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This post contains depictions of sexual assault and may be triggering to some readers.
Fifteen years ago, in my early twenties, I was sexually assaulted. I remember the evening very clearly.
I had been out with friends at a bar, we had been drinking and dancing and doing all of the things you do in your carefree uni years. At some stage during the evening I met a guy, he was a bit older than me but he seemed genuinely nice and we ended up kissing on the dancefloor in one of those drunken hook-ups that looking back now seems like it occurred in an entirely different universe to the one I exist in today.
When the music ended and the lights came on signifying the evening was drawing to a close, he asked if he could come home with me. I told him yes because in that moment I meant it.
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Back at my friend’s house where I was staying, he joined me in bed, he started to kiss me and touch me. But after a few minutes of doing this he then pushed my head down toward his penis, very obviously wanting me to go down on him.
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