My #MeToo Experience

We were having Tex-Mex lunch on a Saturday afternoon. It was a group of 6 enjoying the carefree day.

With a margarita already in my hand, the server brought me another, compliments of a nearby customer. He would not disclose the identity. Frankly, I was surprised to get this given that I still had a full drink. Even though I was already tipsy, my young mind felt obligated to show gratitude by drinking it. A nearby new guy friend, who ran in similar social circles, joined us for the first time that afternoon and was cheering me on to enjoy and finish it!

After we settled up, everyone was headed to their cars. I couldn’t drive. The new guy encouraged that we gather back at his condo. He was insistent that the party would continue there and he would give me a ride.

Back at his place, I made myself comfortable in his living room by putting some music on and dancing to the beat while he was in his open space kitchen making drinks. No one was there yet. I assumed traffic had held some folks up.

The room started to spin, and I knew I needed to lay down on the couch next to me. As soon as I did, the next thing I felt was his body jump on me. I kept turning my face away while he was forcing his lips on mine, his hands firmly gripping each side of my arm. With no progress, he moved to my pants. I kept asking him what he was doing and to stop. Please stop.

He then shoved his hand down after he couldn’t unbutton my bottoms fast enough. It was a tug of war I never imagined I would find myself in. I kept trying to pull his arm out while he tried to feel me as much as he could with a smirk on his face. He was so strong, and I was so slow and drunk.

All the while, I’m panicked and repeatedly saying, “What are you doing? Please stop! Please stop!”

He finally did. He snapped back and realized I wasn’t consenting. He sits up and, in his French accent, he tells me that I am drunk, and he’ll give me time straighten up while he smokes.

I was in shock. I had no words to describe what I just experienced and what I was feeling. Nothing prepares you on what to do after, only before and leading up to it.

I found him downstairs nervously smoking in his backyard. He instructed that I sit at one of the chairs. I remember staring at the grass and rocking back and forth. “Why did you do that? I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Elisa,  you’ve been having problems at home. Mentally you’re unstable. You’re too imbalanced and drunk to know what’s going on.” I could not believe what I was hearing. It was bullshit what he was saying. I knew exactly what he was trying to do.

The last I remember of that day, I was back at home sitting on the floor with some fast food in front me. I still couldn’t process what happened. All I knew was to cry.

The next morning, I woke up hoping it was a bad dream until I lifted my arms over my head to rest on the pillow. It hurt. When I looked at them, I had two bruises, the size of grapefruits, on each side. My lips were terribly sore. My body didn’t feel like mine. I took the longest shower I could that day hoping to wash it and him off.

That’s when I really knew, it had happened to me too.

‘Til Next,

Ps. He was the one that bought me that drink.

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