Writing is the only way I know how to express myself. It's the only way I know how accurately represent my feelings, thoughts, and beliefs. Through it, I have always been open and honest with my life experiences and lessons. This is the only thing I will say. Read further if you want, but understand that I am not holding back. I am not sorry.

Imagine being sixteen years old. Impressionable, naive, and young; as any sixteen year old would be. My world is care-free and bright. A typical high school girl, my world revolves around getting good grades, hanging out with friends, and having crushes on pimply, awkward boys. Nothing out of the usual, and certainly nothing wrong with it.

October 3rd:

It's a rainy day in town. I head to school, head home, and think about what I want to do for the remainder of my day.

A well-known kid from school asks me if I want to hang out.

"Sure, why not?" I ask myself, with no reason not to. I'm sixteen, all of our friends are intertwined, and I'm not doing anything anyway. This is what teenagers are supposed to do, right? We're supposed to hang out and have fun. It's not like I didn't know him. We had hung out before in a group. He seemed nice.

It wasn't a date. We were not interested in each other. It was not uncommon to be friends with the opposite sex.

I wasn't doing anything wrong.

I change into a baggy hoodie, big sweatpants, and a pair of sneakers.

It wasn't a date.

After grabbing some fast food and going for a car ride, we head back to my house. It's still early. We sat in the living room and put on Comedy Central. After a half hour or so, I fall asleep.

Waking up is something I wish I didn't remember.

As I drift in between sleep and wake, I feel his grimy fingers trying to open my mouth. This prick is trying to pry my teeth apart with his index finger and thumb. Positioning himself into an awkward angle, I know what he is trying to do and I am not having any of it.

I pretend to still be asleep and roll over on my side, but he pulls me back. Grabbing my hand, he quickly puts it near his pants. He takes his penis out of his joggers, and begins to try and put it near my mouth.

I can't pretend I'm asleep anymore.

I jolt up, embarrassed and afraid. I'm too embarrassed to tell him to leave, but he gets the hint after a few minutes.

Do you know what's sad about this? In a sense I am lucky, because he left on his own accord. He wasn't daring enough to keep going. He didn't try any further.

Although he didn't rape me, he attempted to push a sexual encounter on a sleeping girl. And you know what? That's so fucking wrong.

At fifteen or sixteen, kids are expected to know right from wrong, and he knew. He just didn't care. He didn't give a shit about consent, feelings, or anything in between.

I suppose my sweatpants and hoodie really did it, huh? He couldn't control himself over the mass amount of fabric covering my entire body.

Or maybe it was the smiley face in the text I sent him.

"Sure :)" is what I said when he asked me to hang out, I mean, I was obviously being too friendly, right?

Except I wasn't too friendly. It wasn't the clothes that did it in. It had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with him.

I wish I could say this is the only experience I have had, but it isn't. Not even close.

Each and every time, it wasn't my fault.

It doesn't matter how many times I said "no", or what kind of outfit I wore -- which by the way, was never provocative. Even if it was, it still doesn't make a damn difference.

What matters is that things like this happen daily. Sisters, mothers, aunts, daughters. It happens.

But we're wrong when we don't find rape jokes funny? We're "too uptight" when we don't laugh at a sleazy joke you found online?

I'm sorry -- truly sorry. But I didn't exactly find it funny when it happened to me, so why would I find it funny now?

It couldn't even be reported. What's my word against his? I mean, it's my fault for hanging out with a "friend" right? It's my fault for thinking he was an okay guy, right? Perhaps I shouldn't have agreed to hang out with him.

Wrong, again.

Instead of teaching our daughters how not to get raped, we should be teaching our sons not to rape.

Quite frankly, I don't deserve to be treated like an object.

I am a talented, bright, and kind woman that is deserving of any and all respect.

I am not your object, I am not your sexual outlet, and I am not your fucking doormat. I expected to be treated accordingly.

So, sorry I don't find your shitty jokes funny.

Sorry I don't laugh.

But to be fair; I didn't find his small member, grubby hands, and lack of character funny, either.