My first intimate experience with a woman ended in an accusation of attempted rape. This story is not nearly as deep or hard-hitting as Vorkuta's. I was only accused, never charged, and the police never got involved. I was also an earth-shatteringly pathetic beta at the time. That being said, it still had a very big impact on me, so I'll share it. Maybe someone will get something out of it.
This is quite long, skip if you're short on time or easily bored.
It was the winter of my freshman year. I'm hanging out in a frat, drinking and trying to bro out a little as I often did that winter. It is important to know that at this point in my life, I had literally no experience with women. I had never dated, fucked, or even kissed a girl before. Outside of a computer screen, I had never seen live breasts or a vagina in person. Much of this stems from the fact that in high school I was a goal-oriented nerd who never took his mind off of books or football. This mentality got me to the Ivy League, but it cost me socially. I was way behind, and knew literally nothing.
In winter that freshman year I became all about self-improvement. I got into game (Roosh first, later Heartiste) and started practicing in earnest. I also started drinking for the first time in my life. I was insecure and shy (figured I couldn't get laid sober), and resolved to use alcohol as a crutch. This would cost me quite a bit over time.
Anywho, on this night I'm broing out when one of my teammates calls me to leave with him. He's got 4 girls with him, all fellow athletes, two of which I knew. Though I was at heart a shy, quiet, inexperienced nerd, I become a different person when drunk. Alcohol makes me more extroverted, expressive, witty and above all very sexually aggressive. All approach anxiety disappears, even with just a buzz, and I become almost too daring. I essentially
devolve into a caveman.
I followed him out the door smiling and saying "Let's go!", and quickly putting my arms around two of the girls as though we'd always been best friends (I had never met them). We marched off to another frat. I had my arms around them the whole way, joking and laughing, running fairly competent cocky/funny game. I was doing remarkably well, actually, for a kid who had never been even this close to a single girl, much less two, in his life. We were all enjoying the walk.
We got to the frat and things continue. We all start dancing, talking, laughing. I continue the sexual aggression, trying to scope out which one of the girls I'd make a move on. The first one, a tiny blonde, practically runs away as soon as I step toward her-I resolve to just leave her alone. The second, also a blonde but taller with a very athletic build, responds well to some playful banter and ass slapping/grabbing, but she was clearly a very more reserved, shy, nice "good girl". Regardless of her attraction, she wasn't gonna hook up that night.
I locked onto the last one, a brunette, who'd been giving me the most aggressive signals all night. Fortunately for me, I thought all of the girls we'd come with were high quality, so I was content with any outcome. This one had been closest to me the whole night, and we got closer as it continued. I teased her about her inability to dance, negged her gently about her moves, got her to qualify herself to me repeatedly (again, I'd really never spoken to girls before this-no idea where this all came from) and eventually was making out with her on the dance floor.
I was pretty nonchalant about what had been my first kiss (thank you, alcohol) and without thinking about it continued to bro out and joke around with nearby guy friends about other matters, as if it were not much of a deal. Soon, she called me away from my bro-banter to go upstairs with her and show her the bathroom.
Got her up there and at one point we were in a stall together. Shockingly enough, I actually managed to blow this opportunity, which I did not know at the time should have been a guaranteed BJ at a minimum. Makes sense-I had only just had my first kiss 20 minutes ago, there was no way I was advanced enough to secure 3rd base yet even if it was handed to me.
In my shitfaced state, I just asked for sex in not so many words (penis in vagina still made sense to me, at least). She looked at me a little frustrated:
"Look, you're hot. I mean really hot. Then again, I'm sure you know that."
I smiled drunkenly, my ego enjoying the quick stroke. I was still a fat fuck back then with 18% body fat, so I must be more attractive now at 10% or so. Good to know.
"But we don't just go straight to sex. That's not how it works!"
I didn't really say anything (too cocky, too drunk to care), but soon she led me to an empty room in the frat. This girl quite clearly wanted something, but I simply didn't have the experience to give it to her.
Somehow, I was quite quickly able to initiate a hookup and get her shirt off for a while, exposing her chest after fumbling with her bra for a couple of seconds.
After a minute or so of tit sucking and making out, I moved to unbutton her pants (too soon, too clumsily of course). She stopped me and became indignant.
"What, do you think I just have sex?"
Keep in mind, I'm wasted with no experience. My response: "Uh...yes?"
All downhill from there.
She says she "has to go". Looks at her texts for a bit as I anxiously fail to recall her name. She grabs her clothes, puts them on and heads out. A few minutes later she regrouped with her friends. I actually heard them all talking to her in the bathroom, where she was crying-I was surprised, I couldn't figure why she'd be so distressed. After they all came out, I tried to catch up to her and make some amends as I sobered up a bit (I was smart enough to realize I'd done
something wrong), but her friends guarded her closely and later ran (I mean literally RAN) away from the me and away from the house. That was that.
Next morning I'm sober and back to my shy, insecure self. I send her a "hope you got home safe" message on FB. She responds positively-I therefore conclude that all is ok. I resolve to continue to make amends and get her back. My typical oneitis, muted by the alcohol for that night, has kicked right back in. I want to "do the right thing", as my fairly conservative, christian family had taught me.
Things are very awkward between me, her and her friends-bad sign. I eventually catch up to her the next night at another frat party. I say sorry and unwisely try to move on from where we were before by dancing with her. She pulls away, moves to other guys.
I'm drunk again and aggressive, so I remain undeterred. I move to grind with her again. she eventually pulls away after a minute or two. I do this twice more, unable to take the hint. The final time, she pulls away into the arms of one of the guys who she'd been trying to dance with, a fellow athlete who plays her same sport. They both look at me the way you'd look at a common criminal trespassing on your property. They weren't the only ones.
I'll actually never forget that look. Good lesson to learn, as my foolish inexperience and persistence had earned it, though it still sticks quite negatively in my head to this day.
I moved on, still fueled by liquid courage, and ended up hooking up (just a heavy make-out, she wouldn't leave with me) with another girl, this time a basketball-player (there's a story behind her too that occurs in the following months, but that's for another time). My oneitis remained, however, and as I sobered up at the end of the night I remained pretty bummed at losing the girl I'd set out for.
The next week, back to my beta self, I resolve to make things right (or try, one more time). My football coach was insisting that we find dates to take to a charity team ice skating event-I resolve to invite her. I send her a text. Nine hours later she responds in the negative. A similar thing happens the next week as I ask her to one more event.
It would be then that I'd figure out a) why she was crying on that first night in the frat and b) why it seemed that certain folks' opinions on me had cooled quite a bit in the past couple of weeks and things were so awkward around everyone who knew her.
She had been telling everyone that I had
attempted to rape her. She implied that I hid her clothes (the ones she grabbed quickly following her LMR) and that I'd locked the door of the room we were in (the door had no handle or lock). While I had been foolishly trying to win her over during the past couple of weeks, she was debating whether or not to go to campus security (who, of course, would turn it into an administrative and legal matter involving the police as well).
I got scared shitless, and cut off all contact with her (which should have been done weeks before, but whatever). I figured my life was over. Here was a pretty, white Ivy League athlete accusing a very large, dark skinned negro (whose aggressive behavior that night had many witnesses) of rape.
My mother had spent my entire adolescence warning me of just this scenario, and here it was. I stood no chance in court, did I? Would I ever get a job? I could probably say goodbye to football once coach found out...
...fortunately, I lucked out. One of her friends (I suspect it was the second blonde I'd approached that fateful first night in the frat, the "good girl") had likely talked her out of it. We wouldn't speak for months, but about a year later (towards the end of my sophomore year), we exchanged pleasantries, apologized to one another and pretty much buried the hatchet. I teased her one more time about her dancing and moved away with a laugh as her friend pulled her off. Haven't said a word to her since.
This experience had quite a few effects on me:
-I learned
an extremely important lesson: Beware of drunk chicks.
Say I see a drunk girl I don't know well. If she's very interested, we may makeout. Second base is possible too.
I make no attempt to escalate beyond this. Even escalating to oral is dicy.
The most common sources of false rape claims are those quick one-night-stand types who were intoxicated when you met them and got into bed with you quickly, going all the way. These are the ones most likely to leave the experience feeling "guilty" or "weird" about what happened. The false rape accusation becomes the weapon used to defend against this feeling of having been "too slutty", and the judgement that comes with that from her peers. Now, it wasn't her fault-it was yours.
You made her do it.
Continued engagement in quick one-nighters with intoxicated girls ensures one the highest level of exposure to false rape claims. I stop short of the sex, get a little intimate if I can (enough for her to remember it-you have to go beyond the makeout for this), and make plans to follow up later when we're more cognizant of our surroundings.
On the second or third go around, there will be more trust, and you can go further even while intoxicated. I didn't push her far enough for her to feel a need to "defend her honor" via lies, but we've gone far enough that there's enough of a base to get intimate later upon further contact when she sobers up. Win-win. If she doesn't respond to further contact, that's ok too-maybe I missed my one shot to go all the way with her, but at least I'm a free man. Trust me, the intercourse isn't worth the risk.
When out, I now simply ignore girls who are very obviously wasted. They can get aggressive, but I do not bite. These are the girls who will "regret it" in the morning, and it is your ass that will be on the line when they do.
One could say I'm a bit paranoid in limiting my ONS potential like this, and you'd be right-I am paranoid. Once I found out that the accusation I went through wasn't an isolated incident and that plenty of my peers (particularly other minority athletes that had tried the whole one-night-stand thing with a white girl on campus) had went through similar situations, I resolved that I cannot actually be too careful. In the anglosphere, women have the power to quite easily ruin your life. Ivy League girls are particularly dangerous with this-take no chances.
-I learned to drink less. Alcohol is no longer the crutch for me it once was-I don't need 10 shots of jager to go game.
-There were other fallouts, but this post is long enough as it is. Suffice it to say that my cynicism stemming mainly from this but also a couple of other incidents grew to sap my confidence, and I had to work for a year or two to get it back. I'm a much wiser man now having dealt with this and a couple of other not-so-fortunate experiences during my early college years that pretty much destroyed me socially.
My social life is largely done on campus and has been since that winter (I've largely gone ghost here now, 90% of my positive interaction with girls since then has come off campus), but my skill in the "Venusian Arts" (read: my ability to interact with women positively) only continues to grow. I've come a long way and matured a lot, and perhaps I have these experiences to thank for that.
I don't know, really. I'm just glad they're behind me.