bachelor party, cash for flesh, defiled, Denial, drinking games, Embarrassment, Fear, foreboding sense of doom, French knickers, humiliation, naivety, Night of Monumental Bad Choices, pregnant, regret, Sadness, Shame
This post may be too much information for some. If you don’t wanna know, maybe skip this one?
[Read part 1, part 2 & part 3 first]
I didn’t like to think about it, not even in my most private moments. Except that I did. Couldn’t help it really.
Such a fuzzy combination of nothingness blended with images, loud thoughts and soft, a strange procession of ideas and most pressingly, regret. It didn’t come straight away but with more time to reflect it was glaringly obvious that I’d made a foolish, foolish mistake.
I can tell you what I think, what I remember, what I suspect, but I can’t tell you what really happened. I’ll never understand everything, clouded as it was in alcohol and crowded out by my ridiculous adversity to taking care of myself.
Belief was my downfall. Always a belief in the best of people until proven otherwise.
But people not doing their best is not always evil, is it? It’s not always bad or wrong. Or maybe that just depends entirely on your point of view. In any case, I can’t tell you what happened, if I had sex with anyone that night and if I did, how many.
I suspect I did though. Like, really suspect. I’m almost sure that I did but there’s no way for me to prove it. Not then, and certainly not in retrospect.
And there’s no doubt that I was entirely at fault for being there in the first place.
It was a Night of Monumental Bad Choices. Not my last or first. But certainly a rather memorable one.
I got the call. Others had already turned the job down because of the distance. But the money was tempting, even though I didn’t have a car and it was a really, really long way to go. A bunch of guys for a bachelor party wanting a semi-naked lingerie-clad female to entertain them for the night.
M wasn’t sure about the gig and wanted me to use her driver – have him come and pick me up late in the evening.
We organised to meet at the Portsea Pub because the beach house they were staying at wasn’t easy to get to. They’d drive me there and M’s driver would pick me up later. That’d been the plan anyway.
They were a nice looking bunch of guys – preppy-ish but down to earth and clearly money wasn’t an issue. Conveniently since we were at a pub, they asked what I’d be drinking that night. It was beer for them and Baileys for me.
Off the beaten track and surrounded by trees. It was a pretty weatherboard split level house. Already there were many cars in the drive. I was shown into a room to change and came out in French knickers, suspenders and heels.
The boys decided we’d play drinking games and here’s where I forgot (rather crucially) that I wasn’t among friends, but employers of my flesh. I drank with bravado and really didn’t think it through. Sure I can keep up with the boys no problems! [Are you shaking your head yet?] By the time M’s driver called I was pleasantly wasted and easily persuaded to stay the night, with the offer of a lift home the next day.
What did we do in those hours? I can’t say. There were flirtations and craziness. Games, silliness. The groom fell drunkenly on a glass table, swiftly dispatched to hospital for stitching. Then he was back and still partying of course. It was his party, after all! I ended up in the back of a station wagon with one I thought was cute… but I think it didn’t go anywhere in the end. I think…
There’s hours I don’t recall. Then, the unpleasantly creepy surprise of waking up in the groom’s bedroom with him standing over me, somewhere deep into the middle of the night. He must’ve carried me there and I wondered how he’d done it given the stitches he’d just earned. And I remember leaving the room and finding a bunk to pass out in.
It all seemed harmless enough until I ended up pregnant and unsure of the father. Because I could no longer avoid those burning but muted and pressing questions.
That I didn’t know caused me shame. Embarrassment. Sadness. Fear.
What happened that night? How many? How often? Sure they were nice guys (sorta) but did they intend to get me drunk? (I suspect now that was definitely the case).
They drove me home the next day as promised. It was almost as if the lingerie-clad me and the fully clothed me were separate people – one was a service provided by the other. I even gave them my phone number when asked.
Because I occupied a hollow little world of denial. A vacuum where self-esteem had no foothold, and even knowing that I’d probably done things I wish I hadn’t… I still didn’t tell them “no thanks”.
But somewhere in there, what I did remember was roasting on a slow burn. Eventually, combined with the abortion, that night must’ve formed part of the foreboding sense of doom I felt. The one that caused me to retire from the world of cash for flesh. It seemed that out of nowhere, I felt panicked by the idea of doing any more gigs and I quit.
Later, I was living back at my parents’ place. I’d moved on from stripping to working as an actor in children’s theatre. Highly ironic, I know. The phone rang one day and it was one of them, the bachelor party boys. M must’ve given them my new number. No, I’m sorry. I’m not in that line of work any more… Another cringe of fear, because now I WAS feeling defiled. Just what did they think my services entailed exactly??!
Ah… so interesting how the subconscious harbours those things the conscious mind wishes to ignore. That’s why denial never really works and why we can terrorise ourselves and become our own worst enemy: in the end we can’t escape our own truths, no matter what.
And so it was that the writing of this series helped me to see. Oh! FUCK! Those terrorising dreams where I thought I’d been molested? Well yeah, maybe that did happen but in a different setting… [heart thudding].
Once thunk, that thought rang long and loud in the hall of truth and I have to admit that’s quite possibly how things played out.
There were at least four of them… and I swear that’s all I really know.
Although I can’t tell you my story online (it’s still all too close for me to share), I understand.
I can only support you. You are incredibly brave for sharing this with the world
@Anthroyogini – Thank you so much for commenting here. I was beginning to wonder if anyone would! I know it’s not the most beautiful subject to write about, but I really did feel like it was time it came out. Perhaps you can tell me your story off-line sometime? Thanks for your support!
Facing myself IS the HARDEST lesson. I REALLY REALLY don’t wanna go there. BUT it’s the only way to wake up. And we (you, me, etc etc) REALLY REALLY do wanna wake up, which leaves us no choice. WE gotta do it. We gotta go there ~ into that scary horrible ugly part of ourselves. The part of me that my sweet EGO protects so coyly. After all, I IDENTIFY myself as NOT that. I am soooo different from OTHER people who do that. Yeah, right.
Hang in there, Svasti. Therein shines Divinity….you are glowing!
@carolyn – Again, thanks to you also for commenting on this rather… out there post. But you’re right, and you’ve nailed it. It’s why I’m writing about these things. To face myself, bring them into the light and to stop judging myself for my bad choices. To do more to create wholeness within me, have fewer things I perceive as not being a part of who I am. It might be unpleasant but that’s life and it’s what happened in my life. Thanks so much for letting me know you get it!
Dear Svasti, I so admire your truth seeking and sharing process, and feel honored to be reading your story. I look back at my own life – at times when I made choices that I’d never dream of making today and I can only send love to that part of me, knowing that at the time, she knew no better. I applaud the ownership you have, and the straightforward way in which you tell your story. I feel forgiveness and acceptance, and now deep understanding with the connections you have made through your dreams and memories. It’s beautiful to see how healing can be. You are the healing healer. much love, Karin
@Karin – Thank you so much for your beautiful comment! It has taken a long time to be able to write this story like this, and I’m sure you understand what I mean by that. Much love and healing to you too! xo
Mitzi Connell said:
Bless you for being so candid & authentic.
The things we do to ourselves over the course of a lifetime (shaking my head at my own Gawd-Why-The-F**k-Did-I-Do-That memories)…and the healing that yoga (and divine intervention) can bring.
Know you are supported.
I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get back here (and I know that strange feeling when I put something out there and no one comments — sometimes people need to gather their thoughts or just don’t feel able to respond in writing. Or so I tell myself).
I agree that you are incredibly brave to post this here. And I share your feeling of “what happened” — I’m not sure how to put it here succinctly or clearly, but I understand.
Funny how there are some things that I still haven’t written about. I’m not sure if I can.
@Mitzi – Thank you! I honestly think that when we are ready (and not before) it is a very good thing to air those stories that we once thought should never see the light of day. Even if we just write it and never publish it. There’s healing in that, every bit as much as yoga or any other kind of healing… bless you too!
@Jennifer – That’s okay, I wasn’t specifically thinking of you. There were a few days there with a big fat pause – some posts don’t get any comments and that’s okay. But I had thought, given the provocative nature of this series that someone would comment! Turns out people have and like you say, perhaps it’s just about finding the right words. I know I can be like that sometimes, too.
It’s funny, I don’t feel brave posting this stuff. But perhaps that’s due to being semi-anonymous. I wouldn’t like the people I’ve known in my professional life, for example, to read this blog!
I think there’s always stuff we haven’t written about and like I said above, everything has a time and place. When you’re ready, you’ll write about it in whatever form makes sense to you…
I’ll come clean – I’m one of the ones who lurked while you wrote this out; as Jennifer says it can be hard to collect your thoughts and figure out what to say when reading something this raw. If it took people a while to respond it will be, I’m sure, because they took your story seriously and wanted to find a way to say so. It deserves a huge amount of respect and support that you have faced down this experience by examining it and describing it here. I just read in later posts about your retreat and how you are feeling so good right now – so that confused girl has taken charge and good things are happening. It’s what she deserves.
@Bird – It’s cool, I don’t find it upsetting. It’s more that I just wondered if anyone would be brave enough to say something in reply and for those that have, I’m glad.
I appreciate your comments here. I lose touch a little with how raw things are when I’m writing. They don’t seem raw to me, just as things are/were, if you know what I mean. And I wonder if people will read this story and think less of me or not. Not that it bothers me too much, but I do hope I haven’t shocked anyone too badly! 😉
All of the events in this story happened a very long time ago now, and yes I am in a much better place now than I’ve been in the past few years. Things are unfolding and the beauty of life is growing. And that’s kinda what makes it possible for me to examine these stories in more detail.
Thanks for reading!