Like many aspects of my marriage, I can’t really pinpoint the time I started having coercive sex. When sex went from being something natural between two people who loved each other to — at best, a chore to be ticked off after washing the dishes, and at worst, another example of his worsening abuse and control.
The Office on Women’s Health defines coercive sex as: “unwanted sexual activity that happens when you are pressured, tricked, threatened, or forced in a nonphysical way.”
Like many forms of domestic abuse, I had never heard the term “coercive sex.” It isn’t something we are educated about or talk about openly even among our closest friends. The issue is still largely taboo, guaranteed to result in awkward silences and a sudden interest in our nails.
As my marriage deteriorated, I didn’t think much about sex other than that I knew I didn’t want to. A combination of exhaustion, lack of support with everything from childcare and domestic duties to emotional and financial support, his ballooning weight, poor personal hygiene, and frequent violent outbursts didn’t put me in the mood for love. Not that it mattered to him. Whether I wanted to or not was irrelevant. I was his wife and as he told me frequently, that was my “job.”
I breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t come home at night, equal only to the dread that flooded my body at the sound of his motorbike in the driveway at three in the morning.
Saying “no” wasn’t an option. On the rare occasions that I did say no; if I were bone-tired, for example, sick, or just really not in the mood, the repercussions were so severe that it simply wasn’t worth it.
It was easier to just “pay my debts,” and “get it over with.” It felt like a small price to pay —a few Michael Jackson-esque grunts, some well-placed words of encouragement and — Bob’s-your-uncle. I could relax in the knowledge that, for a couple of days at least, he would leave me alone.
I perfected the art of detaching myself from what was happening, floating away mentally as my body went through the necessary motions.
“The numbers on the clock glowed red in the darkened room. 11:43. It must be over soon, I told myself as the weight of him pushed down on me. I could feel the heat of his breath, smell his skin, and it was all I could do not to scream and push him off me. I needed to pretend to enjoy it. He got angry if I didn’t enjoy it. Closing my eyes, I began to disconnect. Floating up and away. Away from my body, from this bed, from this bedroom, from this house. Higher over the houses and fields of Kirazlı, above the palm trees, beaches, and hotels of Maralya. Higher still, above the clouds where the air was still and quiet. Where nothing could hurt me.
Finally, with a grunt, he collapsed on top of me, crushing me with his weight. Exhaling with relief, I opened my eyes as he rolled off me. The red numbers on the clock said 11:54.
Afterwards, I lay completely still in my marital bed. The one I had made and would continue to lie in, waiting for his breathing to change, to become regular and rhythmic, for the snores to catch in the back of his throat.
When I was sure he was asleep, I crept out of bed and made my way to the bathroom to wash away all traces of him. My debts paid for another day.”
Excerpt from The Other Side of Fear
So why didn’t I just say no?
Well, first came the rage. This usually involved breaking something, a plant, a lamp, an ornament — anything within grabbing distance.
This was invariably followed by verbal abuse; I wasn’t normal. I was dead from the waist down. I was useless. What kind of wife was I? There was something wrong with me…and so it went on, sometimes for hours.
On the worst nights, he would keep me awake until the early hours of the morning. Sitting at the end of the bed as a steady stream of verbal abuse flowed from his lips. Jabbing my feet to keep me awake.
And that was only the beginning…
In the days that followed there would be stony silences, more dripping tap insults and criticisms. He would use the car, and bring it back empty, knowing I didn’t have money for petrol. When we had sex, he would leave housekeeping money in a book on the bookshelf in the living room. If I refused, there would be no money. It was as simple and as sinister as that.
According to the National Sexual Violence Resource Centre, an estimated 13% of women and 6% of men have experienced sexual coercion in their lifetime. This number is probably much higher, as coercive sex often takes place within relationships and, like me, many women may not be aware that it is happening.
As women and girls, we are often raised to “be nice,” to put other’s needs ahead of our own and avoid “rocking the boat” or being “difficult.”
Abusers are masters of manipulation, highly skilled in the art of making you feel guilty, that you are being unreasonable, and that everything is your fault.
The bottom line is, nobody has to have sex when they don’t want to. Ever.
Not only that, you absolutely do not owe anyone an explanation.
Some common tactics used during coercive sex include:
· Insulting, bullying, humiliating, or name-calling
· Refusing to take no for an answer, persistent pressure, nagging, or begging
· Threats or manipulation
· Guilt-tripping such as expecting sex in return for dinner, or complaining that you haven’t had sex for a long time
· Using power or status such as an employer over an employee
· Intimidation and threats including threats to cheat or end the relationship
· Encouraging the target to consume drugs or alcohol to make them more compliant
· Communicating that the consequences of refusing sex are worse than complying
· Physical violence including damaging property, pushing, or blocking
· Normalising coercive behaviour by saying things like, “I’m a man, we have needs” etc
Like many of my chosen blog topics, coercive sex is an uncomfortable and little talked about issue, but one that affects many people (women and men) behind closed doors. In this blog, I want to raise awareness of all aspects of domestic abuse. I hope this post shines a light on coercive sex, brings it out of the shadows and starts an honest (if difficult) conversation.
