Date Rape in the 1970’s

There was a difficult period in my life.  You’d have to know me to fully comprehend…  A little background, perhaps.  When I was still at the school for the blind and just entering adolescence, I noticed that my “best friends” liked boys, but I did not.  They were gross!!  I couldn’t understand what the fascination was or why, quite so suddenly, our friendships were less important.  I started to think I might be a lesbian, though I didn’t have the word for it yet.  Just knew I was “different.”

But even before that, when I was about 3 or 4 years, and pre-verbal, as least as far as brain-chatter is concerned, I’d had the elusive and transitory realization that I felt “boy-like” and yet I had a female body.  So believe me, when I realized I had a different-than-every-other-girl interest girls and not boys, I was confused.

Read the Bible, got told I was bound for hell without even understanding why, tried to erase the feeling that were coming quite naturally to me.  In 10th grade, I met Dee.  Fell in love with her on the spot — she with her dark brunette hair, brown velour dress, and fingernails painted a delicate pink.  She became my “best friend,” but there it stayed.  I didn’t cross the line or tell her how I felt.  Kept the unrequited teenage love to myself.

Dee and I were forced our respective homes due to “circumstances,” and to become roommates early in college.  Still “just friends,” but now I knew the word “lesbian,” and thought it applied to me, gender issues aside.  Had given my best effort to dating a few guys, but couldn’t “feel” anything.  Thought I either had to conform, or I would be alone the rest of my life.

That’s when I reconnected with a friend of mine from the school for the blind, named Phillip.  We had been through kindergarten to halfway into 8th grade together, which was when I was forced to transfer to public school.

Oddly enough, pre-teen, and in 2nd grade, the only boy I’d had a mini-crush on was Phillip.  At that nubile age, it seemed somehow predestined that would be together, because oddly enough, his brother was married to a cousin of mine.  So when we reconnected, for all the years we’d been to school together and because we were “sort of” related, and hence, I “trusted” him

Neither of us were able to drive, but he sent around a friend of his to pick my up where i lived with Dee (still “just friends” at the time), and delivered me to Phillip’s house (a mobile home).  The friend left to give us some space.  I think I expected that we would sit down and talk about “old times” and get reacquainted.

Phillip offered me a “screwdriver.”  Not the tool, but the alcohol drink with vodka and orange juice.  I’d had virtually no experience with alcohol, even in college, since I wasn’t able to drive and carouse like most college students.  I accepted.  Every time my glass veered toward empty, Phillip would refill it.  He put the “Best of the Eagles” album on his stereo so that it would repeat infinitely.  How many times did I hear “Tequila Sunrise,” “Take It to the Limit,” or “Desperado”?

I became thoroughly inebriated to the point I couldn’t have stood up if I tried.  And in between blinks, he’d removed my bell-bottoms.   Suddenly we were doing non-consensual things I’d only done once before.  This position, that position, every position known to porn, but not to me.  I’m  a rag doll, turned and twisted at every angle, and I’ve had this much more alcohol before, and I blacked.

When I “wake up” (i.e., emerge from the black out), I’m no longer being flip-flopped on his bedroom floor with some of my clothes on, but totally naked on his bed, and he is ejaculating.  As I “come back,” I’m wailing, “How could you do this to me?  I *trusted* you!?!?”  I’m beset with worry that this one event is going to leave me pregnant, because I never had sex with men, and didn’t have to worry about birth control.  Phillip says something along the lines of, “I pulled out.  How do you think I did it with X?”  X = his last girlfriend who had been one of my besties before I left the school for the blind.

There was no word for what happened to me back then, but today, it would be called date rape.  Even though it *wasn’t* really a “date.”  It was meeting up with an old friend…  So I kept it to myself, and have only told a select few over the years, and kept the shame to myself.  It mirrored so many other incidents that had happened to me, starting with the time my mother’s boyfriend, Earl “Red” Birchett molested me in the front seat of my mom’s car while she drove — and she pretended not to see.  You can see Red’s gravestone here.

My favorite quote from the Beatles is, “In the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.”  I know I’ve given out more love than I’ve received, except for giving it to my own self.  If there was just more honest and sincere love in this world….

This is what he looked like in 8th grade:

1971_8th_grade_phillip

And this is what he looked like in the most recent photograph I can find of him on the Internet:

Phillip Wirzfeld - 02

I refused to speak to him after the “incident.”

 

IMPORTANT NOTE:  All views are an expression of my opinion only.

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About DogDharma

Dog Dharma is written by a human who loves dogs and who believes dogs have attained enlightenment. The human behind Dog Dharma came from humble origins, has faced many trials, enjoyed many adventures, and taken a path less traveled. He claims no special privilege or expertise, and remains humble. Dog Dharma‘s author has learned a few things along the way, and has much yet to learn. He has been told by many people that he has a talent for writing, and aspires to write a book, but is a little too lazy and disorganized, so his blog will suffice for now. He opens a window into his life in the hope that some of his words may be of comfort, some may be a beacon or warning, and perhaps he will connect with like-minded souls. Everything shared comes from a place of openness and honesty, but with no claim that he possesses the Truth. People and places mentioned should be taken as pseudonyms. In many cases, details may be an amalgamation of actual events disguised to protect the “innocent.” Nothing written is to be taken as actual fact, but as the author of Dharma Dog‘s limited understanding. From the mouths of the Beatles: In the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make
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