I wasn’t kissed until I was 17. I lost my virginity two weeks
before I turned 18. Two months later, I became one more victim
of rape. And I will never forget it…
During my first year at a Northern California college, I moved
out of my strict Catholic home in San Jose, CA, and into a stranger’s
house on the other side of town. At 18, I was a live-in nanny and
housekeeper for a young married couple with two kids. I was a part-time
freshman with a full-time, and very isolated job. Thus, I didn’t
have any friends, and even worse, my boyfriend had just dumped
me. I was all alone—except for my beloved dog, a perfect
companion.
I was a total hippie chick, dressing blue jeans and peasant
blouses, going braless and barefoot. Carefree and trusting, I
used to hitchhike to classes with my 70-pound black Labrador
retriever. I never really thought twice about hitchhiking. And
although my mom had showed me gruesome newspaper articles about
girls getting raped and killed, I always thought, “Nothing
like that will happen to me. I’m
different.”
I didn’t think twice about hitchhiking again, this time solo,
to the homecoming dance. I met a young man who I danced with for
a good part of the night. He was a hefty wannabe football player—but
not my type at all. But he was nice and I felt comfortable with
him. We talked casually about relationships, and I told him I was
looking for Mr. Right. Toward the end of the night, he asked me
if I wanted to go to an after-party. Since the dance wasn’t
crowded, and I didn’t meet anyone I really liked, I though
an after-party would be a great place to meet more exciting people,
so I said yes.
As we were leaving, he introduced me to his redheaded, studious-looking,
quiet friend, who was going to head to the party with us. I hesitated
to go with both of them (my sixth sense was telling me something
wasn’t right) but I figured I would be fine since they were
two students at the same school with me.
On our way to the party, I sat in the front seat of the car
between the two of them on a bench seat. The three of us made
small talk and everything seemed pretty normal.
Then I started to realize that it seemed like we were driving
around forever, but going nowhere. Finally, I asked, “Are we almost
there?” The driver seemed to have transformed from the bubbly,
friendly guy I met at the dance, and he mumbled that he was trying
to find the right house. That was when I got the first gut instinct
something was very wrong—very wrong.
But I tried to tune out my intuitive feelings. All I knew was
I wanted to be in a warm, fun place with my dog—any place
but that car alone with two men I didn’t know.
All of a sudden, the other passenger—the man who I met
at the dance—whispered a threatening sexual proposition.
I resisted verbally repeatedly as the tears started filling my
eyes. He threatened, “I’ll bash your face into the
dashboard if you don’t shut up and do what I want.” My
body was frozen, my heart raced and my head was spinning. I couldn’t
believe what was happening. |
The driver stopped the car and parked it on a
dimly-lit residential street. “I have to go to the bathroom,” I
whined but was ignored in between the two guys’ unwanted
gropes and kisses. I felt sick and I wanted to run, but I couldn’t—I
was trapped.
Then, the hefty man told the redheaded driver to take a walk
because he wanted to have me first. In a strange way, part of
me was relieved—at
least it wouldn’t be two of them at one time. When the driver
disappeared, the friend ordered me, “Get in the backseat.” At
that point, I was crying uncontrollably. I confessed I had only
had sex once and I was scared of the pain. He didn’t care.
I begged, “Please don’t do this,” and I squirmed
helplessly. But I wasn’t strong enough to push him off. After
he finished, he sat up and actually apologized. He blamed his actions
on a drug he had taken at the dance. I didn’t care what he
said; the only thing going through my head was the chilling fear
that his friend would be next. I pleaded with my rapist to stop
and just let me go. He rolled down the car window and lied to his
friend. “She’s a virgin. I’m a mess. She’s
not worth it. Let’s go.”
And then, it was over. I struggled to put my clothes back on
and they let me out of the car. Disheveled and disoriented, standing
outside in the cold, damp autumn fog, I tried to fight back the
tears.
I thought I had asked for it, so how could I report it? I didn’t
tell anyone. Through all of the pain and trauma, I did tell
one close confidant—my dog Stonefox. He was there to comfort
me through my frightening flashbacks at night, and he kept me company
through the cold, lonely days. He was consoling and non-judgmental,
and he was my best friend.
After I was fired from my domestic job because I was “too
unstable,” my dog helped give me a reason to survive—he
needed me. I decided I needed a change of scenery to help me get
my life back—to feel like me again. So, I traveled
through America with a knapsack, sleeping bag, and Stonefox and
learned to heal my wounds, find my sense of self and trust in men,
once again.
After more than 30 years, I am one more survivor of rape. I
am a dedicated veteran author/ “supersensitive” (an individual
with a heightened sixth sense). While I’ve had three long-term,
live-in relationships with men, they ended due to my fear of intimacy.
Today I live with my two fun-loving Brittanys, Simon and Seth,
and my cat, Kerouac.
Countless people, perhaps even you, have experienced the positive
healing benefits canines have on the body, mind and spirit. “Healing
is much more than the mending of bodies. It’s mending broken
hearts, lost dreams and painfully poisonous ideas and beliefs,” writes
Susan Chernak McElroy in her book Animals as Teachers & Healers
(Ballantine Books). And amazingly enough, dogs can provide healing
services such as these to you. |
