To Uncover Other Stories of Coerced Sex in Relationships…

Originally penned/published: September 19, 2013


If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.” ― Toni Morrison.

Same goes for stories. Or poems. Anything really…


So I saw this article a few minutes ago on Sociological Images:


It’s about this Robin Thicke song , Blurred Boundaries,(which I have never heard. I reside underneath the pop-culture rock) and how the lyrics of this song are some of the very things rapists say to their victims just before they attack.

I was about to leave work in a few minutes so I didn’t really read the article. Just the sentences in the photographs.

I wanted to see if they resonated.

See… they’re painting this song to be about the blurred boundary between consensual sex and assault… though most of the sentences sound like pre-assault ones to me. I see no blurry-ness there.

So what am I writing for?

I had an experience once. With an ex-boyfriend of mine.  Who was my boyfriend at the time.

I have since referred to this experience as rape – followed by hesitation, uncertainty – but I have ultimately held that even though I didn’t want to have sex and I SAID I didn’t want to have sex, that because I didn’t fight hard enough, it must not have been rape.

And maybe that’s true. Maybe it isn’t.

Regardless, my point here isn’t to define or label. It’s simply to express.

I want to see an article about this. About giving in to unwanted sex within a partnership. About coercion. About feeling like you can’t say “no” or feeling that you “owe” them access to your body – and about how fucked up that is.

About abuse.


Hmmmm….. I haven’t written here in a while and this is a hell of a first post from a very long absence.

But it’s real.

There hasn’t been much that’s inspired me to write. Or, no, that’s not true.

There hasn’t been much that I felt I NEEDED to write. That I was COMPELLED to.


But this is one of those things.


And so his last sentence to me was, “I need to believe that you’re mine again”

… we had been slipping apart… this was apparently his way of trying to keep me, his

And my sentence was silence.

And gripped sheets.

That’s a pretty shitty sentence.

I mean, mine can’t be scrawled on a poster to hold in front of my chest for people to read … I can make no visual display of my words… But if there was a picture from that moment… It’d be worth more than 1,000 words.

You would see the entire story.

I know this.


And so, I suppose I go looking now, for articles online to read about women and coerced sex in relationships. 
I suppose I go looking for the other stories for my story to mingle with.

To not feel like the odd-one-out

I suppose I go looking for a community of stories to shush the quiet tears of regret

For a community of “I never thought of myself as a victim of abuse”

And though I don’t feel weak

I know there are scars.



There are days where I think I am healed….

How funny…

How whimsical…