First week of freshman year. You rubbed my shoulders. That I didn't mind. You told me after a few times, I had to have sex with you. Scared as I was to flat out say no, I was too disgusted to think about it. You proceeded to make sexual comments at me disguised as being nerdy. And then you ground your fucking hard on on my ass and told me I was being a fucking tease and that you fucking deserved it for fucking rubbing my shoulders.
Same year, different person: you were drunk, and the giant puddle of people we'd been cuddling with dwindled to just me and you. You decided it was okay to kiss me and stick your tongue in my mouth. At first I went along with it, not knowing how to say no - but I'm almost grateful for the sheer grossness of that kiss because that, more than the fact that I didn't want you to kiss me in the first place, made me feel like I could push you away.
There are all these other times when I'm not sure if it counted. I never said no, but I also never felt like I could if I wanted to, anyway. That time you pressured me into not using condoms cause it "feels so much better without one" and we ended up with a pregnancy scare? All those times you never noticed how much pain I was in cause you just wanted to cum? These were the things I grew to expect during sex. And I don't know where the line is where I can call something assault. I don't know if I want to. These things can happen to any of us in any relationship and it shouldn't have to take a label to claim that what happened to me matters.