The Damaging Effect of the Term “Rape Adjacent”
I was raped.
I know this is going to sound weird, but it feels good to say that. No, really. It feels empowering. Because I know the courts would not necessarily agree with me. A lot of other people in general probably wouldn’t agree with me, either. But it’s the truth, and I will stand confidently in that truth. The fact that my experience lies in a grey area of acceptability and ethics does not negate its reality or severity.
We need to expand our definition of what “rape” means.
I know that different states have different definitions of “rape” but, in general, anything that involves a betrayal of conditional consent is considered “rape adjacent.” As though it’s similar but not as bad. As though it’s real rape’s mischievous little brother. As though it’s this semi-important offshoot that doesn’t deserve attention, or awareness, or justice.
Fuck that.
It’s still rape.
It’s still a sexual act without consent.
It’s this concept of conditional consent that creates a grey area.
There are a number of brilliant rape analogies that do a great job of clearing up the supposed “murkiness” around the topic, but even they don’t seem to touch on conditional consent.
In one example, you invite someone over for tea, and when they change their mind and don’t want tea you are not within your rights to make them drink it. And just because they drank tea with you this week does not mean that they will want to join you for tea next week. If they are unconscious and cannot answer the question, “Would you like some tea?” then it’s pretty obvious you do not make them tea.
*My conditional consent addition: if they accept tea but ask for no sugar, you do not then dump sugar in their cup and expect (or force) them to drink it.
Using another analogy, just because someone gave you $5 in the past doesn’t mean you can take $5 again whenever you like. It is not okay to threaten or guilt someone into giving you $5. Being asked to hold someone’s purse does not give you permission to take $5 out of it.
*My conditional consent addition: If a friend says, “Hey buddy, I know you’re strapped for cash this week, so here’s some money for groceries,” you do not dismiss the groceries to go on a bender.
These acts of circumvention are still clear and blatant violations.
Now, if someone agrees to intercourse on the condition that a condom is used, and you secretly remove the condom without their knowledge or consent (popularly dubbed “stealthing”), that’s rape. Not “rape adjacent” and certainly not “bad sex.” Rape.
If they agree to intercourse without a condom as long as you pull out, and in the last moments you change your mind and grip them tighter so they cannot move away, that’s rape. Not “rape adjacent” and certainly not “bad sex.” Rape.
And let’s keep the playing field fair —
If a male agrees to intercourse without a condom under the impression that his female partner is on birth control, but she lied about it, that too is rape. Not “rape adjacent.” Rape.
It’s rape, because if we had known their intentions we would not have agreed.
But somehow the common sense that applies to tea and money does not apply when it comes to sex. It gets dismissed as the hysterical ravings of “feminazis,” or brushed aside in the name of biology.
It is widely accepted — in a subtler understanding — that men are animals who cannot control their urges, while women are objects to be used for men’s pleasure. (For a fascinating example of this objectification, click here.) But men are not animals; they make their choices deliberately. And women are not objects; they deserve better.
It’s the micro-aggressions related to these views that form the foundation for larger transgressions.
Seemingly minor things like guilting a partner into having sex or not valuing their orgasms teach us as women that our consent doesn’t matter, much less our enthusiasm or pleasure.
It’s a cliché: the couple hasn’t had sex in a while so the woman gives in because, due to either his wheedling or her own conditioning, she feels she “owes it to him.” The foreplay is minimal, and it’s over when he orgasms whether she climaxed or not.
This is the norm.
This is why pushy, manipulative, demanding, coercing relations simply get called “bad sex.” Aziz Ansari, anyone? (By the way, if you click any link within this piece, this is the one to click.)
And this is why sneaky and potentially life-ruining actions — merely an extension of the self-righteous and patriarchal norm — don’t get full credit for what they are.
We consent to intercourse with boundaries and conditions laid out, well and fully communicated. They pretend we have a choice and then they take that choice from us. They betray us. They violate us. With any version of this so-called “bad sex” we leave the event feeling used and dehumanized, but “rape adjacent” leaves us also terrified of diseases, infections, and/or pregnancy.
Our very lives hang in the balance.
Let me say that again for emphasis:
OUR VERY LIVES HANG IN THE BALANCE.
It is just as violating as “regular rape,” so why is it considered “adjacent?”
And because it’s not talked about, not taken seriously, not dealt consequences, we find ourselves feeling very alone, dazed and suspended in a fog of “What just happened?” This lack of ability to define our experience just compounds the trauma.
I know because I’ve been there.
I was that woman, noticing that he was nearing ejaculation and that this time he wasn’t letting go. I was the woman who tried to pull away as he just held on tighter. I was the woman who had to hear him say afterward that he’d simply “changed his mind,” and “it was okay” because he was “keeping track of my menstrual cycle.” And I was the woman who didn’t know I’d been raped, and stuck around for him to do it a second time weeks later.
I DIDN’T KNOW.
I didn’t know I had been raped because my sexual history was littered with occasions where my consent and pleasure didn’t matter. I didn’t know I had been raped because I had in fact consented to intercourse, even if he hadn’t respected my conditions. I didn’t know I had been raped because it didn’t fit the accepted definition.
This is why things have to change: everyone deserves respect within intimacy.
This is why we need to talk about it: so victims understand that they are victims.
This is why we need to expand our definition: so that justice can be served.
And this is why it feels empowering to say “I was raped.”
I have to say it because I know that others won’t.
While judges dole out meager sentences or rule “Not Guilty” on even the clearest of cases, convicted rapists are defined by their athletic status rather than their crimes — I’m looking at you, Brock Turner — and regular everyday Jim, Jack, and Jenny are just out to get their rocks off with no consideration for their partners. (No offense meant to any Jims, Jacks, and Jennys out there who are actually respectful and ethical human beings.)
These are the individuals who could enact change at the root of the problem, but it is apparent that they will not speak up for us.
And I have to say it, most importantly, because there are more people like me out there who need to hear it because they, too, didn’t know. Once we know — once our eyes are open to the gravity of the situation — we can demand better. We’ll take matters into our own hands and change things for ourselves.
So I will speak up and speak out.
I will share my experience and stand in my truth.
I will encourage other victims and survivors to do the same.
I will help them tell their stories and provide them with support.
And I will call it what it is: not weak and watered-down “rape adjacent,” but full-fledged rape in all its violent and self-righteous glory.