I got an STI from my rapist.
TW: Rape
I’m the first to admit I have not always been careful, sexually speaking.
But I was lucky. I was tested regularly, and I was clean. And I learned and matured and realized I needed to protect myself, no matter what. Not just from pregnancy, but from STIs.
I was too smart, after all. Too responsible.
I knew better by the time he raped me.
He was basically a stranger. He had bought me a drink — one shot, which I took directly from the bartender’s hand and swallowed in one gulp — and I had told him, bluntly, beforehand that his purchase of a drink would not be leading to sex. I was too tired and I was not in the mood. It was not going to happen, I said, so if that means you don’t want to buy me a drink, I am at peace with that.
No, no, he said. He wasn’t like that. He just wanted to buy a pretty girl a drink. Of course he didn’t expect sex. Did I think he was some kind of animal?
The bar closed shortly after. He asked me to walk him to his car, which was parked 15 feet from the main entrance on a well-lit, well-traveled street. (Actually, now that I think about it, it was literally on Main Street. What a cliche.)
He told me we could sit in the car, and I said no. I walked him to the driver’s side door. He kissed me roughly, and I thought… well, if this is the price I have to pay for a drink, it doesn’t really matter. Just a kiss.
I started to pull away.
Then he opened his car door, whipped me around, pushed my face into the seat, and raped me.
It was over in maybe two or three minutes. I pulled my pants back up and walked away in a shaky daze. I still remember the shit-eating grin on his face as he wished me good night.
Ever the practical woman, I was tested for everything within a few weeks, and twice I got an equivocal positive for HSV2.
Herpes. Wow.
The fucker gave me herpes.
I had a date a few weeks later, and things went well. I actually liked the guy. We started to mess around a bit, but the events of the past month were still heavy on my mind, and he didn’t understand why I wouldn’t “go all the way.”
Finally I told him.
I think he set a land speed record getting out of my apartment. I hadn’t seen a man move that fast to get away from me since I’d played Capture-the-Flag in middle school.
A few months later, I started seeing someone else. (I should note that during this time, I had zero symptoms, no breakouts, nothing at all to indicate that I was actually infected other than the test results.) I told him, bluntly, what had happened — the rape, the aftermath, etc. — and he was surprisingly understanding.
Two months later, when he broke up with me, he spit, “You know, I dated you even though you have herpes. Most other guys wouldn’t fucking touch you.”
Thank God, in the two years since the incident, I’ve found that’s not the case. There are plenty of guys out there who are actually understanding, who are sensitive, and who are kind. They don’t hold my test results against me (I’m still 100% asymptomatic), and they don’t throw it in my face if/when we have a disagreement.
But the stigma is there, and the stigma still hurts.
I hope things get better.
I got an STI from my rapist.
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