![]() ![]() She found that if she lay her shoulders nearly on the ground, not only did the angle produce deeper penetration, but the tips of her nipples would brush against the soft carpet, stimulating her even higher. The doctor was well endowed, stroking every inch of her. He gave a hard smack to her ass before she was able to press herself back and onto his cock. He did not press forward, but instead, ordered her to begin. When she felt the warm cock head pressing against her backside she nearly sighed with both relief and shame at that relief. She knelt on the floor, watching him warily as he rose and knelt behind her. The desire in her loins was throbbing uncomfortably. A hesitant pressurised yes, is not a yes, nor is an unresponsive subject a yes.When Doctor Gall caught her eye and crooked a finger towards him, she was more eager to do as she was told. We as Irish people need to realise that the issue of consent, while being incredibly complex, is also undeniably simple, yes or no, and simple as. I would hope that I could discuss issues with my friends like how difficult I find curling my hair or the amount of money I spend in Penney’s and for them to say ‘Oh my god, me too.’ Not to say I was a victim of non-consensual act of sexual intercourse and have them chime the same response. The issue is consent is not only a grey area in Irish law, but a grey area in Irish mind set. It follows me everywhere I go and has removed pretty much any small hint of faith I had in Ireland’s education on consent and the amount of information available to the people of Ireland. I messaged this boy and asked him what had happened, to which I received a shockingly innocent, ‘oh yeah we did, you were so drunk though’.Ī real case of what happens on a night out, stays on a night out.īut that’s the thing, it doesn’t. I didn’t want to do anything, I just wanted to pretend it never happened, but for fear of pregnancy or worse my friends eventually convinced me to say something. But I couldn’t remember a thing so I had tried to forget about it until I was told this. I was sore and my period was in no way due. I had woken up that morning covered in blood and very afraid. Or maybe I did, I just didn’t want to admit it to myself. Not to tell them, but to ask them, because I still didn’t know. It was months before I even found the courage to ask someone if what happened was wrong. My companion woke chirpy as ever and we had a conversation about lectures as if nothing had ever happened. I remember waking up the next morning and just feeling really sad. So, I lay there like a doll, unmoving, and let him work away. He said that was unfair because I’d shifted him on a few nights out now and I shouldn’t do that. ![]() I remember lying there saying I didn’t really want to, making any sort of excuse I could think of not to engage in sexual intercourse. Looking back now it seems so ridiculous but I honestly believed I was in the wrong. That is how I had been nurtured, in a school and college environment where a low top says you’re asking for it, and a bit of fake tan basically puts you on a street corner there and then. When it first happened to me, I found myself naturally defending the boy in question, after all I had gone home with him - so what exactly did I expect? ![]()
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