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He was my friend, a coworker I trusted.

I have a boyfriend and kids.

Why was I at his house?
Why did I let him pay attention to me at all?

I shouldn’t have been there. It was my fault. I led him on, let him believe that I liked him.

Maybe I did. Maybe I did enjoy the rush of having a man fawn over me like I was something special. I’ve never been treated that way before.

My ex-husband cheated on me and replaced me without looking back. He filed for divorce on our seventh wedding anniversary, saying our marriage “didn’t mean anything anymore.”

And I guess it didn’t. Not to him.

I was tossed aside like trash.

My current boyfriend of 4 years lets me in, then pushes me away. It’s a constant cycle, a roller-coaster of emotions.

Finally, on December 4, 2015, I gave up fighting for him.

I accepted the offer from this man, my friend, my confidant at work. He was nearly 20 years older and told me repeatedly how beautiful I was. He fed my bruised ego. I let him. I went to his house, and I stood in his kitchen, crying about the man I loved who had pushed me away again.

He walked behind me and pushed himself against me, trapping me against the counter. He pushed his hand down my pants, and I said, “NO!” I went to get my shoes and purse. He pushed me down and pulled my pants and underwear down.

He forced himself inside of me.

I said, “NO!” I pushed him off of me and he grabbed my head and pushed his dick in my mouth. I nearly vomited and jerked myself away.


I ran to the bathroom and locked the door.

I got out of the house and tried to block the memory out – until I saw him at work the following week. He told me that he thought I would be more “accommodating.”

I didn’t call it rape. I felt guilty and full of shame. After all, I went there. I led him on. I “had sex” with him. Sometimes the logical side kicks in and says, no. You didn’t do anything wrong.

It’s not your fault. You didn’t “have sex.”

He raped you.

He stole something from you.

Until that day, I’d only had sex with two men, my husband and my boyfriend. I was a 35 year old woman who trusted someone. I hid my feelings and apologized for my actions.

I didn’t go to the police right away. It took over a month. The only thing that gave me the courage was to look at my little girls.

How could I possibly teach them that no means no? I said no. It didn’t matter. And now I have to learn to live with it.

I’m scared all the time.

I’m anxious, nauseous, angry.