He was my friend. I wasn’t afraid of him. I knew him. He came closer. We talked, alone in the basement. He came close, then closer  – until I could feel his breath on my shoulder. I sat frozen in place. “Don’t,” I said in a flirty tone. He smiled. He continued. “Come on, stop, ” I whispered. He continued. I gently nudged him away from myself. I felt his body resist – and I knew – this was different.

He had made up his mind. My heart raced. I breathed faster. Why was my heart racing? I was afraid, but not of him. He was my friend. I knew him. His body stubbornly pressed closer to mine. I didn’t want this. We flirted sometimes, but it was all in fun. “Stop,” I softly demanded. My eyes were fixed on his. I was no longer smiling. There was something different about his eyes – as if his soul had vacated them. They were glazed over. He was not my friend. I was afraid. I did not know him.

“Please stop,” I whimpered. His hands were wrapped tightly around my wrists. He didn’t talk. I squirmed. I did not yell. Why didn’t I yell? There were people upstairs. I was embarrassed.

“Shhh,” he hissed, softly. I obeyed. Why did I obey?

He got dressed and went upstairs. I remained frozen. Was I just raped? I scanned my body. There were no bruises, no cuts. He did not hit me. He did not yell at me. What just happened? Was I just raped? I did not yell. I didn’t hit him. I let him have his way. Was it mutual? I had said “no,” but only in a whisper – did that count? I had meekly pleaded for him to stop.  I feel violated. Was I just raped?