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My stomach hurts. My stomach hurts. I feel like my heads about to explode and I don’t know what to do. This summer I think I was raped. Honestly I’m so afraid to admit it to myself that it hurts. We met at a camp. We had known each other for three days. The second day of camp he held my hand at the staff meeting. He had been poking my leg, teasing me like a little boy on the playground. When I went to push his away from me he took it as an invitation to hold it. At the time it was the most intense hand holding I had ever felt. It had made my knees weak and my stomach shake. But looking back I realize that it was because I was afraid. No one had ever just reached for me and held me like that without my permission. He was rubbing my fingers and sliding his in between mine and later he had whispered that he had wanted them inside of me. My friends had noticed he was showing me attention. They praised me, told me how bad ass I was to have scored an older man in two days. So when he touched my leg under the table while we all hung out I let him grab my hand and put it on his upper thigh. My stomach was turning the whole time. I figured it was just my anxiety and the weed I had smoked.

                The next night my friends told me he wanted me to meet him at the main cabin so I did. We went to his car where he smoked until he was flying and his eyes were as red as his shitty car. I took a hit or two to calm my stomach and make me fuzzy. When we went to the field I had all the intentions of just looking at the stars like I had done every night for the years I had came to that camp. But he kissed me. I love kissing so I let him do it. His mouth tasted bad, I think it was the cigarettes he had smoked before mixed with weed. When he was breathing his nose made a weird whistling noise, it was all I could hear. His hand started rubbing down my leg, that was okay until he tried to get it into my pants. I stopped him. Pushed it up to my knee. He tried again. And again. He told me I was okay. I was fine. He slipped it in and touched me, laughed at how my body had responded to him so well while my brain was a mess of trying to find I was to make him stop without being known as a prude. I am a strong feminist woman in this society that is in control of her sexuality (yeah right). I went along. Going through the motions my stomach hurting, hating every second too afraid to stop him. I told him I had had sex only once before. I was scared. Anxious. I didn’t know what I was doing. “you’re fine. You’re fine. Its fine.” He kept saying. Reassuring me when I really wanted to stop it.  he pulled me on top, pushed my head down and stroked my hair, making it seem like I could stop when I wanted but keeping a steady pressure on the back of my head.  He pushed me off. Told me to take off my pants. I did. His voice was hard and scary to me. My head was still floating. He went down on me. I didn’t feel it. my head was floating. He sat up and put his full weight on me. Shoving his tongue in my mouth.  The cigarette taste back along with the whistle.  He sat up readying himself for entering me. I stopped him and asked “should we be doing this?” my voice cracked I was scared. I didn’t want it. I questioned it every step and I tried again to get out of it without really doing it. he just laughed and said “its too late now baby” ignoring my hand and shoving himself in me. It hurt I said so. He ignored it. said I was fine yet again. I remember looking at the stars. Tasting him. Feeling him in me. My body responding how it should and my brain and mind floating above me detached in a way.

                Its been since july. Im just not thinking about it because I remember it and flashes and it makes my stomach drop. Im not friends with the friends who call me a bad ass anymore. I don’t feel like a strong independent feminist. I feel dirty and used and gross. But was I raped? I didn’t say no but I didn’t say yes. In a way I tried to stop him. But I didn’t throw a fit. I just need to get my thoughts out and try to organize them.