Trigger Warning: Sexual assault described
Phil kept wanting to do my backside. I didn’t want him to. I let him once or twice, but it was too painful–like my horrible first time all over again. He had never heard of lubrication or the need to wear a condom, but was obsessed with anal sex. I didn’t (still don’t) understand how anyone would like it, but Phil’s last girlfriend (number six) said it was the most pleasurable way for a woman. (Say WHAT?) But it was not–it was some of the most excruciating pain–so she must’ve been a masochist. I hated to hear Phil whisper in the middle of sex, “Please–give me your backside!” No means no!
But one day, Phil said if I didn’t let him do that, he wouldn’t be able to have sex with me in any other way for several weeks: He wouldn’t be able to get excited enough. He didn’t understand, but that hurt me emotionally just as bad as anal sex hurt me physically. I still didn’t want to do it anally, despite what he said.
He knew it hurt me, but thought it was like vaginal, and would only hurt the first few times. But the anus doesn’t have a hymen, and is not meant to be used that way. Also, the pain was a gift that kept on giving: I felt it afterwards, and bowel movements also hurt. It was even worse than getting a rectal exam from a doctor. At least a doctor knows how to do his job safely.
The next morning, I took my temperature and recorded it, but then started crying, wanting to throw the notebook aside. What was the use of watching my cycle if we weren’t going to have sex for a few weeks? I cried at least once more that day. I told Phil about it, probably that night, and he said, “Is it really that important to you?”–like he was surprised.
But why wouldn’t it be? I had my own desires, for normal sex and not some aberration, but these were not being recognized, just constant pressure for something bizarre and painful. He said maybe anal is the “natural” way in some cultures, but I really doubt that. I had to explain to him that the Clan of the Cave Bear’s “back entry” scenes didn’t involve anal sex, but rather an animalistic version of vaginal sex.
Once, before our marriage, he said he could go without sex if I didn’t want it. If he could abstain from sex in general, couldn’t he abstain from anal sex if I didn’t want it?
After I told him how I felt and we talked about it, everything seemed back to normal.
But one night, what a horror! In the middle of things he said, “Give me your backside.”
I kept saying, “No, not that way!” but he kept pressuring.
Before we finished, while still on top of me, he withdrew and moved down to my anus, not actually in but trying to get in. I pleaded with him to move. I clearly said no, and I also struggled, trying to push him away. But he didn’t listen and didn’t move, and he ejaculated like that. It got all over, and I got mad at him for not respecting my wishes.
At one point, as he sat hunched over on the side of the bed in the darkness, I said that rape could be grounds for divorce.
He said in a trembling, petulant, upset voice, “So are you going to divorce me now?”
I said no, but our reconciliation was probably painful. It felt like a rape. I still think of it as one. He did to me sexually what I didn’t want him to do, despite my pleas. The trouble is, in a situation like this, how would you even prove it in court?
At least, that’s how I thought at the time. Current Indiana law would indeed consider it Criminal Deviate Conduct, Class B Felony. However, it’s been almost 20 years and laws on all sorts of things have changed since then; I don’t know if this law was on the books back then:
- Criminal Deviate Conduct, Class B felony: knowingly or intentionally causing another person to perform or submit to deviate sexual conduct* when:(1) the other person is compelled by force or imminent threat of force; …
* Deviate sexual conduct, according to IC 35-41-1-9, is any act involving “(1) a sex organ of one person and the mouth or anus of another person; …”
As you can see, this also applies to unwanted oral sex. This was another point of contention: It was gross, no matter who did it to whom. I didn’t want him to kiss me afterwards, but he would whine that none of his other girlfriends said that. I didn’t want to do it to him, didn’t want to put anything like that in my mouth, did not like the taste, would not do it long enough to get him to ejaculate, because it was absolutely disgusting. But he kept trying to get me to do it. (His “subconscious” tried to ease me into it. More on that later.) But I got no pleasure from it, was grossed out by the whole thing.
I may have been traumatized by this and the constant coercion: When the cafeteria served okra once that fall, I couldn’t eat it, because it was slimy and reminded me of oral sex. I tried to swallow one or two pieces, but just couldn’t, and ended up going hungry that evening. Ever since then, I have never engaged in this disgusting practice again, and have been blessed with a husband who also finds it gross and wants nothing to do with it.
Late summer, during sex, Phil sometimes tried to turn me over to do my backside–with a petulant, angry, stern look on his face, like he wanted to control me and I’d better do what he wanted or else. I would refuse and resist his hands, and push myself back down.
But what really got me was that he’d pick a fight with me practically every time right after we’d made love. This is the time to bask in the glow, not pick at the person you’ve just been sexually intimate with! I would lie there naked and vulnerable, all satisfied and happy, and he would yell at me for one thing or another. It really, really hurt. Instead of being most satisfied and happy with me and our marriage, my “loving” husband would turn on me. Yet another trauma.
I’ll jump on ahead to September to include another incident of sexual coercion. In September, he broke off the marriage and spent a couple of weeks psychologically abusing me. Then he came back to me. I thought he wanted to be married again, but he just wanted sex and a submissive puppet. By now, my will was broken, and I was desperate to do whatever he wanted, just to keep him from leaving again. That meant even oral sex:
Soon, when he got me alone, before I had a chance to even talk to him, and without a word, he pulled down his pants. He got a strange, stern look on his face, and pushed my head down–forced, really, since I couldn’t move my head whether I wanted to or not. I didn’t want to–it was smelly, I didn’t know if he had washed it recently, and I never liked doing this–but I did anyway.
[And Richard, you made fun of Todd and tried to make me feel like a prude, when I've been traumatized by being forced and coerced into oral sex. For some of us, it makes us sick to our stomachs, along with any and every webpage, forum post, or day-to-day comment in conversation, that women must do this to make guys happy (I've seen a few of these), or that anybody should or must do this, or that if you don't like it then it's not being done right.]