Years ago, I was dating a woman and when we decided to have sex, she said, “I should tell you. I have a scar on my back. It’s a bite mark. Someone raped me as I was leaving a bar and as they were doing it they bit me hard enough on the back to leave that.”

Later on, we were having sex doggy style and if she hadn’t told me about the scar I never even would’ve even noticed it. It was very faint. But seeing that tracery of a bite mark and thinking about the fact that some ghoul did that to her made me so angry I couldn’t stay hard. Of course, she noticed my lack of ability to continue. To be clear, the scar itself didn’t bother me. I couldn’t care less. She was very beautiful, and kind; what distressed me is the act itself that led to the scar.

“Is the scar bothering you?” she asked.

“Yes, but not the way I think you mean,” I said. “It’s just making me angry that someone would hurt you like that.”

She said that she was over it, but understood. We switched positions and all was well in a few minutes.

Today, though, I was thinking that nearly every woman I’ve been close enough to tell me about it has been sexually assaulted at some point. Not every one, but almost.

In the case of the woman above, it was a relatively-rare case of stranger rape. Whoever did it was never caught and so probably did it again. And again. Sickening to think about.