Posted Sunday, June 3rd, 2007
The Lucky Children
I don’t like to talk about it. The few times I do, I start like this: It wasn’t really rape, not in the strictest sense of the word. In other words, I wasn’t jumped at knifepoint in some alley. There was no force involved at all, because I was drunk. But he was in my bed in the morning. Not difficult, as we lived in the same house with a few other friends. I lived there because of the other friends. When I woke up to find him next to me, my skin crawled. You see, I had never much liked him, though he did look a bit like Bob Dylan. He knew all this.
I shook him awake. “What are you doing in my bed?”
“You were so cute last night,” he said with puppy dog eyes.
“But I don’t want you anywhere near me, not like this. You know that.” I couldn’t even say the word sex.
“Yes,” he said, now averting his eyes, but still cashing in on puppy charm. “I’m sorry.”
He was good with children. I mean really good, and with no creepy inclinations in that regard at all. He could put them at ease like a magician. He made them happy, which was excellent as he was studying to be a pediatrician. By now he has probably saved many children’s lives.
I don’t know if I could have ruined his career. Perhaps I was harsher on myself for my own role in the scenario than a judge might have been. In any case, I never seriously considered turning him in. Recently I read the story of a girl getting a fellow student convicted for rape after she had voluntarily climbed in his bed for some cuddling. But she never agreed to the actual penetration he eventually wanted and accomplished, though they had had intercourse before.
As for me, I never reported a thing. I didn’t even tell our friends. Sometimes I am ashamed, because of the other women in this world, for not making my “no” count. Sometimes I am happy for the lucky children he has healed.
Comments [post a comment]
Posted by Donia Carey on Tuesday, June 19th, 2007 at 5:42 PM
I liked this story and meant to comment earlier. The honesty of the woman was refreshing, especially in these topsy-turvy times when the taint of rape can be applied to little boys in grade school, simply for touching a little girl.