That evening, I had arranged for a meeting with a muscular Cuban guy I'd been in touch with on Adam4Adam. We hadn't met yet and had worked out this evening as a time that fit for both of us.
I'm having a hard time writing about this. Unlike the other men I had previously met with, this guy did not respect my boundaries. Instead, he raped me.
The trauma of the rape is such that I cannot look back to that night without suffering a cold sweat, trembles, and an immense fear mixed with an intense, unwanted arousal. His dismissal of my right to withhold consent, his claiming of me against my wishes, and his penetration of my ass (which felt like a fist covered in thumbtacks) deranged me thoroughly. I was in a mental and emotional shock for a good while afterward, well aware that attempting to prosecute it would most likely backfire (I had, after all, invited him to my place through a site dedicated to sex and hook-ups). Where I had wanted to explore my sexuality, he was only interested in fucking and dominating me.
It should little surprise you, dear reader, that this experience severely dampened my desire to meet with new guys. While I did meet with a couple of guys (for example the Texan stud I mentioned in the previous entry), I was still shell-shocked and quite intent on protecting my then-fragile mind. Also, though I had now experienced giving oral and receiving anal from my rapist and thus broken that boundary, I had little desire to repeat it (though I did give oral to the Texan when I met up with him).
A self-portrait I took after taking my post-rape
shower. I knew the day and its events would
be significant and ought to be remembered.
I kept quiet about the rape for I knew that I had become extremely fragile (as well as deranged) and that the opinions and reactions of others, in that state, could very well break me. Unfortunately, my reservation and defensive stance would prove itself warranted in some cases where I later informed others of my rape. The trauma also led me to philosophically recognize and obsess about the fact that all is ultimately for naught and that all effort, no matter how good or well-intentioned, can be torn asunder by the acts of another man. This in turn derailed my efforts as a graduate student as I struggled to see any long-term point in writing.
It has taken me years to work through this trauma, primarily on my own (I had the assistance of a sexologist for a short time, though that was primarily with regard to my fear of STDs at the time) and it still affects me, as experienced and seen in writing even this text. The mihi nihil refert ("to me, nothing matters") philosophy remains a significant basis for much of my outlook on the world and life.