But I still wish I hadn’t remembered. I really don’t know what to do about this. I haven’t been this dissociated for so long. I was having such a good week, why did this memory have to come now?
I can’t remember how it came up, no matter how hard I push or how much I want to. I remember who was involved. Glenn was, of course. The record store owner who checked me out and made passes at me whenever I’d visit the store with glenn. Did glenn offer the owner the pictures of me? Or was it that the owner suggested he exchange them for albums and discounts?
I know glenn had showed at least one picture of me to a friend without asking, and this was before we had broken up and during a honeymoon phase of the abuse cycle. So after I left him, what would he have done with them? Everytime I thought about it, I kept thinking he was too cowardly to risk posting them on the internet, that he would be too afraid of getting in trouble for having child pornography. But giving them to one guy isn’t that risky. Hell, giving it to a few isn’t. People do it all the time. He probably told the owner the same thing he told his friends: I dumped him for some other man; that the bitch (me) had planned to leave him all along.
If he showed one friend, why not the others? He had already told them all about how he fucked me. How I liked being spanked, choked, degraded and dressed up in whatever pornified outfit he wished. So they gave him “toys” to help him out. Ropes and a paddle that had holes in it, so the air wouldn’t slow down the speed of his swing. I remember them talking about how lucky he was to have a nympho for a girlfriend. I was his slut, and he bragged about it. Why wouldn’t he show off the pictures of me he took?
I know he was angry when I broke up with him. He stalked me for weeks, so there’s no way I couldn’t notice that. Would he do that, though? Put them on the internet? Would his friends put it on the internet, or put him up to it?
No one believed the sex was really rape. In the pictures, I smiled for him, posed in whatever obscene position he wanted me in. No one would think I was being abused. I was fooling myself. He would distribute them, at least to his friends. Of course he would. He probably had even before I left him. He’d definitely share them if it got him his music cheaper.
How am I supposed to get through the day knowing this? For all I know, some dude could be on an amateur porn site, wacking off to the pictures of me degrading myself right now, thinking about what a slut I am. Glenn himself could still be getting off on the pictures. His friends could be with him, laughing together and bonding over a female body on display as men always do.
I still feel like it’s my fault. Most feminists would call it consensual. I still remember a discussion on feministing, where a woman had reported a gang rape, and a video was later put on the internet. The video “proved” it was consensual-not just to the cops, but to the “feminist” commenters. It clearly wasn’t rape. She was lying, they said, cause she didn’t want to look like a slut or get in trouble for cheating on her boyfriend. My smiles would prove I consented.
I cried when I read those comments months ago, but somehow I can’t bring myself to cry now. My thoughts are all disjointed and I can’t even write a coherent paragraph. Or, at least, they’re more incoherent than usual. Happy summer break for me.