The Worst Sex Ever

I’m not sure who was the best sex ever, it’s hard to say isn’t it? Different people are good at different things and some are the best at one type of sex and some are the best at another. It depends on how it made you feel or what it brought out in you. Some are dirtier, kinkier or more intimate and in love. But there’s loads that make up my favourites and best.
What is way easier to identify is the worst sex ever and to tell you why.
This will not make for easy reading and it will make you uncomfortable, you have been warned so stop reading now if you feel this may upset you. Because hands down the worst sex ever is the sex with no consent. This is the account of the sex I didn’t agree to have but that happened anyway. So if you think you can cope with what that might entail, please read on because this is without doubt the bravest piece I’ve written to date.

The world isn’t black and white and I think it’s very difficult for people to understand situations when there isn’t a clear cut villain, where the protagonist isn’t 100% evil. Which is wholly at odds with reality when we think about it, because nobody is 100% good or bad we’re all human and we all do bad things we’re not proud of. I’m not saying this as a way of justifying appalling acts I’m just setting the background; that as humans we need people to be ‘monsters’ or we can’t believe them capable of horrendous or even just deeply unpleasant acts. When there are very few monsters out there but there are tonnes of monstrous acts.
Please try to remember that.

I know a lot of you will be unable to relate to this. I’m pretty sure nobody will like it. Worse than that I suspect most of you won’t believe me. But that’s how it continues to happen.
I’ve told all the girls close to me – never had to explain it. I’ve told a few boys and regretted that almost entirely, because they all believed it was my own fault.

How many times have I been raped? I’m not entirely sure. Because I’m not sure I would call any of them rape. It was never brutal and it was always someone I knew. That sounds bad when really it was only one that did any real damage, the others were more about over insistent boyfriends who thought it was their right – which is still very difficult for me to come to terms with given how rarely I turned either of them down. It was just a case of lying there and letting them get on with it. Being furious that they weren’t listening to me and being too tired to fight.
Actually that does still make it sound quite bad when it wasn’t. I knew and (yes actually) had loved both these guys each time. Both times it happened I was too drunk or tired to enjoy sex and wasn’t in the mood. But they insisted on continuing – seemingly oblivious to how much I was not at all participating in the sex.
The first guy, I was quite young, I was 19, he was my first proper boyfriend – it actually happened twice with him. Once we were camping, there was a storm, it had taken us all day to get there and we were tired and miserable. The very last thing I wanted was sex but he insisted; I was a spoil sport and selfish because we’d never been camping before and he wanted to have sex in a tent. He got quite rough with me and eventually emotionally blackmailed me enough so that I just turned around and let him. It was not enjoyable. The next time he did it we were at home in our own bed. We had been out for the night and it was very late. I just wanted to go to sleep. But we were giggling falling into bed and he picked me up and threw me onto it. I thought he was joking when the held my hands over my head and said he was going to have me. But he didn’t stop. I laughed and said ‘Hey, hey – get my dress off first, come on, I’m wrecked let’s get into bed’. So he let me up for a second but when he realised I just wanted to go to sleep he went back to holding me down. Holding me down was something we did all the time, to each other. But this was different. He wanted sex and I think because this was only the second time I ever turned him down it seemed to spur something in him and he didn’t want to be told no. This is the unpleasant bit because he used my own sense of self so horribly against me. ‘But you love sex, you never turn me down, of course you want it, I know you want it. I KNOW you want it’.
Just because I love sex does not mean that I am at your beck and call for it whenever you like. I don’t want it every minute of every day and I am certainly not obliged to always give it to you just because we happen to be in a relationship. And you DON’T know I want it, unless I tell you. Either with actual words coming from my mouth or with encouraging noises and body language. These are pretty fucking easy to spot. As are the ones telling you that I do not want it.
And so he held me down and had sex with me. I protested for quite a while and he acted like I was playing. He was quite drunk and stubborn and I could see that he didn’t even register me. It was very unpleasant and disturbing to see that in the boy who professed to love me.
I did take it up with him the next day, I was furious and I had bruises. I think it was how he laughed it off and claimed that he didn’t remember the general air of what was I making such a big deal about it for ….
It was the end for me. Not that day, probably not that month but I realised something and I knew I had to get out.
The second guy was recent. I’m a grown up girl now, I can’t be making the same excuses. But that’s exactly what I did I’m afraid. It was almost exactly the same, where my needs and requests and then downright pleas were just being ignored. Again we were in a committed and loving relationship. But sometimes he wanted the sex more than me. Ironically, I actually wanted the sex this night, I truly did but we came home drunk and loud and my housemate at the time was in bed. I was so conscious of waking her and was trying to impress this upon him. He was not having any of this. We started to have sex but I wanted to stop – the bed was making too much noise, we were making too much noise, I wasn’t comfortable I wasn’t enjoying it. I said this, I told him it would be better in the morning, could we not just wait. But who did I think I was stopping in the middle, did I realise what I had done to him, did I at all comprehend how selfish that was, that I couldn’t possibly leave him with a hard on, that was too unfair altogether. I tried logic and reason; hey? I was horny too, I was wet and ready too but sometimes, things aren’t possible and I was only asking him to wait a few hours. But I suppose what I didn’t understand and he so kindly educated me on, it’s not the same thing. He didn’t get off me he kept going. I tried pushing him off, to no avail. And then I got really worried that my housemate could hear us arguing about having sex and I couldn’t bear that thought so I stopped and hoped he’d finish soon. He didn’t but my brain did finally kick in and I told him I had to pee. I then hid in the bathroom long enough for him to lose his erection or fall asleep.
The threat of peeing on him being the only thing that stopped him, not any of my declarations that I wasn’t enjoying any of it???
But as a grown up girl I was absolutely not going to let that lie. I was livid the next morning and not going to let this go without comment. I mustered all the patience I could to try to explain how awful the situation had made me feel the night before and how behaviour like this wasn’t ok. Why was I being patient? Because I loved him, I wanted him to understand what he did and most of all? You are far more likely to get someone to listen to you if you’re calm and non-accusatory, even if you have loads to accuse them of.
But the outcome was the same he was sorry, why didn’t I make it more clear to him (?), he was so drunk, he didn’t mean it, was I sure I told him I wasn’t enjoying it (??) But why exactly did I not want the sex (WTF??) – Could I explain that a bit better, he asked? I gave up.
It was lost on him. He actually didn’t believe it of himself?
And that’s the crux of this, he didn’t believe himself capable of what he had done, and I think that maybe a lot of guys don’t. So where is this sense of entitlement coming from?

*JUST on the off chance that anyone wants to make a trite comment about alcohol and the Irish, I’ll just inform you that neither of these boys was indeed Irish. So park that one for yourselves.

So I wasn’t broken or damaged or turned off sex by either of these boys. I was just saddened. I wasn’t robbed of my sense of safety or my ability to love and adore any further boys. I was just surplus to their needs when they felt they had the right to my body.
The language I’m using sort of implies that I’ve absolved them of any real wrong doing, which I suppose I am. And so I’m perpetuating the problem. Which isn’t really what I mean to do. I’m just separating it from the bigger issues while highlighting just how insidious it is. To reiterate I was furious with both of them but I didn’t at all think I had done anything wrong or had brought it on myself.

We might as well move on to the one that did. The one that still does and the ripples of repercussions it has caused throughout my life. The details aren’t gory and I fully expect to get vilified for this.
He was a friend of my sister’s boyfriend – not really in our circle but we did cross over. One night all my friends had gone home and at the very end of the night this guy says he’s having a party – I’m not ready to stop, I want a party. My sister and her boy leave and assure me that this guy will look after me. How ominous.
The party is way Northside. I’m Southside – so it’s a bit further than I would normally have gone. I have no idea why I went – I think I just didn’t want to go home?
So the party is ok but The Guy is making all my drinks and handing them to me. He sometimes sits beside me but he doesn’t at all come on to me. Not once, not even a hint. There is nothing going on between us. But I feel quite drunk, I’m not having that much fun (they’re taking turns playing a didgeridoo FFS) so I think it’s time to end the night, I’ve certainly had enough. I say to him ‘I’m wrecked, and really quite drunk now, is there somewhere I can crash because I think I’m about to pass out’. You can crash in my bed was his response. So he shows me where it was and I climbed in. A while later, not and inordinate amount of time but certainly not straight away; enough time for me to nearly fall asleep and be sure he had no intentions, he arrives in and climbs in beside me. I think he’s going to go to sleep – all signs point to it. Or so I thought.
I am quite drunk and I am sleepy so my responses to what happened aren’t the sharpest, just to put my hands up and admit that.
He had climbed in behind me and without saying anything at all he lifted up my dress and went to pull my knickers down. No arms slipped around me, no intro, no words at all. So I kind of laugh, I’m not sure I can believe this is happening and I ask him what he’s doing. He didn’t answer or I don’t recall one, he continued to try to get his hands into my knickers. So I repeated myself, this time a bit more insistently, I remember what I said because it seems so stupid now but it made the most sense then with the internal dialogue that was going on in my head. I was incredulous that any guy would make this as a first move – nothing had happened with us prior to this. No kissing, or hand holding or knee stroking – there had been no indication that either of us was into each other or up for this throughout the whole night. The only leg he had to stand on was that I had come to the party with him. So my response? I said what made the most sense to me at the time, given what was going through my mind, I said ‘What are you doing, you haven’t even kissed me’. And his response? ‘Well turn around so that I can kiss you’. Now this was hardly the point. Actually I don’t want to, I want to go to sleep but as I turn around to say this he kissed me. I let that happen for a few seconds but realised I really wasn’t into this as I had correctly presumed initially. So I asked him to stop. I’m not sure of his response. I know I repeated myself and gathered as much of my energy and logic as I could, bearing in mind just how incapacitated I was, and I said this ‘John*, I’m really drunk so very drunk, too drunk to make this decision, can we not? I’m not capable of doing this. But talk to me in the morning. I’m sure I’ll be up for it then’. ‘Seriously, John, I’m too drunk for this’. And so he stopped for a while. I’d be drifting off and it would start again. This could have gone on for 3 hours it could have gone on for 30 mins I have no way to gauge it but it was awful; every time I was falling asleep he started again. This was going to be relentless and I was so tired and I had no idea where I was in the city. I was exhausted and I knew I couldn’t fight him off all night so I chose the lesser of two evils. Sometimes in life you can’t stop the awful thing from happening to you but you can choose to make it less worse. I let him get on with it. I gave in. I’d rather have had some choice in the decision rather than not knowing what he was going to do if I did fall asleep. So I thought I’d get it over and done with.
Don’t ask me why I didn’t just leave the house, this situation is not about logic and I openly admitted I was not in any fit state. It seems like the most logical thing right now. But it wasn’t at 5am in the morning when I had no money and no idea where I was.

So I’m sure I passed out after, I don’t remember.
The next morning, or at least when it was bright, the torture started. There were loads of people in the house and I was mortified and wanted to leave. He wasn’t in the room when I woke. But as I sat there trying to figure out how to leave, where I was and if I had enough money for a cab home, he arrived in with some toast for me. I ate it sheepishly and asked if he could call me a cab. He said some people (I didn’t know) were driving to town soon and they’d give me a lift. I pushed him on this but he said it was very far and not to be silly, a cab would cost loads.
I know there was some perfunctory enquiry into how I was, where I said I was fine but that last night shouldn’t have happened – that’s as much as I was able to articulate about how displeased I was. ‘Why, was his blithe response, you’re single right?’ No actually, I’m not, was my less then accurate response. Which was met with the most disingenuous ‘Oh Shit’ I ever heard uttered in my life. ‘As if you give a shit’ was all the retort I managed and he left the room.
I got myself together and confirmed that of course I did not have enough cash in my bag to get home. So I joined the people in the sitting room and asked if anyone could give me the number of a cab company (the days before Hailo). I wanted as far away from this place as I could pay for, even if that didn’t happen to be all the way home. Again I was fobbed off with promises that someone was leaving soon, it was very far, sit down, relax and join the group.

I was young, not as confident of myself as I am now and I was ashamed and guilty. I thought it was my fault for getting so drunk and so I didn’t want to make a fuss. So I sat down and tried to relax, interminably waiting for this lift that never seemed to be ready to leave. A third time I asked for a cab company and then I got the impression that people were annoyed with me because I was pressuring them to be ready to leave before they wanted to. This was socially excruciating.
Eventually the lift transpired and I got away. The Guy didn’t kiss me goodbye or ask for my number. I was disgusted. Of course I wanted neither but I might have felt a bit less that thoroughly used.
I went home and told no one. Not a soul. I beat the shit out of myself for it and spent an award winning amount of time hating myself for being so stupid because I categorically believed that it was all my fault.
But that all went on in my head, with no one else being any the wiser. Blaming and hating myself with an unshakeable sense of feeling dirty. While outwardly I got on with it and was not noticeably damaged so that anyone could see. And I rarely had to see him – this was going to be fine.

Skip to 3 years later and I’m having a birthday party. My sister is helping and she suggests inviting The Guy and his side of the friend group and I involuntarily spit out ‘Not him’. Sure it was pointless trying to keep the secret in then. I told her and she of course understood and promised not to tell her boy. Except that she did.
With hindsight that was always going to happen, she was upset and she was going to need to talk about it. But I knew he was never going to understand.
This is when it gets properly terrible. Of course her boy cannot conceive of anyone doing this, let alone his mate. This isn’t a real thing? I must be mistaken there’s just absolutely no way this, whatever I ‘Think’ happened, happened. Nope. No way.
This causes untold tension and she’s caught between us. I don’t want to talk about it, I just don’t want to be in The Guy’s company and don’t understand why we can’t leave it at that. HE, my sister’s boy, doesn’t understand why we all can’t sit down and have a chat about it and just, you know, clear this all up. Christ.
Again with hindsight, I do appreciate where he’s coming from, he’s a good guy and he genuinely thinks that I’ve gotten something wrong and that a big chat will clear it up. But he’s wrong because he’s coming from a start point of not believing that this ever happens.

This gets worse.

One night, when another friend is talking about how sound The Guy is, I stupidly reveal that I don’t like him. I give her scant details about why but nothing accusatory. I couldn’t help it, I just couldn’t hear her talk about him like that. Unfortunately she then told him that I felt he was a creep. Which is not at all what I said or was trying to say. And so he takes it upon himself to email me AT WORK accusing me of telling people that he raped me?
I threw up.
Then told him to get off my work email and that I would respond to him on my personal email later.
Which I duly did because I’m a fucking decent human being. Even though I absolutely just wanted to tell him go fuck himself.
I still have it as I stopped using that mail there and then.
I told him I hadn’t accused him of anything but that I wasn’t happy with the way things had happened that night. That he had been pushy and insistent and ignored me when I said no twice. I asked him did he hear me say yes at all? I told him he took advantage of a girl too drunk to look after herself.
His response was that I had some vivid memory as he didn’t remember any of that. And so I couldn’t have been that drunk. He also assumed I was cool because I hung around the next day to chat and hang out. With strength I didn’t think I had I managed to respond to that without breaking anything. Yes I hung around and chatted but to everyone BUT you. And only because no one would give me the number of a cab which I asked for more than once. I had no actual way of getting out of there. That was the end of the correspondence, he wasn’t winning with me.

But emailing me at my place of work wasn’t enough. He cornered my sister, literally, up against a wall and tried to lobby his case as to why I wasn’t cool with him. While her boyfriend sat there and let him. And this is what was so terribly awful and damaging; everyone knowing (because he was telling them) everyone acting like I was the problem and there being a split in the friends. My sister and her boy fought over it all the time and I got blamed for it.

I had kept this to myself for 3 years.

I tried so hard to logic my way out of it. I tried so hard to rationalise it and tell myself he didn’t know what he was doing, don’t hold it against him, he was drunk and he wouldn’t usually do this. He’s not going to do it to anyone else.

But he knows he did it and I know he does too. Because I caught him out. I was of course very upset with the friend who had supposedly told him what I had said. But when I confronted her about this the details she had were very different to the details he used in his big accusatory email. I never gave her the full details so she couldn’t have given them to him. He knew them because he was there and he remembered.

Now I know I’m not supposed to say what I’m about to but I’m going to anyway. I’m not calling it rape. Admittedly there was no consent given but I let it happen. I didn’t fight hard enough and I didn’t scream. And I’m well aware that I’m not supposed to use those words or let guys like him off so easily. But the truth is, he didn’t set out to hurt me, or I don’t believe he did. He didn’t go out on a night intending to rape someone. But he did act appallingly and thoroughly took advantage of a drunk girl. And his social handling of the situation afterwards? Makes me think of him as an utter dickhead and a creep of the highest order. But not someone that deserves to go to prison and not someone who needs to be on any sex offenders list.
So why am I telling you all this? Because it’s still a very shitty thing to do to another human being. And it’s going on everywhere. Let there be no confusion about this, I dislike this guy intensely. I hate that he told everyone, that it nearly broke me and my sister up. That her boy still blames me but is too smart to bring it up anymore. I hate that he made me feel ashamed of myself and I hate that he got off scot free.

I hate that I now know that I can’t ever tell another boyfriend because I don’t want to know if he’ll react the same as all the others and tell me it was all my own fault.

So no, I wasn’t punched in the face or stabbed. I wasn’t restrained or internally damaged. I got off lightly but this issue isn’t gone and I guarantee you nearly every girl has a story like it. Or worse.
And I suspect if the first two read this piece they wouldn’t even recognise themselves. Never believing themselves capable.

Now, if you want to get in touch to tell me it’s my own fault and ask what the hell am I complaining about – then you’ve missed the point entirely about consent, so don’t really expect a response.
And either way you can’t possibly make me feel any worse or stupid or used than the experience did.

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