Posted in Life

My Rape and OITNB Season 3 (includes Spoilers)

Season 3, episode 10 of Orange is the New Black ended with Doggett getting raped.
Her facial expression as it happened has some questioning if it was actually a rape.
The fact that she is a prisoner and the man is an officer alone makes it a rape.
The fact that she said, “No” makes it a rape.
That she stopped fighting does not mean it was not a rape. It means she’s been abused before and learned that sometimes you can’t win so it’s best to just get it over with.
Just after my 17th birthday, I was depressed. My boyfriend had dumped me and when I received an invite to a party, I decided to go. The guy throwing the party was going to set me up with a guy I liked whose band was playing a show that night.
I showed up and soon realized I was the only one there. The guy throwing the supposed party claimed others were coming. His mom wasn’t home. He picked me up and carried me to his room. I kicked, struggled, and screamed, “No! Put me down! No! Stop!”
He pinned me to his bed and pulled my jeans down. He reached for the bag of condoms I always carried since I worked for the GMHC (Gay Men’s Health Crisis) as a Safe Sex Counselor.
Once on the bed, I still fought him with words and struggling. I bucked my body to try and get him off of me, but he said it turned him on, so I stopped.
I told him I had my period and he simply ripped out the bloody tampon and tossed it across the room. And then he was inside of me.
I’d lived with a mother who beat me on a daily basis until I was 13 and got emancipated. I’d tried fighting her and learned that, like Doggett, sometimes you can’t win. And so I left my body and watched what was happening from above.
I thought about my now – ex saying I “need to get laid”.
And then it was over, and he asked, “Did you come?”, sarcastically, almost a joke.
I took my clothing into the too – white bathroom and crouched, naked and shamed and shaking. Blood dripped from me onto that too – white tile floor, but I hadn’t brought another tampon.
When his mother came home I had to ask her for one.
I dressed.
I called a friend and spent the night at her place, wrapped, mummy – like in the covers.
The next day I told my father. He said I’d “asked for it” by going alone to the boy’s house. I tried explaining about the party, but my father didn’t listen.
Two days after it happened, I told my social worker. She said we were going to go to the police and had me recount every detail for her. At the end she asked for his last name. I told her and she took off her coat, hung it up, and sat down across from me.
She told me she knew the guy and he’d done this to other girls. She also knew his mother and if we went to the police, it would “kill” her.
What about me? What about the other girls? I wanted to scream. But I stayed silent.
I saw him once after that, downtown. He didn’t see me as I threw up in a garbage can.
I saw him again, walking towards me after I’d left work. I was a professional dominatrix, had a Playboy body, and had just had some men ask me to come backstage to meet the guy they worked for. Some guy named Usher.
“Does he clean the aisles after a show?” I’d joked.
But when I’d turned the corner, there he was. The guy who raped me, holding hands with a petite Asian girl. They were holding hands and he held hers up to show me the sparkling engagement band on her finger.
I froze.
“Who is that?” asked the girl.
“Just another jealous ex,” he answered.

As far as I know, none of the girls he raped came forward.
And, while I wasn’t there, I can guarantee they were raped.
I stopped seeing that social worker as heroin took care of the pain better than she did.
I didn’t develop a habit then, and went on to date a boy who put up with me suddenly crying or freezing up during sex.
It’s been over 20 years but sometimes, when a guy is on top of me, or he unintentionally does something that reminds me if that guy, I still freeze up.
Doggett says she’s not angry, “just sad.” When I think about that social worker, and what she knew, and the girls who were raped after me… I’m not angry. I’m just sad.


Blessed Be,
D.K. Stevens

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Author:

Mom, cat-lover, ovo-lacto vegetarian, voracious reader, verbose writer on various subjects. Expect anything & everything & feel free to suggest a topic or ask a question.

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