Me Too: Sexual Assault Affects Everyone

The recent headlines about Harvey Weinstein have triggered a broader conversation about the prevalence of sexual assault against women, not only in Hollywood, but in all walks of life. The accounts that have emerged demonstrate that there is no section of society that is safe from the predatory male - black, white, rich, poor, young, old, attractive, plain - nothing can guarantee a woman's safety. If you are a woman who has never been sexually assaulted, you are in the minority. 

The first time I was sexually assaulted I was 6 years old. My mother had taken me on holiday to Butlins where I, and half the camp, came down with food poisoning. Two brothers, both under 10 years old, who were in the next chalet, and whom I'd befriended, came to visit me while I was sick in bed. They brought ice lollies with them and, after they'd eaten them, they pulled up my nightie and stuck the wooden lolly sticks in my vagina and anus, despite me crying and yelling at them repeatedly to stop. They left when they got bored. I was too scared to tell my mother, as she always blamed me when I was bullied at school and often beat me for not standing up for myself. I didn't see how this would be any different.

I was a fat kid and got boobs earlier than my classmates. I remember being in the communal shower after gym class at school, when I was 10 years old, and a group of girls (one of whom was supposedly my "best friend") surrounded me and grabbed my breasts, bum and between my legs, pinching my flesh. They only stopped when my screams brought a teacher to investigate and found me bawling in a heap on the floor. I was left covered in bruises. I refused to shower at school ever again.

At high school, in 1st and 2nd year, one of the boys' favourite games was to ping the girls' bra straps. In 3rd year they graduated to trying to slip their hands between the girls' legs as they were walking upstairs. Girls had to walk in groups for protection. Teachers did nothing to curb this behaviour.

When I was 19 years old I went to see "Back to the Future II", but it was sold out, so I decided to go to a nearby pub I frequented where they played live music on Friday and Saturday nights. It was winter and I was dressed in a sweater and jeans, with a skiing jacket and trainers. I was enjoying the band, but there was a group of yuppies, who were very drunk, trying to show off their dance moves and bumping into folk around them (there was no dance floor; it wasn't that kind of venue). When they spilled my pint I told them to knock it off, that there wasn't room for them to dance. A few minutes later I felt a hand on my backside, but when I turned round all eyes were on the band. It happened once again, then the third time I felt two hands firmly cupping my arse. I whipped round to see one of the group with a helpless look on his face and, behind him, a very tall guy in an Arran sweater, looking very pleased with himself, holding my assailant's hands in place. I said, "excuse me," to the sheepish guy and shoved him out of the way so I could get to Arran sweater man. I threw what was left of my pint in his face and screamed at him. I abhor violence as a rule, but his smugness and mocking laughter only served to infuriate me, and I tried to punch him in the face. Unfortunately he was too tall (I'm 5ft6, so he must've been at least 6ft6) and I barely skimmed his chin, so I tried to knee him in the groin, but he blocked me. I ended up grabbing fistfuls of his jumper, swinging him around and bending him backwards over the bar, all the while yelling at him that sexual assault wasn't funny, and what a despicable human being I thought he was (although in more colourful terms). The bouncers came and pulled me off him, then threw him and his friends out. They knew me, so I was allowed to stay, but they warned me not to do anything like that again, and to ask them for help in future.

When I was 20 years old I went to the opening of a restaurant with my then-boyfriend, who was a kitchen porter. One of the commis chefs, who was a tall, muscular, athletic guy (and whose 4-months-pregnant fiancée was RIGHT THERE) followed me into the toilets and into a cubicle. I tried to shut the door on him, but he was too strong and forced his way in, backing me into the cistern. He kept saying that he'd seen the way I looked at him when I visited my boyfriend at work, and he knew what I wanted, and he was going to "give it to me". I was terrified and screamed at him to get away from me while fighting him off. Someone came into the room, saw what was happening and immediately left, despite me screaming for help. But the guy got spooked, gave me a leering, arrogant chuckle and said he'd see me later, then casually left. I was visibly shaken and told both my boyfriend and the fiancée what had happened. My would-be rapist laughed and called me a liar, and the fiancée accused me of being jealous, but I could see from her expression that she believed me. I don't imagine I was the first woman he'd tried to rape.

That same year my boyfriend's brother tried to rape me on two separate occasions. The first time, the brother and I were sitting in his living room, listening to music, while waiting for my boyfriend to get home from work. I had my eyes closed, when I sensed a presence beside me. I opened my eyes to see the brother, stripped to his underpants, holding his erect penis in his hand, aiming straight for my mouth. I reacted by punching him in the balls, which cooled his ardour somewhat(!) I told my boyfriend when he got home and they had a blazing row.

The second time, my boyfriend was in the bath. I was sitting on his bed in his bedroom, which was next to the bathroom, having a conversation with him through the ajar door. The brother was standing at the kitchen door, which was opposite the bedroom. He walked purposefully towards me, grabbed me by the shoulders, pushed me back on the bed, then knelt on my hands, pinning me to the bed. He said I wouldn't get away so easily this time and, try as I might, I couldn't get him off me. The more I bucked and heaved to try and dislodge him, the more he liked it. All the while I'm screaming for my boyfriend to help me, but he was oblivious to what was going on in the next room. The brother released my left shoulder so he could unzip his jeans, which gave me the opportunity to free my arm. I punched him in the temple and threw him off me onto the floor, then kicked him a few times for good measure. When my boyfriend finally emerged from the bathroom I was furious with him for not coming to my aid. He had no idea what had transpired, and he was angry with his brother but, as far as I was concerned, it was too little too late. I might not be so lucky a third time, so I decided I had to break up with him for my own safety.

These are the major assaults that I remember, but there have been countless other instances of unwanted sexual attention from men, such as the art teacher at school, who would lift the girls' skirts with the meter stick he liked to carry; or the strange boy from another school at camp when I was 14, who gave me a Chinese burn in an attempt to force me to slow dance with him after I repeatedly said no; or my first boyfriend at age 15, who tried to pressure me into sleeping with him for 3 of the 4 weeks we went out together; or the two 50+ warehousemen, who came into the office where I worked as a receptionist when I was 17, and suggested I should be a Page 3 model, then asked to see my tits; or the manager who told me "shut your mouth unless I want to stick my cock in it" when I was 24; or the numerous strange men on the street who have shouted "get your tits out!" or "sit on my face!" when I've been going about my day.

Every woman I know has experienced sexual assault of some kind. Many of them have been raped, some more than once. I count myself lucky not to be one of them. I don't trust men. I enjoy having sex with them, but I don't trust them. I've never had a long-term relationship, as the knowledge that even a small man could overpower me, should the mood take him, has always been at the back of my mind. They're fine for a good time, not a long time. So I've kept men at arm's length to protect myself. And, while I know it's #NotAllMen, the point is you can never tell who might turn out to be a rapist; your teacher, your doctor, your minister, your father, your uncle, your brother, your cousin, your best friend, your date, that guy in the club, or at the gym, or walking behind you on the street. And this isn't paranoia. You hear accounts from women every day who have been assaulted by men they trusted and felt safe to be around. These men make their victims wary of all men, and you can't blame women for feeling this way.

I won't pretend to have all the answers to this problem, but I do believe that by treating boys and girls the same from a young age, and by not enforcing gender stereotypes, we can help them to see each other as equals, with the same strengths and weaknesses who are worthy of the same respect. By teaching adolescents about healthy relationships in school - not just the mechanics of reproduction - and discussing topics like consent and appropriate behaviour, we can help the next generation to be more respectful and kinder towards each other. We also need to call out our peers on their bad behaviour and hold them accountable for their actions. And, most importantly, we need to believe women when they say they've been assaulted and support them instead of shaming them.