I have two stories to tell.
The first is one inside of a committed, long term relationship in 2012. We had met at a social group at an unnamed NZ University. I fell head over heels for this young man, and after 6 months or so, I asked him to move in with me. I lived much closer to the University than he did, and living together would mean that we could focus on our study during the day but still spend a decent amount of time together in the evenings. He moved in.
Two easy weeks passed by as we settled into our new shared space. One morning we were getting ready for university. I had a test I had been studying hard for, staying up late to be in the library. Perhaps I had been too focused on my test, and not enough on him. I was half dressed when he grabbed me, and threw me on the bed. I protested, saying I had to get to uni to do some final cramming before the test. He said after he thought I was just play-protesting. I kept saying no, and tried to force him off me. I’m a relatively physically strong and tall woman, but even so, he was still twice my weight and had at least 3-4 inches on my 6 ft frame. I couldn’t get him off me. I just started silently crying until he was finished. He didn’t understand why I was upset. Then he walked me to uni and I had to go and sit my test with my newly moved-in boyfriend’s unwanted semen running into my knickers.
I told a friend a little while later. He didn’t know why I stayed with the guy. I thought I was in love and that perhaps he just didn’t know what he was doing was wrong.
The second story is more recent, in late 2013 in a large metropolitan area outside of NZ. I moved to this city in a new country for further studies. It was quite far away from NZ, and I didn’t yet know many people. A classmate asked me to go to an exhibit one afternoon with him down town. I was eager to see it, and we made plans to meet there. It was an incredible exhibit. We spent over two hours exploring. I was in my element, and fascinated. Afterwards, I didn’t want to go back to my small single room occupancy (like a dorm, but for grown women) and study, so we decided to get something to eat. We choose a nearby Japanese barbecue place. We had a great meal, and drinks. We decided to grab a drink, so after a pit stop for cigarettes, we moved to a nearby Aussie bar. I keep drinking, becoming increasingly intoxicated. I’m enjoying the atmosphere and feeling of having made a new friend in the city. At the bar, I read his phone screen over his shoulder as we sit side by side. It reads something close to “I think my chances of getting laid tonight are getting slimmer and slimmer, she’s so drunk”. He keeps offering to have me stay at his house instead of my SRO at the women’s home. So I can get home safely he says. I live about a 20minute subway ride away, he lives at least an hour out of the main part of the city. I repeatedly decline the offer. We visit one or two more bars, and decide to call it a night. He says he’ll walk me to the subway. The entrance is on a now mostly empty main street, stairs descending underground with a landing in the middle of the flight. I say goodnight at the top of the stairs, thank him for a good evening, and give him a hug. I walk down the stairs. He follows me. He grabs my shoulders and pushes me against the concrete wall. He kisses me. He keeps kissing me. I say no, ask him to stop. He tries to reach into my pants, I try violently to stop him. He keeps pushing my into the wall, and keeps kissing me, holding my head in place with his fat, short fingers. He tries again to get his gross hands into my pants, and succeeds. I take the chance with his groping hands absent from my head to turn my head, repositioning my body just enough to get free of him. I run down the last of the stairs, jump the subway barrier and wait in a small crowd of people for the late night train home.
In the following days, I get a text apologizing for his behavior, saying just how drunk and sorry he was. I can’t remember what I said in reply, but I wish I could edit it to tell him it’s not okay. I had to spend the rest of the term in classes with him. Looking at him makes me feel sick and gross. I want to throw up when I see him.
I feel like I let myself down, not reporting him, but at the time, I owned the decision by saying I had better things to do, that it would cost a lot of time, money, and emotional energy.
With each story I thought, and still somewhat feel that I am to blame for making or letting myself be vulnerable. I think I fucked up by not reporting either, but I also doubt any police officer would take me seriously. Neither man thought what they did was particularly wrong. I feel like I somewhat allowed for both of these stories to unfold. Both feel minor in comparison to others I have come across.