Throughout my years working as a sugar baby (/ glorified sex worker) I was never sexually assaulted or raped. Yes, I fucked guys I didn’t fancy because I was being paid to do so, there were guys I didn’t like that much and some that were frankly just gross; but I chose to see them and give them my body…
No, the great irony of the situation is that having worked in what some people consider a ‘dangerous’ or ‘unsafe’ profession for many years, my sexual assault was not at the hands (or penis) of a sugar daddy, but a group of complete strangers on a night out.
The incident happened just over a month ago. I wasn’t sure whether I’d write about it or not, and certainly wasn’t ready before, but now I am, so feel like I should. Afterall my whole ‘shtick’ is writing about sex, and being open about my experiences, so even though it’s not a ‘sugar baby experience’ per se, it’s been an experience for this sugar baby.
I won’t go into the gory details as I don’t remember a lot of what happened, plus there’s an ongoing investigation etc, so I’m not sure how much I can say anyway. I’m one of the lucky ones though as they’ve arrested and charged one of the men responsible; plus, two others who are currently MIA. The police have forensic evidence and hours of CCTV footage showing the ‘predatory’ behaviour of the men involved and are optimistic about getting a conviction; a rare outcome for sexual assault and rape which is either not reported, or doesn’t make it to court due to insufficient evidence or the victim dropping charges (it’s not an easy process for the victim to go through).
In my case I wasn’t the one who reported the assault. I was found in a state, lying half naked in a doorway, my knickers and tights round my ankles; the police were called and arrived within minutes. Would I have reported what happened? I don’t think so… I’d have felt disgusting and worthless, and like it was my fault; I’d have been too traumatised and ashamed by what had happened to have said anything. So I’m eternally grateful to the couple who found me and dialled 999, as although I’ve still experienced those feelings, I’ve been able to access to help and support.
I’m sure every woman feels differently after being raped, but no doubt many have felt some of the things I’ve felt and want to put into writing. These feelings come and go; it’s like grieving, you think you’re doing ok and then it hits you all over again. I have good and bad days, though thankfully more good than bad now.
These are just some of the things I’ve been feeling over the last month:
- Guilt and shame, like it was somehow my fault; I’d been drinking, I’d lost my friend and my phone, I made myself vulnerable and therefore an easy target. I was wearing a short low-cut dress, showing off my curvy figure and had been dancing in a provocative manner (like there’s any other way to dance…). Had I been talking to these guys in the club? Had I been flirting with them? Had I given them the wrong idea? I don’t know… but I can’t help but feel like it’s somehow my fault. Of course, my rational brain knows it’s not. I may have been flirty and done all those things, but that doesn’t give anyone permission to take advantage of my situation and use my body the way they did. The police have made it very clear that it doesn’t matter how much you’ve had to drink, being drunk does not equal consent. I didn’t ask for or want to be raped, but as a woman I can’t help but feel guilty, like I somehow brought it upon myself. I know lots of women feel the same and it’s one of the many reasons why sexual assaults are not reported, which really sucks!
- Embarrassed that I got myself into this situation (blaming myself again). I’m 36, for goodness sake, I know the world’s not a safe place; if I’m out by myself then I’m at risk of being attacked, so what was I thinking? For ages I was too embarrassed to tell people what happened because I thought they’d think I was stupid; and I felt stupid enough as it was. I was embarrassed about being labelled a ‘victim’, and that I created work for the police because I was unable to look after myself and keep myself safe. Surely this was something that happened to young naive girls, not ‘supposedly intelligent’ (older) women like me…
- Weak and powerless. Before this happened, I thought I was invincible; a strong woman who could hold her own. If a man tried something on, I’d knee him in the balls and tell him to do one… yet I didn’t. I was unable to defend myself and realise I was an idiot to think I ever could. Obviously, you never know how you’re going to respond in these situations and sometimes people freeze, or just let things happen, which is what I must have done. There were no bruises on my body, no evidence of a fight, why didn’t I fight them off? Why did I let them do this horrible thing to me? The fact that there was several of them and only one of me makes me feel a bit better, I was clearly outnumbered. This experience has forced me to face reality and accept how weak and vulnerable I am though, which has really knocked my (somewhat misplaced) confidence.
- Frustrated and confused. I don’t really remember what happened that night, I was either unconscious, or my brain has blocked it out (a common defence mechanism in traumatic situations). I remember a brief interlude between assaults, after one guy finished, and the next took his place. How can I remember this so clearly yet not what happened just before or after? I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve gone over the events of that evening, trying to remember something…anything that will help the police. A week after the event I was required to do a recorded interview with the police which will act as my evidence in court. As helpful as I wanted to be, I felt like I let them down as I remember so little. I remember being picked up by the police and everything that happened to me at the station afterwards, but everything else is a blur. I knew at the time what had happened as I was crying and screaming hysterically about the fact that I‘d been raped. I was even able to give a vague description of the men involved, but now even that memory has faded. I remember that I remembered but that’s about it.
- Anger… boy was I angry! I was angry at men and the whole fricking world for weeks afterwards. It was like everything every man had ever done to me; all the neglect, the abuse, every injustice and act of sexism I’d ever experienced had been brought to the surface and amplified. That night at the station I remember blurting out several times how horrible men were, how much I hated them, and repeatedly questioning how men were allowed to act this way; before apologising to the male police officer, who didn’t deserve a hard time. I knew this wasn’t how I really felt about men, but for ages afterwards I was just so angry. Angry that this had happened, angry that men could fuck up my life (again), angry that I’d been made to feel guilty and ashamed by what had happened, angry that men could go out by themselves and not worry about being raped, angry that society was going to judge or blame me for what happened, angry at myself for making myself a victim, angry that I couldn’t turn to my family for support, angry that my daughter was having to deal with what was going on. The anger has faded over time, but my god was I angry!
- Sad and depressed; I cried every day for the first few weeks after it happened. Whenever I was on my own I’d think about it and feel sad; at night I’d lie in bed sobbing. I couldn’t drink (alcohol that is) because I’d spiral into depression, when I wasn’t angry I was depressed. I had to resign from my job and spent days doing nothing but watch shit on Netflix, because I couldn’t cope with anything else. Thankfully me and depression are old friends, so I knew it would pass; I just needed to wallow in self-pity for a bit. I don’t feel so depressed now, but for a while it was really bad, and at times I didn’t know whether I could carry on; but I knew I had to, so I did.
- Lonely and isolated. I didn’t know who to talk to, I couldn’t talk about it without crying anyway and didn’t want to burden my friends with something so heavy. How do you tell people that you were raped? It makes for an awkward conversation and puts the other person in the difficult position of having to respond appropriately. I didn’t want the guilt of making other people feel bad, I didn’t want kindness or sympathy as I didn’t feel like I deserved it, I didn’t want people to tell me how strong I was or how I was a ‘survivor’ because I felt anything but, and I couldn’t risk anyone saying anything negative or judgemental because I don’t think I would have coped (and may have punched them in the face). I wasn’t sure what I wanted, other than for it to have not happened. There was nothing anyone could do or say to make me feel better, so what was the point.
- Dirty, disgusting and disconnected from my body. I felt like my body had been violated and no longer belonged to me. I wanted to shower and scrub myself clean, to wash all traces of the evenings events off me but I wasn’t able to until I’d been examined and swabbed (not a pleasant experience). By the time I eventually got home I was exhausted so slept and when I woke no longer felt the urge to shower; I didn’t want to take my clothes off and deal with my body, it was bizarre. I was comfortable in the baggy grey joggers and jumper that the police had given me after taking my clothes as evidence; it’s like they’d become my safe place. When I did eventually shower, it was quick but thorough. When I had to venture out, I dressed down and tried to make myself small, I didn’t want any attention or for anyone to find me attractive, which is most unlike me. No, I wasn’t my usual confident sexy self at all; I lost my mojo, and I’m only just getting it back.
These are just some of the things I’ve been feeling, and it changes all the time. This week I’m feeling more hopeful and like there’s light at the end of the tunnel. It’s possible I may be able to get my job back, or if not then I’m sure something else will turn up. I’m going to get some therapy to help me deal with what’s happened and will be supported by my lovely ISVA (independent sexual violence adviser) when this thing eventually goes to court. Whilst I didn’t choose to be in this situation (what woman does), I feel like it’s important to speak out and get justice not only for me, but for all women who’ve experienced something similar.
No woman deserves to be sexually assaulted or raped, and there’s no excuse for men to treat women the way they treated me that night. The men involved in my case are young, not much older than my daughter. They showed a total disrespect towards women and are looking at custodial sentences as a result of their actions that night. Was it really worth it? The answer is and always will be no.
To any women reading this who have experienced sexual assault or rape, it’s ok not to feel like a survivor straight away, I think that comes in time, and I know I’m not quite there yet. To be honest, I don’t think I’ll ever be the same person, but that’s ok; I’ll be a different (maybe even more awesome) me.
Apologies for being absent, I know this isn’t my usual style of blog, but this is life…. sometimes shit happens…
Take care and look after yourselves!
Emily-Rose xxx
Sugar and Spice 
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