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Confessions of A Date Rapist

Seven years ago I raped someone. I did not use a knife, a gun or a fist. I did not threaten her and she did not scream for help, but I had sex with a woman who did not consent--and that is rape. I don’t think of myself as a bad guy. I have a college degree in the arts from a prestigious school, and my parents, still married, are very supportive. I do not hate women or the world, or myself for that matter. My female friends here in New York, as well as many of my ex-girlfriends, think I am a bright, caring, understanding person. But none of that kept me from raping.

I did not understand that what I did was rape until about a year ago. What made me finally realize my crime was the recent surge in media coverage of the phenomenon of "date rape." The St. John's University and Palm Beach rape cases, as well as other highly publicized scenarios where the alleged assaults were more ambiguous than a knife to the throat and a demand for sex, made me think about what date rape really is, as I relived that night.

I went to an upper West Side bar "scamming" with some of my friends. We had already been drinking steadily and by the time we got there, we were still coherent, but basically numb.

Through the entire night, even though I was drinking, I remained in control of my body. The booze accentuated my confidence and made me feel invincible--immune to rejection. Tonight, whatever I wanted I was going to take and nothing was going to stop me.

This was a period of my life where I was "slutting" heavily. I would pick a woman up at a bar and sleep with her the same night. I started to think I was entitled to sex. After talking a woman up and buying her a few drinks, I would do everything I could to make her go to bed with me. Usually she was willing. Sometimes, however, it took a little more work to convince her.

I was often cruel to these women. If the sex was good, I might see them again, but I would quickly get bored and after gaining their trust and having them fully confide in me, I would abruptly blow them off. They would be shocked and hurt and would call me in the middle of the night to cry and call me names and demand an explanation. I would tell them, "I don’t have to give you an explanation. Good night," or I would be brutally straightforward, saying, "I’m bored with you," "I don’t like your body" or "You don’t turn me on anymore."

She had only recently arrived and did not know much about the city. We talked for awhile and a mild seduction took place. I made her believe I was interested I what she was saying, and she thought I really cared about her. Our thighs rubbed together, my arm brushed against her breast

I was getting to her.

We drank some more and I grew confident that I was not going home alone tonight. She was staying at a friend’s place in midtown, and I assumed that when we left together, it meant she was going over to my place.

This was exactly the kind of assumption which often leads to a date rape. She had no idea that I wanted to sleep with her that night, but from my point of view, it was a given. Why else would I leave the bar? If I was not going to have sex with her, I would much rather drink more and try my hand at someone else. So it was understood on my part that we were going to sleep together. That understanding was not mutual. There was no understanding.

I asked her if she wanted to leave the bar, saying, "Do you want to take a walk?" I told her that I would take her back to the bar or to her friend’s place. She believed me, and I was on the road to getting her to sleep over.

I have always had a secret agenda with women. I would do anything I could to seduce them. I would use empathy, understanding, humor, even my deepest secrets to get them on my side. I would show that I was a "sensitive guy" and use that for the sole purpose of bedding them.

This time I used a woman’s drunkenness and unfamiliarity with the city for my purposes. Now that she was out of the bar, she had no friends to help her, no one to call, nowhere to go except where I wanted her to go.

We started walking and she asked, "Where are we going?" I said, "Just walking," all the time knowing that we were walking in the direction of my apartment.

We would stop sporadically and make out. During one heavy session I said to her, "Come back to my place." She refused. I said, "What do you mean, no? This is New York City. You don’t leave a bar with a guy and not sleep with him. C’mon, this isn’t England. This is the big city! This is how we do things."

She still refused, but I could tell I was influencing her with that ridiculous line. So we walked some more and made out some more, all the time getting closer and closer to my apartment. I used that "New York code of etiquette" line time an time again as I took her through unfamiliar streets.

We reached my apartment and I asked her if she wanted to come up. She said no, and I said, "Just come up for a little bit and then I’ll take you back." That sat better with her and I congratulated myself for the brilliant sell.

To use language as I did is abusive and irresponsible. I took advantage of someone’s innocence for my own ends. I was so confident that I could manipulate her that I did not understand where seduction ended and abusive behavior began.

Before I admitted to myself that I raped this woman, I would say, "She deserved it. If she was gullible enough to fall for that line, then I am not responsible or what happens." But I am responsible. I know I have a command of the language, and I can make some people do what I want by shaping my speech in a certain way and charging it with emotion.

We got up to my apartment and I began kissing her, but now she was not responding as she had on the street. I asked her, "What’s the matter?" But she just stared blankly past me into the wall. I gave up on kissing her and began to touch her in ways that would appear lewd on the street. Still no response. I felt like I was fondling a rag doll.

Not that I cared. I did not need any response on her part to get what I wanted.

I tried to take her blouse off and she locked her arms to her sides. I was stronger than her, so I pulled and forced her arms until I got it off.

If the rape did not start when I verbally manipulated her, it was certainly starting now. Now I was forcing her to do something against her will. I was using my strength as well as unfamiliar surroundings to my advantage--and completely disregarding her signals to stop.

I eased her down on the bed and she moved like dead weight. She did not resist me, but she did not hop onto the bed in anticipation either. She just stared straight ahead and began grinding her teeth furiously.

Grinding her teeth and tensing her body were the only ways she could safely express her fear. Here was a girl in a dark apartment with a man she never met before who could easily kill her, in a city which I described to her as a moral vacuum. She did not cry, scream, or fight. Only recently have I put myself in her place and realized the terror she must have felt. To me she was a source of sex and that was all. Getting the sex was a little more challenging than I was used to, but it was still a game.

I got the rest of her clothes off the same way I got her shirt off--I forced them off. There she was, naked on her back with her knees locked firmly together, staring at the ceiling and grinding her teeth. Not a word was spoken during this struggle. It was just me trying to get her legs apart and her trying to get them back together. . .

The sex lasted about a minute or two, and when I was done, I had the familiar aftertaste of unsatisfying sex. My power, so active five minutes before, was spent. All of the manipulative force I’d used left me empty.

I did not want this woman sleeping in my bed. I also did not want to walk her home, but is was dark and she did not know the area. She sat up in bed and again said she wanted to leave. By now it was 4 a.m. and I could not let her go out alone, even if she did know how to get back. I still find it amazing that after raping her I could feel concerned for her safety.

"Just sleep over," I said reluctantly. "You can leave when it’s light out."

She did sleep over, and she never stopped grinding her teeth through the entire night.

When we awoke the next morning, I insisted she wait and walk out with me, since I had to leave for work anyway. I guess I still wanted to be a nice guy. The last thing I said to her when we reached the street was, "You have to walk that way to get back to your friend’s place."

I’ve talked to my male friends about this and there is a fair amount of denial. "I did something like that once, but I don’t think it’s rape. It isn’t like you forced her to have sex with you."

But I did force her! What constitutes force? Do they require that I threaten her life? Do they require physical injury? If I were walking in a dangerous and unfamiliar neighborhood and a man twice my size walked up to me on a deserted street and said, "Give me your money," I would probably hand it over. The thought going through my head would be, "This guy could easily kill me. He did not threaten me, but merely demanded I give him something. I could run, but I would not know where to go for help. I may lose my money and feel violated, but it is better than having him kill me."

I do not remember her name but I think about her now. It hurts me to know that I damaged someone like that. Have I caused her to mistrust men, to be more confused about sex than she needs to be, to fear that she might have AIDS? (I did not use a condom when I assaulted her.)

Maybe she blamed herself for getting into that situation with me and allowing herself to be taken advantage of. Maybe she buried it deep in her subconscious for years until she could deny the pain no longer and had a nervous breakdown? I have an image of her in long-term therapy, my face conjuring up awful memories as she recounts the events of that night. I am responsible for her realization that a man can steal from you something that belongs to you, that you are supposed to be able to share with someone only when you desire to. It can be stolen from you as easily as someone might snatch a chain from around your neck.

I am aware that the power to rape is inside me. Now, when I meet a woman and see that she likes me, here’s what I’m learning and wanting to do. I’m more cautious about making unwanted moves. I am learning to interact non-aggressively. I’m learning to talk with her, not to her, possibly about intimacy with her, but speaking and listening with genuine interest. If the interest is not there, I know something’ wrong.

Most of all, I will not seduce. I will not try to pull desire out of her whether or not it is there. Even if she initiates sexual contact, I want to proceed more slowly than before. I don’t want to rely on body language or guesses or assumptions about what we should be doing. I want consent, without and coercion, if we’re going to be intimate.

I never want to rape again. And until I understand more about my own power, I will do everything I can to make sure I do not express it as rape.

-Written by Jack M.

This story makes me sad :/