I did not report… because I used to love him, because I still cared about him, because - after many a “No!” - I told him to get that condom…

I did not report because I was wearing my shortest short skirt and my fuck-off don’t fuck with me heels, because being cuddled by him felt like one of the safest places in the world. Because crashing at an old friend’s and ex-boyfriend’s seemed far safer than braving the two night buses and the street where the scary boy follows me home every so often.

I did not report because I was angry at me. I felt that he had betrayed my trust, but that I had got me raped. Or assaulted. Or taken advantage of. Or whatever that grey area is between consent, non-consent and acquiescence. I felt that I had not been there for me. 

I still replay the night in my head. I could have left. I have a phone and one can find taxis even in Hackney. I could have moved to the sofa. I… There was no physical violence here, no threats. But

there were words - some angry,  years worth of feelings and the fundamental schock of saying No! and having that ignored. It takes two, except when it doesn’t.

Intellectually, i know all I need to know, and yet I do not understand. I know that women tend to appease rather than fight. I know that I am stuck in typical circles of self-blame. Yet…

I did not understand. I still do not understand. He - he who once loved me; he - he who thinks he’s a feminist; he - he knew I was in pain. That bears repeating because it is the one conversation I just cannot rationalise. He knew I was in pain and still… 

It finally happened. Seemingly faced with a road with no peaceful exit I did the unthinkable. I was stuck. And I did not fight back. “Why don’t you.. Why don’t you just get a condom …”

I am known for being bolshy, for being feisty, for fighting the good fight. And as the 7am - or was it 5 am - light hit my groggy head, and we’d been drunk, then asleep and then we were awake again and the number of No’s! was getting embarrassing, I had fought back, and I had shouted. And then I was sorry, for one does not shout at friends; and then I tried to pacify, for I could not bear to see him upset. I gave his arm a stroke to say “we are cool, just don’t be a dick”.

And there I was, being soft and kind and warm and pacifying, not realising that for the whole of that past year his attempts to ‘be friends’ were actually attempts to claim me, to take me, to - in his own words - “to exorcise the ghost of our old relationship”, with this one last time. And as I - guard down, soft and kind and trusting - tried to use my words - again! -  to extricate myself from this non-consensual  exorcism - “hm, why dont you just go, go brush your teeth, you smell” - it was his turn to shout. And I was no longer there.

So as the day came, to save from this hell of a night, he raised his voice with me and I gave up. I gave in. I was not there.

This is why I do not report. It was his turn to shout. And I was no longer there.

I’m marching because I am fed up with my boundaries being casually violated, especially with a friend of 10 years who recently used my BDSM orientation as an excuse for sexual assault when I emailed him to say ‘when you kissed me when I clearly didn’t want you to it wasn’t ok’.

I’m marching because I identify as a slut, as kinky, as polyamorous, as heteroflexible, as a woman, and as genderqueer and this does not mean I am up for any sexual activity, with any person, all the time.

I’m marching because my identities do not invalidate my ‘no’, nor do they mean someone doesn’t need to bother getting my ‘yes’.

I’m marching because our society would be better if rape-apologists were shunned instead of lauded, and if feminist discourse was used to teach ideas around free consent, power dynamics, privilege and entitlement in an age-appropriate way in our schools, right from Nursery.

I’m marching because when I’m not sure I ask verbally for consent to physically intimate acts and expect those I come into contact with to do the same for me.

I’m marching because at 13 I lost my virginity being raped by a total stranger. I thought it was my fault for wearing a dress and not minding him kissing me.

I’m marching because I have been harassed and propositioned so many times during my school years just waiting for my school bus.

No stranger in a car, I’m not a prostitute, I’m getting the bus home from school.

No passer by, I don’t want to have sex with you, and no you can’t watch me and my girlfriend have sex.

I’m marching because I’ve been assaulted more times than I can count for the sole reason that I was alone with them and trusted them as friends or partners.

I’ll have a ride on the back of your new bike my friend, cool! Why are you stopping here? I don’t want you to touch me.

Yes my friends, thank you for the lift home, that’s very kind of you. This isn’t my house, why are you both climbing into the back with me?

Hi boyfriend! We’re going to hang out with your friends at their place? Sounds like fun! Why are you all getting undressed? I don’t want to get undressed.

I’m marching because I have been openly assaulted in public many times, in front of many witnesses, but it seemed socially acceptable.

Hi guys, hanging out at the bar again too?  I don’t want to sit on your lap, let me go.

I don’t like it when you pull my top/skirt up or try to casually unbutton my clothing.

I don’t like you grabbing parts of my body while I’m waiting for drinks.

No, I don’t want to have sex with you in the bathroom.

Like every other girl out there I cannot even begin to count the times I’ve been assaulted physically, let alone mentally and verbally. I’m 27 now and still don’t have the courage and self worth needed to speak openly about any of this. I’m marching for everyone else like me.

March with us at SlutWalk London 2012, and tell us why at slutwalklondon@gmail.com

This year I had promised myself I would march for the women’s rights I vehemently support, and as a symbol of no longer feeling ashamed of being raped. Unfortunately, being that I have to move into university on the 22nd of September, I guess this won’t be possible. Yet the reasons for wishing to march are still the same, and I will march in future for them.

I was raped as a 15 year old by my best friend. I knew everything about this boy and trusted him. I thought it was clear that our friendship would always be a platonic one. I didn’t dress like a slut - I was a self-conscious teenager who tried desperately hard to cover what I thought was an awful figure. He invited me to listen to him playing guitar; I didn’t realize this activity would cost me my livelihood. 

For years I blamed myself. I figured I had to be a bad person for this to happen to me. People that I told didn’t believe me, they too thought I must have been asking for it. The SlutWalk campaign taught me otherwise - what happened to me was wrong, and not my fault. I wanted to march to make society finally see that people don’t ask for rape, and just what an awful, life destroying thing it is.

March with us at SlutWalk London 2012, and tell us why at slutwalklondon@gmail.com

SlutWalk London Banner Making

Banner making for SlutWalk London 2012!

Saturday 15th September, start at 11.30am.

At Crossroads Women’s Centre - google maps link

Please bring banner material, paint and slogans!

SlutWalk Invite

Download our poster! Please share and come to SlutWalk London 2012. We still really need funds to make this event happen, so please donate here.

We are still short of funds for SlutWalk London 2012. We need £400 for a platform for the speakers to stand on, which is more expensive than we had thought. Please donate at bit.ly/slutwalk2012donate or share this around - it would be very much appreciated.