By Kaily: the following post describes one experience and how martial arts training affected my response. Due to the potentially controversial nature of the topic, I will avoid any discourse on whether what I did would work for everyone.
I said, “No.”
I said it three times. If not for the verbal warnings, I was also pushing his hands from me.
On a fall night, my junior year of college, a peer of mine attempted to sexually assault me. He was a collegiate hockey player with an over 90 pound advantage to my 110-pound frame and at least a foot taller.
When we met up, he kept touching my shoulders and arms, which didn’t bother me. Throughout the night, he became continually aggressive, until I told him that I didn’t want him to touch me. “Isn’t this what you want?” he asked.
“I really f*cking don’t. Stop.”
He shrugged it off and laughed. That should have been a red flag bigger than Belgium’s waving around in my face.
Later on that night, he picked me up and threw me down. He got into a mount position and pinned my wrists to the floor with one hand, fumbling to undo his pants with the other. It was all happening very quickly, but my mind slowed down to assess the situation, something I had been trained to do during grappling or randori sessions.
I stretched my arms away from his body and my head, until he was forced to let go. I clenched one arm around his neck and the other around his upper arm, wrenching my shins against his pelvis with the newly created space. He tried putting a hand against my throat to get out of my clench. I locked his thumb, shoved off again, and gained some back control, which let me dig my heels hooks into his thighs. I had his arm wrenched behind his back.
“Do that again, and I’ll kick your nuts back into kingdom come,” I spat. I felt a couple of pops in his finger before I ran out. He didn’t bother to chase me.
The next day, he texted, “I was drunk. What happened last night?”
I have yet to respond and never will, but I’ll say this: Judo happened that night. Judo saved my life.