It looks like I have plans for Friday afternoon. I am going to talk to someone who once seriously crossed my boundaries.

So when I was 19, two years after prosecuting my father for rape which resulted in my brother lighting himself on fire and my father sitting in the garage with the motor running, and two months after I was raped and the police told me they wouldn’t “ruin that nice boy’s life for me”, I joined the bdsm community. In my first six weeks I asked someone to play. We met through IRC and we did most of our negotiations online.

That sounds pretty dodgy. Even though I was meeting people online they were all people with serious real-life presence in the scene. All of the people in this particular IRC channel were very active in the real-time bdsm community. Many for a decade or more. So I was new but they all knew one another.

The negotiations were: no scat, no water sports, and no cattle prods. I don’t do safewords. If I say “no” or “stop” I mean it.

Of course that means he saran wrapped me  to a table and put a tazer on my genitals. “It’s not a cattle prod.” I was hysterically screaming “no no no no” and “please stop” as fast as I could. He turned the tazer on and told me he wouldn’t stop till I safeworded. I did instantly. I believe my phrasing was, “Then safeword you son of a bitch.”

The San Jose PD were watching. The DMs (Dungeon Monitors–the people who ostensibly make you “safe” in the public community) were quite concerned that I not make a scene because the police were there. Shut up already.

A few times over the years I have made bitter references to this with the person in question but I’ve never really sat down to talk to him about it.

I’m going to see him tomorrow. He doesn’t know why we are meeting. I told him that Patti B put me up to it. I told him that I wanted to talk to him about something too complicated to put in writing (not true but I’m not going to ask him to read 50 pages of text) and he agreed to meet with me.

The funny thing is, his son and Shanna were born three hours apart on the same day. The day before our due date.

The kids will play at the park and he and I will sit on a bench.

Why am I doing this?

I’m bringing an amount of grief to this that isn’t fair considering what happened. I will almost certainly tell him so.

I hope to Christ he apologizes. More than anything in the whole fucking universe I want one man who has hurt me to actually apologize. I have an agenda. That’s why I’m going. I want to tell him a little bit about myself (I’m pretty sure he knows basically nothing) and I am going to ask him to apologize. Frankly I would love it if he would be willing to publicly talk about this mistake and what he has learned from it.

If someone who has violated my boundaries was willing to do that–just fucking one–I think I could be a lot less bitter. I think I could believe that not everyone is shit.

Sorry people, you aren’t enough to convince me. I’m sure that is annoying.

I need to have someone feel bad for hurting me. I need it more than I need food. I need to have one person say, “I didn’t do that because you deserved it. I did it because I’m an asshole/I fucked up/whatever.”

I don’t know that I’m going to get any validation whatsoever. I could leave this meeting more suicidal than I’ve been in a while. Who knows. My friends who know him have said I’m underestimating him. Give him a chance.

Ok, I will. But I’m scared. I don’t know how well I believe this will go.

Other than Noah I no longer have contact with anyone who has raped me. And he had permission.  So he doesn’t really feel guilty either. How can you rape someone with permission? Well we negotiated that some day he would get to ignore me when I said no. I didn’t know he would pick such a bad day. I thought it would be an easier rape. Oh well. I’m often stupid and wrong.

Mostly the only thing I can do to protect myself is hide and just not know people. I’m kind of hiding in the home school group now. Maybe if I just don’t talk to men anymore…

My fear is irrational I’m told. I’m really weird when it comes to fear. The more afraid I am the more I want to take action. The more I need to do something. I am not going to yell at the guy I’m meeting on Friday. My goal isn’t to be mean to him or take anything out on him. I’m going to find out if he is the sociopath I assume he is or if he is the person other people believe he is. Maybe he will be willing to apologize. It was twelve years ago. Yes, I should be “over it” but I’m not. I have nightmares. I fucking think about this as a perfect example of why I learned not to bother saying ‘no’. It’s hard to have boundaries with Noah.

Although when I’m thinking about this shit we don’t have sex for days. I can’t handle being touched. This still has a noticeable impact on my life.

We’ll see if he cares. I didn’t press charges. I didn’t make this a big thing. I have never publicly dragged him across the coals–mostly I don’t even mention his name when I talk about this. And that’s a level of discretion I don’t give everyone.

If I have any karmic credit he will tell me he is sorry that he hurt me. If my life continues to be true to form he will give me a dismissive lecture about how I was an adult and I asked to play so I deserved what I got.

We’ll see. I’m told I’m underestimating him. We’ll see.