She handed me a cup, filled to the brim with overly sweet jungle juice that reeked of vodka. “Are you drunk?” She asked. I smiled and shook my head. “You will be soon!” It was my Sophomore year, and I still was unsure of the point of going to a party and getting drunk. Everyone told me it was to hook up, which I assumed was just making out with someone who might end up with my number.
So why was it that she pulled me into the bedroom, closed the door, and turned out the light? Why was it that when I told her I didn’t want to have sex she still pulled me onto the bed? Why did she only stop unhooking my bra after multiple “no’s” when a friend barreled into the room?
I was mortified, and it felt like my fault for drinking the juice, for letting her pour me another one as she encouraged me to drink more. I remember everyone blaming me for what happened. Rumors spread like wildfire and I was the one to blame for never texting her back the next morning. No, I didn’t have a good time. No, I would not like to see you again.
This wasn’t the first time someone got me drunk in order to have sex with me. A few weeks later it happened again. This time with a girl I liked. I didn’t want to drink anymore but she kept going. She pulled me into a room and headed straight for the bed. I was unlucky enough to be wearing a halter, no bra. I said no again, this time pushing her off of me.
No one took me seriously when I told them she tried to rape me. They took one look at her and thought I was kidding. What if she had been stronger? More determined? Why did half my friends decide to be her friend instead and lose touch with me? This was the second night I was lucky, but what if it happened again? Why do we ignore the queer voices about sexual assault, and why didn’t my friends believe me? I needed to stop asking why, but still, I am unable to speak out against these two women who took it upon themselves to taint my belief that women would be different, they would never hurt me like I had been hurt so long ago.
23 students at Columbia University and Barnard College are filing complaints about how their school dealt with their sexual assault, and many of those victims are queer. It makes sick, afraid, and so devastatingly sad that nothing was done.
I am lucky that those drunken nights never ended in anything more than anger, but I am tired of feeling shame. Sexual assault occurs through all gender expression, and although I will never report the two girls, I hope they read this and realize I will never let them or any person take advantage of me again, and I hope they stop.