I was raped once. It was a cold December evening in 2007. Ironically, I was dressed in a mini-skirt and thigh high boots. It didn't keep me warm, but it kept me feeling good about my insecure self. I think guys can pick up on my insecurity. Whenever I'm at a party, they all hover around me, all lusting after me with their hungry (for sex) eyes. Don't get me wrong, it feels good to be wanted. But tonight, HE showed up.

A strong rugby player type flirted with me for a good 2 hours, just me and him. It felt like there was no one else in the living room. Maybe that's why I didn't say no. I thought no one would hear me. Then, without warning, he asked if I wanted to go back to his room. I had a little buzz and he was pretty cute so of course I said yes. Little did I know what kind of monster he was.

He asked if it was okay if he kissed me and I thought "one make out session couldn't hurt." But it did. After about 45 minutes of gently escalating fooling around, he slowly removed my mini-skirt and panties. I wanted to say no, but my body wouldn't let me. I looked at him, hoping he could tell by the fear in my eyes that I didn't want to do this. He looked right back and smiled. He knew. He knew I didn't want to have sex. But he wanted to, and that's all that mattered. I can only talk about this so openly because it happened so long ago, but I still have nightmares about this horrific night every once in a while. My friends have been an unbelievable help. I'll love them more than I'll probably love any man, at least for the next 5 years.