I went to bed. My “friend” made an effort to wait for me outside my classes, take me to lunch, and text me almost every day. I was afraid of him and didn’t know why! When I got out of my classes early I would bolt in the opposite direction and not text him back. He was trying to make me believe he was still my friend, and that he hadn’t raped me. Every time he was around I forced a happy face and tried to ignore my short breaths and shaking.

His presence was so horrible that 3 months later I packed my bags and moved 2.5 hours away. I was experiencing Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and didn’t know it.

It’s been a long road, but I now know (and believe) the truth of what happened that night. My old “friend’s” name is filed in his town’s police department. I learned a lot from what happened to me. I want to share with girls/women out there that they do not need to blame themselves for having sex when drunk. Alcohol is the number one form of date rape, and Hollywood does a disgustingly good job making women feel like no wrong is committed when alcohol and sex combine. The truth is that it’s not sex, it’s a crime even if you don’t say, “no”.

Don’t Get Raped in Texas

Testimony by Ms. Salmon

I want to say that I was also raped in Texas. 6 times. All sober. And when I reported it, neither the police nor the detective believed me. They told me that he was my boyfriend, so it was okay, even though I was sixteen, and that I shouldn’t be calling in with fake accusations. I asked for one of those phone calls that they record, and the detective told me that they don’t practice that in Houston (which is probably a lie, judging from this article). I tried so hard to push charges but no one at the station would let me. They dropped my case immediately, but no one told me. I was waiting by my phone for 2 weeks without a call from them, and they wouldn’t return my calls. I found out by calling a rape crisis center in the Houston area (I live in California). An advocate there was the one to break the news to me. I went to student legal services at my university because I had proof of him apologizing for it in an email. My attorney called her friend who is an attorney that takes sexual assault cases in Houston. My lawyer reported back to me that in Texas, prosecutors follow an unwritten rule of not to take up date rape cases because they are too difficult to prove and are therefore not profitable (my incidents counted as date rape because he was my boyfriend at the time). She essentially told me that date rapists get away with their crimes in Texas.