It wasn’t sexual assault. Never at any point did I feel unsafe with him. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me—he was sober, had been relatively nice to me earlier, and seemed perfectly normal the last time we hooked up. But that didn’t stop me from feeling disregarded, small, and insecure leaving his room the next morning.

He said things that made me cringe with discomfort. “You’re so tiny, I could crush you if I tried.” His rough play and aggression had no boundaries. “A little rough didn’t hurt anyone. I know you like it,” he would smirk and continue when I told him to stop. He pushed me to go farther than I wanted to, repeating multiple time that “my hands weren’t enough for his dick.”

It wasn’t sexual assault. I don’t blame him. He told me that he was into BDSM, that the girls he previously hooked up with were into his rough play and aggressive tendencies, that he liked sex a lot. I wholeheartedly respect his preferences—I just wish he respected mine.

“But he didn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to. Even if he pressured you, you decided to give in.”

Being with him made me feel small, belittled by his aggressive actions and consistent pressing for more. I could have been firmer with him, I could have said no and left, I could have fought back. But I didn’t, because under his strong, pressuring, aggressive personality, I felt powerless. I didn’t feel scared or unsafe, but I felt insignificant. I was under his control, and “no” didn’t feel like an option.

What made me feel worst about the experience was talking to my friends about it the next day. They laughed when I recounted the words he said to me, and responded with “oh that’s hot,” when I described his aggressive actions. They shrugged and said, “I mean, he was always nice to me,” when I told them that I felt disrespected by him. I went to my friends seeking comfort after an uncomfortable experience, but left only feeling more uncomfortable. I felt him rising higher above me, lifted up by their words of dismissal and casting a darker shadow over me. I felt like the one who messed up—for not going farther with him, for not enjoying all the aggression and rough play, for feeling violated.

Sexual assault is often subjective. One may not believe that they are doing anything that a victim would call harassment. While his past hookups or some of my friends might deem how he was in bed to be “hot” and pleasurable, those aren’t my personal sexual preferences. I never wanted to go after him or report him to authorities. It wasn’t sexual assault, I never felt scared or unsafe. But I didn’t deserve the feelings of insecurity, helplessness, and disrespect under his controlling power.

While we can’t always go after the person who causes these feelings, the best thing to do for someone who feels sexually violated is to try and understand them, to be sympathetic and comforting. Looking back on the experience, I feel more wronged by my friends than I do by him. At the end of the day, he’s just some guy who gave me a bad experience in bed, and I got over what he did fairly quickly. But they were my friends. I turned to them for support and comfort, yet felt more uncomfortable and unsupported than I had the night before in his room. We can’t stop others’ feelings of sexual violation, but the least we can do is offer emotional support. Even if it’s just listening to someone’s story without judgment and dismissal, showing a victim that they have someone behind them is often enough.