Real Stories: Sexual assault
When I was a little girl, I was raped by an uncle when I was five... … he would chase me in the basement and do things… but we had no idea it was happening to my sister too. So we’re both having this thing happen to us and we have no idea its going on. What I found out as an adult is, the way it became exposed was that my sister mentioned it at church thinking nothing was wrong with it. She said, oh yeah, my uncle ***** puts his penis in my mouth. And so the church people called DHS and the social worker came.
This stuff was going on in our house and our parents said, if the they talk to you, just say no comment. Don’t talk to anyone about this. They asked me what happened and I told them he kissed me on my neck and my mom was like, oh that’s all that happened, not a big deal. So for me, this type of sexual thing was considered normal, like anybody was allowed to own me because this happened and there was nothing said and there was nothing done, so my body, in my mind was for anybody.
So it went on from there to being molested at a camp by a counselor. I remember it was an afro-centric camp so that probably skewed my view in some ways. I don’t know. And so this camp was supposed to be empowering for black people but it didn't really seem empowering for black girls because this black afro-centric guy was putting his hands all over me. And the camp didn't really seem like they believed me when I said something, and the only reason I said something was because some of the other girls were telling me, this is bad, and I was like, this is what happens, right? So I don't think my mom ever asked me anything about it, she was just like, are you going to continue going to that camp? And I was like, I don’t think so, I don’t know. My brother was making a big deal about it, like, we need to sue them, we need to do this, and we need to do that, and I was so ashamed I wanted to disappear. I wanted to go away.
I went through a lot of stuff, I guess. I ended up getting married. To a guy that raped me. I was 23. There are some parts of it that I’ve never said. I was 23. I had just been sexually abused by someone I was dating and a friend was like, we need to go out, we need to cheer up. I had called Women Organized Against Rape and they never … they said somebody was going to call me and nobody ever called me. And even though they couldn't tell my color over the phone, I was like, this isn’t for me, nobody helps me, nobody ever helps black women, nobody cares about that type of stuff.
And to be honest, I wanted him to take me home. I was drunk and he was sexy as fuck to me and I wanted to be alone with him. So he was like, I got you. And when it was time to go, all four of us were at the door, it was me, the married dude, my thick friend, and the other supervisor. The married dude pointed at me and was like, I'm taking her home. My friend pointed to the other supervisor and said, no, he is taking her home, I'm riding with you.But the married dude was like, no, he can take you home. I’m taking **** home. And it was awkward, but I didn’t understand why, and I also I was drunk and pretty oblivious.
So I get in the car with dude and he is drunk as fuck and so am I, but he was so drunk that his driving was making me nervous. At one point he looked at me, and he put his hand on my thigh. I didn't stop him. I probably smiled at him, to tell the truth. I didn't really like it though. I felt like he had skipped a bunch of steps. I remember his hand going up. I don't know if I opened my leg wider or not, but I probably didn’t because I was on my period and wearing a tampon and I knew I couldn't have fingers in my pussy.
And then he took his hand away, and then I remember he turned off onto a side street all of a sudden and parked the car, and literally the next thing I know, this nigga was fucking me. I don't know how the fuck he got his dick out, pushed my draws aside, leaned my seat back and got on top of me in one movement, but that is what that motherfucker did. And I just remember laying there in shock, like, what the fuck? And this is the craziest shit, and how I know I need a lot of fucking therapy, is because I remember not wanting him to be mad at me because I didn't want to fuck.
And so I patted his back softly. I called his name gently. Like I was trying to wake him up or something. And he kept saying, I love you, over and over again. And he called me his wife's name. He finally stopped and got off me and drove me home.