On No. 4

She told me you were safe. That she wouldn’t leave me alone with you unless you were.
We were hanging out on your boat. It was a fun night; hanging with friends, old and new.
We watched the fireworks on the dock, watching the reflection of the sparks and lights in the water.
And we drank, because of course we did. We were adults on a national holiday.
And the other two left for home, and I was alone with you. The last train home had left, and I said I’d just sleep on the boat. I wanted to feel the waves rocking me to sleep, feel the peace and quiet that being on the water brings me.

 

And we had beers, we smoked, and you told me about your girlfriend. Told me the distance is good for you. Told me she doesn’t want to share you. Told me you were physically – platonically – affectionate, and that people didn’t understand.

 

I understood. I have friends with whom my levels of affection come out in ways people might find weird or inappropriate considering we are not in a relationship. But it’s consented to by us, it’s taken a length of time to get to that level of emotional intimacy.

 

You wanted to cuddle, and I didn’t see a problem with that. We talked for hours, looking at the sky, the way the moon shone off the mirror smooth water.

 

And because you’d said these things, said the limits of your relationship, I didn’t think anything when we continued to cuddle as we moved down into the boat. You thought she might care, and told me if anyone asked, I spent the night in a different room.
I shrugged it off. I was tired. I wanted to sleep. I didn’t care if we kept cuddling or not. You wanted some affection? Fine. Whatever. I told you I was dating someone and didn’t know the parameters of that relationship and didn’t want to fuck it up – nothing was going to happen anyway.

 

But you didn’t just want affection, did you? Because I was half asleep, and your dick was pressed into my ass, and you were grinding against me, seeking something, I don’t know what. And my mind couldn’t process what’s happening. I was still partially asleep in your arms until you tried to touch me, and I said Stop.
You stopped. Half apologized. Said it had been a few months since you’d gotten laid, that you missed having someone to hold. I told you I’d go to the other room, and you said no, and you pulled me to you again. You said the look on my face as I got turned on was enough for you.

Finally, you fell asleep again.

Until an hour and a half later, when again, in a half-conscious state, you were dry humping me again, and I could feel your breath on my neck and your hand pulling my hair and I couldn’t get my mouth to work. I wanted to stay stop before I did. The second I felt you on me. But I was not fully conscious, and whether or not you knew that, I’d told you no.
And I finally managed to get my brain and body to cooperate, to wake up, to say Stop again.

And you did. Immediately.

And I reminded you of your girlfriend, and you said that was why your pants stayed on.

I pulled myself away from you, clinging to a pillow on the other end of the bed, and you pulled me into your side again.

And I was not safe. And I could not leave. Because I was trapped on a boat and you were my only way off.

You said we should watch the sunrise, and I was more than grateful to get your body off me. I felt so violated by everything you’d done, I didn’t care if you saw me change my shirt. I didn’t care what you saw. Because you seeing me was somehow less invasive than your hands on me. Than you caging me in a headlock so I couldn’t move as you felt me up.

And you said you knew I liked the dominant stuff. So that made it okay, right?
If you know I like my hair pulled, its okay that you do it, because you know I like it, even though I’ve said I don’t want anything to happen.
If I say I like x, y, and z, then you know it’ll trigger a biological response, even though I don’t want it to be you doing x, y, and z.

Did you notice I wouldn’t touch you after that? That the night before we were cuddly and friendly and nice, and after I wouldn’t touch you, I would barely look at you, I wanted to be on my phone, and distance myself from you. Because you were my ride home. I was at the mercy of your transport, or the trains that were not running until a certain time, of your will to go where I needed to go.

So you took me out to see the sunrise. You wanted me to catch my first fish. You took me to breakfast and a diner you’d thought I’d like.

And I was amiable enough to you. Because I felt disgusting. I felt like I’d betrayed someone, someone who is your fucking friend. I felt like I’d done everything wrong.

And people will say I did. That I should have gone into the other room anyway, to which I have no idea if he would have let me/if he wouldn’t have followed me. I have no idea.

And people will say it’s not that big of a deal.
Maybe it’s not. My clothes stayed on. Your clothes stayed on. Nothing was inserted anywhere. You can probably justify it to yourself that you didn’t cheat.

But that’s not the point, is it?

I will never feel safe around you.
I was promised you were okay, that I was okay to be alone with you, and that was not true.
I said no 3 times, and you ignored me.

And I can’t get rid of this feeling of self-revulsion. I can’t get rid of this feeling that I’m disgusting. That my boy should leave me because I did something terrible. That I fucked up, and I fucked up so bad. It’s why I’d said what happened in that room needed to stay in that room. Because how could/can I tell him?

After all, you did thank me for being a ‘good sport‘ about it.

But you texted me, asking me if I got back home okay.

Don’t pretend you care about my safety now.

Just go fuck yourself.