There was no option to consent

Drugged, drinking before we went to your home

I’m puzzled HOW or WHY I left mine

No recall

But I can “see” it had started already

Seedy, disgusting, sweaty.

I didn’t want it

You were old, overweight and ugly.

In comparison a girl young and lovely,

Worth more.

Why oh why was I there? So hazy.

A big bowl of pink pills by the bed.

Deceitful and mean

You told me they were Ecstasy

They definitely weren’t what you said.

Covert administration of sedatives

Left me unable to stand on my legs.

I must have lost my mind to keep taking them (if I did)

Near paralysed on your mattress

Mind obliterated for 2 days or 3.

Lost track of time

Partial consciousness

Thankful I could only BARELY see

The low grade perpetual porn

On your distant cheap tiny TV.

You kept me like a slab of meat on the table

(a basic single bed with a crinkled grey sheet)

To fuck when you fancied it

(Or were able)

When you wanted a part of the feast

You climbed on me clumsily

a hot sweaty beast.

I wish I could erase the memory

Of you mauling my body

The weight of your stickiness collapsing on top of me.

Of your at times inadequate small dick

You fiddling trying to make it good enough

Is making me sick sick sick

And the feeling of you squashing it inside

Not caring if access was subscribed

Makes me feel like a part of me died.

I always thought this was my fault

Wanted to forget the pain of the intense shame

But you fed me sedatives and I couldn’t leave

How could I have known you had that up your sleeve?

Frequent recollections of your yellow-grey clammy body.

Most details erased

Just the pills, the bed, losing my head.

I didn’t look after myself?

Could be true.

Cocaine, alcohol, bringing you back.

But I thought we were friends,

I trusted you,

We hung out.

So hear the words come clearly from my mouth

I didn’t consent to THAT.

I was about 25 when this happened. The guy was someone I knew. He was a drug dealer but we were friends, we hung out, I had issues doing a little too much Cocaine at the time. He was taking me home from the pub but I said he could come in for a drink. I have no idea how I then came to be at his house. No idea at all.

When I managed to get out, I was hysterical, I thought I had lost my mind. I went straight to the Psychiatric team and spent the entire day in the waiting room asking for an appointment and crying, only to be told there was none and I should go home and rest.

So I went home. And buried it. As seems to be my style when subject to the abusive nature of others. This was crime, clear crime. But I was so ashamed I thought it was my fault, again. I had allowed a little bit of foreplay at my home. I recall finding that a bit disgusting and not wanting that either and but somewhere in life I was given the message I did not have a choice.

But I would not have chosen to go to his home. I would not have chosen to be sedated within an inch of consciousness. And I would not have chosen to be laid naked on his bed for 2 days with a background of pornography whilst he came and went as he pleased. For these things I would have found a voice but he took away my voice with drugs.

This is not what consent looks like.

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