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“Because he was my boyfriend. And I didn’t say no. It’s hard to explain. I don’t really want to talk about it.”
She doesn’t have to. I think I can guess. He wanted sex and she didn’t, so he took it by force, and she let him because she was young, and for whatever reason she didn’t feel she could resist. And because of that, she assumed the police wouldn’t count it as assault.
“Who else knows?” I whisper.
“I’ve never told anyone.”
“Not even Gaby?”
“No.”
“Not your parents?”
“Definitely not. Mum has enough on her plate. Dad would have murdered him and gone to prison for it.”
And yet she’s told me. I’m touched, and also confused. We don’t know each other well. I’m hardly a counselor. I have no experience in a situation like this, and no idea what to say. How can I possibly understand what it was like? Nobody’s ever forced me to do anything since I was a kid.
“I’m so sorry,” I say eventually.
She just gives me a small smile.
I think about what she told me before. “You said you dated briefly last year, but it didn’t work out?”
She sighs. “Yeah, I met a guy through a friend of a friend, and we dated for a few weeks. I liked him. But when we went to bed…” She looks embarrassed.
I read between the lines. “You found it difficult because of what had happened before?”
She nods and sighs. “Have you heard of vaginismus?”
“No.”
“It’s an involuntary tightening of the vagina. I have no control over it. It made sex impossible.” She fiddles with the hem of her tee. “I hadn’t told him about what my ex did, and he got impatient, and that just made it worse. In the end we gave up, and I didn’t see him again.” Her lips twist, and she gives a slight shrug.
My heart goes out to her. “And you haven’t dated since?”
“No. I’ve had other things on my mind.”
I think back to the trivia night, when I took her back to my hotel room and made her come with my tongue. I slid my thumb inside her, and I remember her being tight, but not impenetrable. “But when we… you know… you were okay then.” She didn’t seem frightened or panicky.
“I’d had a lot to drink,” she reminds me wryly. “And…” She meets my eyes for a moment, and her expression turns impish. “You warmed me up first.”
I can’t summon a smile. “And the guy you dated last year didn’t?”
“No.” She doesn’t elaborate.
My head’s spinning. No man with any sense of humility would label himself good in bed, but I like to think I’m considerate. I know that women take longer to achieve an orgasm than men, and they therefore need more foreplay. I’ve never resented that—it’s hardly their fault, and anyway, I like foreplay. I like kissing and touching—it makes it more pleasurable for me, as well as for them. Why get it all over with in two minutes when you can make it last an hour? And while it’s more fun if the girl doesn’t just lie there expecting me to do all the work, I do feel it’s the guy’s responsibility to… warm the girl up, as Aroha put it.
It’s not onerous work. It’s not difficult. And it’s hardly a big secret. So I get annoyed when I hear that other guys expect girls to be ready at the drop of a hat.
And as for her ex who assaulted her… I want to demand she tells me where he lives so I can go down there, drag him out of his house, and beat him to a pulp with my bare fists.
But she doesn’t want to talk about it, and I’m going to have to honor that.
“Have you had counseling?” I ask, wondering if she’s talked to anyone.
“Yes. It helped, a bit.” She gets up from the chair. She looks a little emotional. “I’m just going to the bathroom,” she says quietly.
I rise too. “I need a drink,” I announce. “Would you like a whisky?” I hold up a hand as she goes to protest. “It’s fine if you don’t, and I won’t push you, but Leia’s asleep now, and we’re both right here for when she wakes. Say you’ll have one with me?”
