How Rape Play Saved My Sanity
By: Michon Neal
Tags: Consent, Sex, BDSM, Resilience, Past

This one’s a doozy. What in the hell is rape play, why would anyone want to do it (especially if they’ve been raped), and how can it possibly lead to healing?

I definitely can’t speak for everyone. I can simply share my own experience with it. It actually starts decades ago when I was in therapy. I was already writing, which is a suggestion many therapists give to those with trauma in their past. They’re always full of useful exercises and tools that are geared towards healing and integration. For my visually-inclined mind it was perfect, setting up worlds, rearranging and reimagining events, and creating scripts to follow with those who’d hurt me that I could practice by myself or with others. The point of any and all of that is to gradually and safely confront the traumatic events and to cut through all of the confusion and pain surrounding it. It was a way to dig deeper, to find the roots, and to yank it up and plant something better in its place.

But when one of my partners told me he would rape me until I fought back I thought he was insane.

He wasn’t threatening me. He was angry on my behalf. All of that rage I’d never expressed was tightly coiled inside of me, with no outlet besides my stories. He wanted to know what had happened to me. He wanted to understand it. Fight, flight, and freeze are our natural evolutionary responses to danger and he wanted to rewire mine to fight.

Now, the majority of rape play is one-way: there is the person (or several persons) in power and the person (or several) without. It’s not violent (although some people like it rough) and it’s not about physical strength. It’s all in the mind, in a way: some people get off on the fear, some get off on being manipulated or coerced, and others include other kinks with it. It is about someone taking power and someone losing power. It is mental much more than it is physical.

What separates it from actual rape are the many safety nets surrounding kink itself: safe, sane, and consensual. Everything is discussed beforehand, thoughtful before and aftercare are necessities, and it is done with the enthusiastic and informed consent of all involved. Even though it’s play it’s a very heavy thing and should not be taken lightly. In these situations, each person involved is in control of how it develops, how far to go, and when it stops.

Going back to my partner, the surprise I felt at hearing he wanted to rape me wasn’t born from fear. I was surprised because I’d never thought he was the least bit kinky. He’d always been far more vanilla than me. Also, like many people I had often wondered if fantasizing about rape meant there was something wrong with me, especially considering my past. There wasn’t, and isn’t, anything wrong with me as far as that’s concerned. Rape fantasies are extremely common and by themselves they do not indicate unhealthiness.

However, taking it a step further and turning the fantasy into reality is always fraught with danger. If I did not trust him (and wasn’t a switch) and if he didn’t trust me it would have never worked. Over the course of a few weeks, each night he’d hold me down and start to take his pleasure. My heart raced, my mind tried to run away, and there was always a niggling, fleeting worry of what if? He’d cover my mouth so I couldn’t speak. But this wasn’t about my words. My adrenalin started flowing and when he tried to push in I’d fight. Only a little bit those first few days. He would always stop and hold me afterwards, asking if he’d triggered me, telling me we could try again, comforting me with song.

And as the days passed I felt a new source of power well up within me; my own sense of control, of autonomy. He got rougher and so did I. Eventually I was damn near tossing him across the room. I’d hit him, I’d reach for objects to protect myself with (I never actually used them on him!), and I’d push him away and growl. He told me to tell him what they did and would reenact it as closely as possible. In my mind the moments melded into one. I changed the past by fighting back in the future. I saw what I could have done if only I’d had the strength. I forgave myself for freezing, knowing that at the time it was the best I could do. I cried with him as I came face to face with that terrified little girl and let her express herself.

Cathartic experiences are so rare. Recovering from trauma is hard, but not impossible. Role-playing painful memories isn’t the easiest thing in the world. But we did it. I grew my fangs and rediscovered my bite. I felt my heart and rediscovered my vulnerability. I saw his soul and saw my mirror. Across the years mirrors sprang up, echoes of all the people I’d ever met. Reflections shone as the diamond cleared and all that was left was a rainbow. I’d survived. I’d fought. I’d loved. I’d enjoyed. I wasn’t dead as I had feared. I was alive. So alive. And I was finally able to talk about all of it. To let it out in the open. To take leaps and bounds forward instead of baby steps. I was free.

I am free.