It was 21 years ago today

That I met an Irish guy at the St. Patrick's Day Parade in New York City where I had gone for the day with some friends. We marched in the parade. It was my first time marching. I did not know these friends well but they were on a direct bus route to New York City 10 minutes from my house and had offered to let me stay the night in their small suburban apartment where other people had camped out the night before and would be crashing that night as well.

I thought some of them knew the guy who we met in an Irish pub. No. The common demoninator was he was Irish as in from Ireland and so were some of my friends. He seemed like a nice fellow. Some one knew someone he knew. He took a liking to me and came back to New Jersey with us all even though he lived in the Bronx or Brooklyn. I forget which.

It was late when we all, about 2 dozen of us, converged upon the small apartment. I curled up on a borrowed sleeping bag. I was slightly drunk. I could not sleep on the floor in an unfamiliar place with people I barely knew. I decided I would go home. I was not drunk. Just a buzz remained. Quietly, I left the apartment and the apartment building. As I entered my car, I saw the Irish guy from Brooklyn or the Bronx exit the apartment building. He told me to wait up.

I told him I was tired and wanted to go home. He said he wanted to talk, just for a bit. I invited him into my small Honda Civic. We chatted. He said he wanted to kiss me. I wanted to go home but we made out. Then I said I was tired. Then he was on top of me. Then he said I had to finish what I had started and he had a choke hold on me and he choked me and I couldn't breathe. I could blow him or fuck him. Struggling to breathe, I chose fuck. He had a condom. He fucked me. He raped me.

When he was done, he was surprised how quickly I dressed. He wanted to kiss some more. I told him I just wanted to go home. He said he would call me. I meekly said, "Sure." He dressed and left. He waved good-bye cheerily.

I drove 10 minutes home. I took a shower and scrubbed myself raw. I put this out of my mind.

A few years later, in therapy, I decribed the encounter and when my therapist mentioned the word "rape" I was surprised. I was shocked. It took years to acknowledge. But the therapist was right. It was rape. The Irish guy was a rapist.

This has nothing to do with my being gay. I dated men a few years before I came out. My relationships with men were consensual and fine if uninspiring. The Irish guy raped me. Pure and simple. I said no. I was tired. I was not into him. He choked and restrained me. He raped me. It was St. Patrick's Day 1990. 21 years ago today.