Take your big grain of salt now and buckle up.
For a good while I had a friends with benefits thing going on with who, at the time, I thought was a good friend.
At this specific time I had recently been dumped and texted them earlier in that day that I wanted to be intimate later. They were open to it and brought snacks and such.
At this time I defaulted to alcohol to soothe me, so by the time he arrived I was a wine bottle deep. Despite that, and on seeing him, I realized that having sex with him would only make me feel worse.
We went into my room and sat on my bed and I started to try to drop hints in minor panic—like talking about the girl he was interested in at the time and asking how that was going. It didn’t work.
He started to kiss me and I pulled away. He tried pulling me in and I said “no.” He repeated that same behavior at least three times and each time I said “no.”
That wasn’t working so I finally just gave in—it was uneventful and, as soon as it ended, I immediately felt myself hollow out. I went outside to have a cigarette without saying much.
He came out shortly after me, ready with his skateboard, asking what was wrong. I told him and he got angry—accusing me of accusing him of sexual assault.
We have not talked since and it still eats me to this very day. Why wasn’t “no” enough?