Member-only story
My First Date With This Guy Was a Gang Rape: The Ongoing Legacy of Christine Blasey-Ford.
It was the summer of 1976.
When we got to the house, there were about fifteen or so people, all scattered on couches, chairs and through the kitchen. My date, a military man who both outranked me and who had been an instructor of mine when I was enlisted, guided me into the living room, his hand on the small of my back. Pushing me forward.
He greeted everyone warmly. I remember that I was being eyed with approval. I was barely 23. My date was in his mid-thirties. Charming, energetic, sweet, respectful. Up to this point, I had trusted him. No reason not to.
Bad mistake on my part.
As soon as we entered the living room, someone dimmed the lights. In a flash, the woman who had been sitting on the couch stood up and whipped her dress off. She was naked underneath.
What the FUCK?
Seconds later, everyone else had done the same. In the dim of that room my date turned to me with an expression on his face that you could only describe as feral. He was grinning. He slapped my hands away when I tried to re-button my blouse. He got rough. You are going to do this.