This photo fucking INFURIATES me. First of all, if this is legit, this dad should lose his right to have children.
A woman SHOULD NOT have to live in a world where going to drink with friends without a bodyguard is extremely dangerous. This takes all the responsibility away from the rapist. A man SHOULD be expected to control himself, even if he is part of a fraternity.
A woman SHOULD NOT have to live in a world where it is too dangerous to become intoxicated. A man SHOULD be held responsible for his actions while intoxicated and/or when he is interacting with an intoxicated woman.
ANYONE should choose to spend the night at a party if he or she becomes intoxicated and doesn’t have a sober driver to take him or her home. That strikes me as actually being responsible.
My next point is the most important of all: even when a woman takes tons of precautions, she can still end up a rape victim.
I have been extremely lucky. I have not been raped. But I have had three very close calls, and I will explain one of them exactly how it happened. That way you can see that none of the details matter. It can happen to ANYONE.
When I graduated from high school, my best friend, let’s call him Manuel, was throwing a small party at his house. I was not a party-goer at this time. I was more interested in getting good grades, and I had never gotten drunk before. I’d had a glass of wine at Thanksgiving with my family; I drank some 5 ‘oclock with my boyfriend one time; and I drank a bottle of Smirnoff with some friends; these were my only drinking experiences before this event. My friend Manuel’s parents were supervising this party. This party had fewer than 10 people in attendance. My best friend Manuel and my other best friend, we will call her Laura, were there with me, and my boyfriend literally had broken up with me that day. We all decided that it was my time to get drunk. Yay! It should have been great. It wasn’t.
If you’re wondering what I was wearing, I don’t remember. But I wasn’t all dolled up. I was extremely shy in high school and I was pretty much jeans and t-shirt every day. I didn’t even wear makeup, although I was that day because I had worn some for graduation pictures. I started off pretty strong with the drinking. We were doing shots, playing drinking games, having a great time. I’ll admit that it got a little promiscuous. My friend Laura and I took our shirts off (after much prodding from Laura, who always seems to lose her clothing when she drinks) and we did shots off each others cleavage (our bras were on). Anyway, later on, one of Manuel’s friends, I’ll just say his name since I have no intentions of protecting his identity, GRANT LEDEE, offered me some of the drink that he had brought. It was vodka. Unfortunately, I didn’t know that it was 100 proof. I didn’t even know what 100 proof meant. After that point, I blacked out. I didn’t black out completely, though; I would come to and not know how I had gotten where I was. I told my friend Laura that I had reached my limit and she tried to put me to bed, but I somehow ended up back at the party. I still had Manuel with me though, and we were all having a good time just sitting around the bonfire, talking.
Then I had to pee. I tried to walk and failed. I was too drunk to function. I really had to go and I asked Manuel if he could help me to the bathroom, but Manuel was busy doing something, so his friend GRANT LEDEE offered to help. Manuel knew this guy pretty well. I didn’t, but I had seen him at school and his mom was a teacher. He was just walking me to the bathroom. I should have just waited for Manuel. This is what I remember, but there are gaps. He got me to the bathroom and waited outside the door. I remember stumbling my way to the door once I was done using the toilet. The next thing I remember is laying on the sink, and Grant’s hand was down my pants. The door was closed. We were alone. I tried to yell but then he started kissing me. I was so drunk and confused. I remember thinking that he was a creepy fucking jerk, but I don’t think I was able to verbalize it. The next thing I remember is laying on the bathroom floor, and Grant was hovering over top of me, hand still in my pants. Then, like a guardian angel, Manuel knocked on the door. Grant said something, and then the door opened. Grant hurriedly got me to my feet and I dove for Manuel, begging for him not to leave me. I just kept begging him not to leave me. Manuel had seen enough to know what happened. I don’t remember what happened after that, but I do know that Manuel didn’t leave me alone.
The next morning, Manuel’s cousin, we’ll call him Damon, pulled me aside and asked me what had happened with me and Grant. I realllly didn’t want to admit what happened, so I stalled by asking him why he wanted to know. Grant had apparently told Damon that I “wanted him.” When Damon said he didn’t believe him (cause Damon knew me pretty well) Grant told him to smell his fingers as proof. I was furious. Luckily for me, Grant was still there at the house. I found him still sleeping on a couch and I slapped him across the face as hard as I could and walked away.
That was the end of it. I didn’t report it to anyone. I asked my friends not to tell. I was embarrassed. I blamed myself for a long time. I had let myself become a victim. I had gotten drunk. I had been promiscuous with Laura. I was afraid to report to the police or tell my parents because I had been drinking underage. I tried my best to just forget about it.
Please understand that I was one of the lucky ones. If it hadn’t been for my best friend Manuel looking out for me, Grant LeDee would most certainly have raped me. What I didn’t understand at the time was that GRANT was in the wrong. HE was the one who took advantage of my intoxicated state with the pretense of being helpful. HE was the one who didn’t control himself. All I wanted to do was drink with my friends and have a good time. And use the toilet.
Last of all, I’d like to say this: I will never tell my dad what happened, because if I did, HE WOULD FUCKING KILL GRANT LEDEE. My dad loves me and would never blame me for what happened, even if I was promiscuous. Even if I had been wearing a short skirt with heels or a bunch of makeup. Even if I had been sober. Even if I were cosplaying. MY DAD WOULD KNOW THAT IT WASN’T MY FAULT BECAUSE HE’S A GREAT DAD AND HE LOVES ME.
And that’s my story. Take it for what it’s worth. Tell me it was my fault, call me a slut, a skank, a lush, a whore, a liar; I don’t really give a fuck. I know that I was not in the wrong; HE was.
It was not your fault and I hope that guy dies in a fire.