Female Sexual Coercion: When Victims become Culprits

“NOBODY WANTS IT UNTIL THEY SAY THEY DO. IT IS VERBAL. YES. NO.  NOT NOW.  LET’S DO THIS, NOT THAT. NEVER. NOT BODY LANGUAGE, PLEASE, SPOKEN WORDS!”
  
These were the words of Amma Konadu, and I couldn't agree with her more. A woman’s ‘No’ means ‘No’. Just that. Whether it is whispered softly or screamed from out of her lungs, and I find it off beam that men would rather choose to interpret this as consent, or as the woman playing hard to get. No. It doesn’t work that way. Sex is supposed to be consensual. It’s supposed to be a ‘yes, yes’ not a ‘yes, no’, ‘yes, maybe’, or even a ‘yes, silence’. No woman deserves to be ‘muted’. We have a voice, and we mean what we say no matter how we say it or where we say it.

After reading Sista's post on Female Sexual Coercion and how women really felt, I too wanted to share my story.

I fell in love with a man I’d like to call Frank. The relationship, previously, had been on and off for about 3 years until we finally decided to make it work. God, I was crazy about him. It was my birthday, and we made plans to hang out later that evening. I was excited. I got home from work earlier than usual just to get ready for my birth-night date with Frank. He had arranged to pick me up at 7pm. 7: 30 pm and Frank hadn’t arrived. 8:00pm and he still hadn’t showed up. 9:00pm, I thought I should call him. His response was ‘I’m on my way. I’ll see you soon’. He never came.

I was disappointed and hurt, but I didn’t want to waste the beautiful figure hugging dress that I had just bought, by coiling up on my bed, stuffing my mouth with whatever food I could find, and crying myself to sleep. So I walked into a nearby bar, ordered myself some drinks and had a little ‘me’ time. Unfortunately for me, the trip back home was not an easy one. I couldn't get a car so I had to walk, enduring plain disrespect from men who would stop and ask me to go home with them.

As I got closer to my stop, Frank called. It was then my emotion bubble burst in his ears. He asked me to stay right where I was as he was coming to get me. He took me to a hotel. This was my boyfriend, a guy I had known for a long time so hotel or not, it didn’t really matter.

We had barely settled in, and my first words hadn't fallen off my lips when he started kissing me. I told him to stop, ‘I didn’t come here for this”. I wanted to blow up in his face, let him know how I felt like being stood up by my boyfriend, on my birth night, in my new dress. But no! He kept kissing me. I couldn’t understand how he could just expect me to flip moods after what he had done. I may have showed some signs of pleasure. Goddammit! He was touching me in all the right places. But I still said NO. He was unmoved. He was so strong. Then his shirt and pants came down. I fought him. I fought him. I fought him so much yet my panties came down. I’d never been so scared.

He kept saying things like “Let’s become one”, “Let’s make a baby”. Baby? Who wants to make a 
baby like this? Being pinned down, sweat on tongue, struggling to break free? “He’s got to be kidding me”

So I did the one thing I knew how to. I prayed. I know this may sound funny, but I prayed to be impenetrable. I prayed so he wouldn’t be able to force his man into me. I prayed so I wouldn’t be fucked up again. He did try, several times, but for some reason he couldn’t have his way. I don’t know what divine grace found me for some seconds, but I was thankful for it. 

  

However, the struggle was still very far from over. He was still coming on me, I had to think fast. I told him I had to use the washroom. He let me go. The intention was to lock myself up in there for as long as was needed to get this sex thirsty man off my back. Talk about the devil being faithful when you didn’t need him, the washroom door lock was broken. So I had to endure him, sitting right there, watching as I let myself go. After, I told him I wanted leave. His answer was a cold no. He jumped on me again, and I fought back with every fibre of strength in me.

I have no idea how or when I slept, but I remember waking up suddenly. It was 2:30 am. I shook him till he woke up. Then I asked him to take me home. Nobody spoke a word in the car. That was the last of us. 

What totally irked me with this horrible experience was that, I confided in a friend about the issue, and to my utter dismay, he replied “you’re sensual, you had a revealing dress on’. I felt sick to my stomach. Since when did femininity and one's clothes become a sex approval? 

Apparently, it was my fault. 

I had moved from being the victim to being the culprit.  

I was the one who asked to be jumped on, disrespected, and treated like a sex object.

I was the temptress, deserving of what she got. Because I wore a dress? Or because I had flesh in all the right places?

This is unacceptable. Justifying any sort of sexual coercion based on the physical looks of a person is simply unacceptable. So what, if I had worn a sac cloth he wouldn't have touched me? This, coming from people who form society is totally unbelievable. It is not okay. Wrong is inexcusable, and anyone who subjects victims to this kind of torture is disgusting. We need to stop victim blaming. We need to stop it now!

About The Author: 

The Author of this post wishes to remain anonymous, and Sista respects her decision.