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What kind of man wants to admit that he was raped in this manner?
By Hashim R. Hathaway — Written on Apr 25, 2020
I've always considered myself to be sexually open, especially with my ex-girlfriend. We met rather randomly but it wasn't long before we learned we enjoyed the same things, particularly in the sack.
I liked the fact that she kept books and articles about how to improve sex and be a more sexual person. I suppose I liked it because compared to previous girlfriends or casual partners, it showed she had an investment in doing something well. (If she was willing to expand her sexual knowledge base, I could only benefit, right?)
But as our relationship progressed, I learned there was maybe such a thing as knowing too much. The more she read, the worse sex actually became, because instead of it being a communicative thing — where we explored what we wanted — it became, "Hey, I learned this thing and now I want to do it... even if you don't like it."
Soon, she had me questioning whether or not I was even good in bed. Each time we'd have sex, I felt like I was trying to perform some sort of balancing act or half-assed contortionist routine.
If I didn't do things exactly right, then it would be an issue and it took forever for her to climax, to the point that I began to lose interest in whether or not she came at all. By the time I decided to walk away from the relationship, I enjoyed masturbation more than sex with her.
However, some habits die hard, and after a couple months, we were seeing each other again. I found that even though we probably weren't sexually compatible, I was still turned on by her quite a bit.
On our first date back, I wanted to make the night special. I took her to a nice Italian restaurant, where we caught up on the last couple of months we were apart. There was dinner, drinks, and dancing, and everything felt right again.
She was pretty adamant that I'd be staying the night. I wasn't going to refuse the offer, and to be honest, I knew I was staying the night as well because things were going too well between us for me not to.
Once inside her apartment, we did the nightcap thing where we drank just one more drink, which, in all fairness was one drink too many, probably for both of us. From there, we immediately started tearing away at one another, and I figured, "Hey, let's go upstairs."
I climbed the ladder up to her loft and laid face down on the bed, waiting for her. She asked me if I wanted a massage, which of course I did. Admittedly, the alcohol had completely taken over at this point and it was all I could do to stay awake as I awaited her in the dark of the bedroom loft.
I was just about to pass out completely when the sound of the ladder let me know she was finally upstairs. I was pretty excited to get laid and a massage because why not?
To her credit, the massage was really good and relaxed me even further than the copious amounts of wine already had me. Maybe because I wasn't totally sober or I felt so good that I didn't care, I seemed to ignore that part of the massage included her rubbing massage oil on my ass.
The last thing I remember was her whispering in my ear, "Stay right there, I'll be right back." I figured she went to get a condom from her nightstand as per usual, but I didn't hear the drawer open.
Suddenly, I felt her straddle me, but something didn't feel quite right. Before I could figure out what it was that just wasn't right, I felt something go in my ass. I was being raped by my girlfriend.
Clearly, she anticipated that maybe I'd be taken aback about something going in through the out door. She had her hands on my shoulders as she began to pump in and out. Of course, even drunk I was certainly the stronger one in the situation, so I turned just enough to get her to stop putting what I now realized was a DILDO into my ass.
Her first move was to try to reassure me that everything was OK because 1) she was still a woman and I was still a man, so this wasn't going to turn me gay, 2) it was just between us, so I should trust her, and 3) I should do this because it would make her get off.
I suppose because I was drunk and my brain wasn't registering this the right way, #3 convinced me to let her do what she wanted because god forbid I re-enter the relationship with the same feelings of sexual inadequacy. I let her climb back on top and by god, she was enjoying herself.
As she poked and prodded, I remembered one of my friends confiding that he let his wife "peg" him, as the saying goes for women who wear strap-ons for anal sex with men — and he actually enjoyed it. I was decidedly not one of those people.
I had to stop things soon after I let her start again because I simply didn't want it, which ended up being a huge mood-killer for her. But hell, my mood was dead as soon as the dildo went in.
Amazingly, she still wanted to have sex and, of course, it was as bad as ever, which was the saddest irony of all in that somehow I thought that things would be different. And they were, but not in a way I could've ever expected.
Once I saw daylight creep through her blinds, I knew it was time to leave. I climbed over her to get off the bed, and for the first time, I saw the strap-on laying in the corner of the loft. It was purple but of an average size. I wanted to pick it up for a closer inspection but the moment I inched forward, something inside me said, "It's time to leave."
Driving home, I focused on the trees that had yet to sprout leaves and a road that felt as long and as lonely as ever. It was in that moment I realized something I didn't want to admit to myself: I was raped.
I didn't want to think of it that way for a number of reasons, particularly because I begrudgingly gave consent. But what kind of man would admit that he was raped by his girlfriend in that manner?
Then I started to look inward and I thought about my friend who liked getting pegged. I wondered if I was afraid to find out if I'd enjoy it, that maybe I was afraid to learn that I could be gay. I went through a number of feelings on that ride home, but ultimately, I came to the conclusion that I just didn't want it to happen again.
As I got home and climbed into my own bed, I wondered if this is how women felt after being taken advantage of by someone they trusted. Before closing my eyes, I decided not only let it go, but also let her go.
While I felt more confused by things than violated, I knew I could do better than what happened that night — I'd just have to do it with someone else.
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In addition to broadcasting, Hashim Hathaway also writes for a number of publications and guests on talk radio in a number of markets.