This is what I was wearing Monday night, as I went out for an early birthday celebration. I was smiling, loving my new dress, flirting at Charlie’s. I had a few too many drinks, and a couple to boot. I was feeling happy, and friendly, and chatty, and very drunk as I stumbled toward home.
I got down to the 16th St. Mall, and a man fell into stride next to me and started talking. He told me how pretty he thought I was. He asked me for directions to the hyatt, then if I’d like to go smoke a joint in his hotel room. I was drunk, and went with him. I was even entertaining the idea of having sex with him- because he brought it up. I told him I was trans and he said it didn’t matter.
We got into his room, and he motioned for me to sit down on a low chair. The next thing I knew he was cramming his penis down my throat. It was 10 or more inches and rather big around, and as he ripped my scarf and glasses off, grabbing my head and hatefucking my face, I could feel every thrust all the way to the middle of my chest. I finally summoned up the strength to throw him off me. I don’t remember what I was yelling, but I know I told him I would kill him if he didn’t stay away. His response, “You’re a man, take it like one.”
I collected what I could and got out as fast as I could, getting to the next block before collapsing into a corner, crying.
I have a bruise where my head hit the wall when I fell, and my throat hurts. I keep reliving every moment, trying to find some way that I wasn’t raped, so I don’t have to feel this way.
People want me to report it to the police. I know better. I have watched too many women get shredded by the process, as they are put on trial rather than the perpetrator.
First off on parade is her sex life, and I happen to like sex. (I did, anyhow) My past (recent past included) has some… excitement in it. I know it’s no excuse for him to rape me, but it will “discredit” my testimony.
Second, I was drunk. Too drunk, in fact, to consent. As I think back, I’m aghast that I went to his room, something I would not have done sober, which brings us to number three, being that I went to his room, which would be called consent by the defense. These tactics work on juries, sometimes, and police officers tend to believe men over women.
I don’t want to be put on trial for having had sex before. I don’t want to have to justify myself for not wanting him to try and do me anally through the mouth. I wish the fact that I was too drunk to consent and would never have consented to having his big penis shoved down my throat like he was the roto rooter man looking for a clog was enough to make it so he’d be put away, never to do this to another woman.
But I know better. My sex life would be put on trial. The fact that I’m trans would be put center stage, and I would have to sit through dozens of interviews with police officers, DA’s, then get on the witness stand, and have to see him again. At every turn, asked again and again about every detail from that night.
In the end, there’s a 50/50 chance he’d walk. It would be, as Limp Bizkit would have put it, “All about the he said, she said bullshit.”
But wait, there’s more!
The next bit is who the jury believes, the man or the trans woman- so the odds are probably much lower than that. 70/30, in his favor. He’s got the money for a room at the Hyatt, while I’m a disabled woman living in a subsidized apartment- 80/20. I sleep with different people quite a bit because I don’t really have hangups about sex. Or didn’t, rather. 90/10.
It’s not worth it. It would tear me up, and the bastard would walk. I don’t want to give him a pass, but I don’t want to be put on trial for being a victim, and lose.