Every time I wear that top, I remember that day and it makes me angry. I’m considering throwing it away.

New submission from Cherie

It was a Bank Holiday weekend and I went to a club with a friend. Occasionally we’d separate from each other and go to different rooms in the club.

My friend and I were in different rooms when I got talking to some guy (let’s call him “Richard”) and his friend (“James”), after Richard approached me saying that the two of them thought I was “absolutely stunning”. I thought Richard was gay, so I didn’t feel uncomfortable with the comment and just said, “That’s sweet of you to say”.

I began talking to them and the other people they were with – a mix of girls and boys. James decided to buy a round of shots for us (about 8 of us in total). He also bought me a beer.

After a while, we all went onto the club terrace. By this time, I could sense James was keen to spend more time with me. I wasn’t interested in him that way, so I kept my attention mainly towards Richard. I later found out Richard WASN’T gay, but by then I was cool around him, and he wasn’t coming onto me at all.

Me, Richard and James went to one of the rooms to dance. James decided to dance close behind me, which I wasn’t comfortable with, so I moved myself nearer to Richard.

Somehow, before I knew it, James had me sandwiched between him and Richard. Richard didn’t have his hands on me at all, so I was glad for that, but James seemed to be putting his hands on my shoulders, my waist, my hips. Even though I wasn’t particularly comfortable with it, I let him. I thought to myself: “He hasn’t been rude to me during the night, or disrespectful, plus he’s bought me drinks… I should just let him dance with me.”

James then put his hands on my shoulders and moved them down onto my breasts. I immediately pushed his hands away. I then felt his hands on my waist moving upwards and onto my breasts again. I pushed them away. He moved from behind me and I left the room.

I was so on edge after what just happened, I could barely enjoy the rest of the night.

Once I got home, I took off all the clothes I was wearing and washed them.

I still think about that day. I wish I didn’t. And I have to admit, sometimes I do blame myself (maybe my top was too revealing; maybe I shouldn’t have accepted the drinks; maybe I shouldn’t have danced with him…).

Every time I wear that top, I remember that day and it makes me angry. I’m considering throwing it away.