My Feminist Rapist
He was the guy every girl wanted. Great smile, charismatic, charming, ever-pleasant. President of the Young Business Leaders of America Club. Invited to every party. Liberal champion, award-winning feminist. He went on to intern in a Democratic White House (for anonymity, I will avoid saying which one), attend the best business school in America, and buy the most expensive house in our hometown.
He was also my first rapist.
On the other hand, I was the girl they whispered about.
Pretty, but in a way that made people uneasy. Talented but “too loud.” Smart, but “probably crazy.” Decades later, once I’d gone no contact with my creepy dad and violent mom, I’d be diagnosed with Autism, ADHD, and PTSD. In school, the boys mostly harassed me sexually, while the girls engaged in psychological warfare. Despite living in a far-left, progressive, highly educated area, nobody noticed my symptoms or protected me when I faced harassment. Unsurprisingly, I became ruggedly individualistic. I was never popular, and I never tried to be. High school was just a trial to survive before I could leave my life and abusive family behind.
Why did we end up together? Twice?
I’ve wondered at that a lot, and I’m still not certain what drew him to me — although I can see how I was drawn in quite easily. The first time we dated, in high school, I was still halfway happy despite my rough home life. He bored of me quickly then, and cut things off without warning to date an even younger teenaged girl.
But in college I was a wreck, and he wanted me then. I had just run away from my violent, alcoholic childhood home and, in my weakest hour, had been dumped by my high school boyfriend, who just wanted a typical, drunken college party experience — not to support his PTSD-riddled high school girlfriend. That’s when my high school’s golden boy, voted most likely to succeed, came back into my orbit.
He’d just been dumped too, cheated on, with his best friend. Both the best friend and the girlfriend were autistic, as I’d later discover I was as well. I held him emotionally and validated him through the experience. He told me I was the one and that he wanted to marry me. He’d always be there for me, despite my abusive family and my obvious, crippling depression.
For a girl who had just run away from an abusive home, it was all I wanted to hear. I needed to feel safe. He exuded strength and was offering security. As I’d learn over a decade later, I struggle with codependency, particularly with men who embody my father’s self-absorption and misogyny, and this young man was the perfect trap.
But even weakened and naive, I knew something was wrong. He came and went as he pleased while I catered to his schedule. He’d show up drunk, after a long night with the boys, wanting sex and a place to crash.
One time, I finally said no.
“Come ooooon”
He said, slapping my leg
“Come ooooon”
He began to slap my ass
“Come ooooooooon”
Louder now. And he began to push up behind me against my elevated dorm bed.
And then, without warning, he pushed up against me and stuck himself in me.
I went into shock until it was over.
“I said I didn’t want that,” I said after.
“Yeah, but it was the BEST, though, right?!” He exclaimed at double volume.
Maybe it was, for him.
Our relationship became completely toxic after that. We fought constantly. I was fairly certain he was sleeping with someone else at his college, but did not confront him. He wanted to decide where I spent the summer, and I wanted to pursue a fellowship somewhere else. He’d say that if I didn’t follow him over the summer, he’d consider that to be me breaking up with him. He’d break up with me, only to take me back in the same conversation. Over and over again. The push-pull was intense, and my codependency was strong, but in a moment of clarity, I blocked him from everything and walked away.
Two years later, he was given an award as Feminist of the Year by his upscale college. He had founded an organization for campus assault awareness. To this day, he is beloved as a male feminist.
As for me? I live in horror that everyone else could fall for this. I suspect every hero is a predator because of how easily my rapist became a feminist champion. I am never surprised when a seemingly happily married, feminist or liberal man is MeToo’d. Rape knows no ideology or relationship status.
Years later, I ended up in another abusive relationship that ruined many of my relationships and hurt my career. That’s when I found my college feminist rapist stalking me on LinkedIn. I looked him up. He had married the next woman he dated after me, had an incredible career, and bought a giant house in our hometown.
But when I saw a picture of his face, all I could see was the rapist in it. Just like I see it in my other liberal abuser’s face as he kisses his new bride. The world, your wives, and even modern-day feminism may see you both as “one of the good ones,” but my raped body knows different.
I know what you are. And as long as I live, that truth is alive, even if you convince the whole rest of the world. I am still a reality. You raped me. I do not forgive you.
Note to fellow survivors: I realize that as this brings up strong feelings for me, it may also bring up strong feelings for others. If you’re triggered or even just feeling down after reading, I wanted to provide this list of resources.
