I Reported my Rape. Don’t Worry Guys, Nothing Happened.

“man standing near brown wooden table” by rawpixel on Unsplash

In the early hours of July 5th 1985, I was raped by a stranger. I was 17, dressed in a polo shirt and Bermuda shorts. Hours after the fireworks ended, I snuck out to meet a boy I liked. I waited at our appointed spot on a suburban street corner by a park. A skinny, skanky white guy got there first. He dragged me through poison ivy by my neck; told me he was coked up; said he had a knife (which…