Fifty years ago, when I was 22, I went out to a bar with a friend of mine. We drank and danced and ended up at his place. I was pretty drunk, wanted to just sleep and ended up laying on his bed as it was a tiny studio-type apartment with no sitting area. He lay beside me and started undressing me. Because I was so inebriated and unable to stop him, all I could do was say no over and over. I had recently left my husband and was no longer on birth control. The next morning, I asked him why he'd continued when I said no. His response was that he thought I didn't mean it and really wanted to have sex. A few months later, I found out I was pregnant. I'd just quit my job the previous month and had enrolled at the university. I was in no position to have a child. Making the decision to have an abortion was agonizing. I was ashamed--by lying on his bed, had I actually invited him to have sex with me? Now, 50 years later, I know that what happened would be considered date rape. No really does mean no--no matter the circumstances.
