If you’ve been paying the news any attention at all lately, you’ve likely become familiar with the recent rape allegations that arose at the University of Virginia. The basis of these allegations has been proven questionable at best in recent weeks, providing us with yet another incident in which the topic of false rape accusations can be broached.
The Rolling Stone’s manufactured UVA campus rape fiasco, it seems, will serve as yet another reminder of the negative impact that false accusations of rape and sexual assault can have.
Having followed the story (and the debate surrounding it) closely, I found myself thinking about a few pertinent questions whose answers I hoped could aid those that may find themselves faced with such allegations in the future:
What are the effects of a false accusation of rape or sexual assault on the accused?
How can the accused deal with these effects?
What can the accused learn from the experience?
In order to answer these questions, I thought I’d share my own experience.
It was the winter of my freshman year. I was hanging out in a frat, drinking and trying to chill and hang out as I often did that winter. It is important to know that at this point in my life (just about halfway through my 18th year), I had almost literally no experience with women. I had never dated, slept with, or even kissed a girl before.
Outside of a computer or television screen, I had never seen breasts or a vagina. Much of this stems from the fact that in high school I was a goal-oriented nerd who never took his mind off of books or football. This mentality got me the chance to play football at a great college, but it cost me socially. I was way behind, and knew literally nothing about how to interact with women by the time I set foot on campus.
I realized this, and in winter that freshman year I became all about self-improvement. I had spent all of high school in my shell, and I was determined to come out of it. Things were going to change: I was going to go out, meet people, and (most importantly) talk to girls. I got into game (Roosh first, later Roissy) and started practicing in earnest.
I also started drinking for the first time in my life. I was insecure and shy, and thus entirely too afraid to speak to girls when sober, so I resolved to use alcohol as a crutch. My nonexistent drinking experience ensured that I had no idea how to properly hold my liquor, so this reliance would prove costly over time.
On that fateful night I was hanging out in the frat house when one of my teammates called me to leave with him and head to another frat house. He had four girls with him, all fellow athletes, two of whom I knew. Though I was at heart a shy, quiet, inexperienced nerd, I had become a different person after a few drinks. Alcohol removed my inhibitions and made me more extroverted, expressive, witty, and above all very sexually aggressive.
All approach anxiety disappeared. This was why I’d originally leaned so heavily on it as a crutch – I relished this freedom from the inhibitions that had shackled me romantically for so long.
Thus, my response was to follow him out the door smiling and saying “Let’s go!” before quickly putting my arms around two of the girls as though we’d always been best friends (I had never met them). We marched off to another frat. I had my arms around the two girls the whole way, joking and laughing, running fairly competent cocky-funny game.
Looking back I realize that I was doing remarkably well, actually, for a kid who had never been even this close to a single girl, much less two, in his life. I didn’t sound like the nerdy virgin I was at all, and we all enjoyed the walk.
We got to the other frat and started dancing, talking, and laughing. I continued trying to scope out which one of the girls I’d make a move on. The first one, a tiny blonde, practically ran away as soon as I stepped toward her—I resolved to just leave her alone. The second, also a blonde but taller with a very athletic build, responded well to some playful banter and ass grabbing, but her body language indicated that she clearly wasn’t willing to go anywhere with me – she was polite, but she wasn’t that interested and she certainly wasn’t gonna hook up that night. I decided to leave her alone too.
I locked onto the last one, a girl with reddish brown-hair who’d been giving me the most aggressive signals all night. She seemed interested— she’d been closest to me the whole night, and we got closer as it continued. I teased her about her inability to dance and her funny “moves,” got her to qualify herself to me repeatedly, and began making out with her on the dance floor within a half hour. Just like that I had, for the first time in my life, kissed a girl.
I was pretty nonchalant about what had been my first ever kiss (thank you, alcohol) and, actually, didn’t really think about it much at all; after leaving the dance floor for a bit I just continued to drunkenly hang out and joke around with nearby guy friends about other matters as if nothing had happened. Soon, she called me away from my banter to go upstairs with her and “show her the bathroom.”
We got up there and at one point (after her insistence) we were in a stall together, alone. Shockingly enough, I actually managed to blow this opportunity, which I did not know at the time should easily have resulted in oral sex at a minimum. Looking back on things, I suppose I can’t be too hard on myself—I had only just had my first kiss 20 minutes before, so there was no way I was advanced enough to secure 3rd base yet even if it was handed to me on a silver platter (as it had been in this instance).
I had no idea what I was doing. In the stall, she asked “What do you want me to do?” In my shitfaced state, I just asked for sex in not so many words by just telling her to bend over (penis in vagina still made sense to me, at least). She looked at me a little frustrated.
“Look, you’re hot. I mean really hot. Then again, I’m sure you know that.” I smiled drunkenly, my ego enjoying the quick stroke. I didn’t think much of my looks, so the complement was welcome.
“But we don’t just go straight to sex. That’s not how it works!” I smiled stupidly and didn’t really say anything (I was too drunk to care about much), but soon she led me to an empty room in the frat. This girl quite clearly wanted something, but I simply didn’t have the experience to give it to her.
Somehow, after we had reached the room, I was quite quickly able to initiate a hookup and get her shirt off for a while, exposing her chest after fumbling with her bra for a few seconds. After couple minutes worth of tit sucking and making out, I moved to unbutton her pants. I was too quick and too clumsy about it—she stopped me and became indignant before asking a question.
“What, do you think I just have sex? Just like that?”
I’m standing in front of her drunk out of my mind in a situation in which I’d never been in my life. I don’t know what to say. My response?
It all headed downhill from there.
Suddenly she starts anxiously saying that she “has to go.” She retreated into her phone, paying increasingly less attention to me as I anxiously failed to recall her name in a bid to salvage the situation. After a few minutes of this awkward de-escalation, she grabbed her clothes, put them on and headed out.
A few minutes later she regrouped with her friends. I actually heard them all talking to her as I passed the bathroom later, where she was crying. I was surprised, I couldn’t figure why she’d be so distressed. After they all came out, I tried to catch up to her and make some amends as I sobered up a bit (I was smart enough to realize I’d done something wrong).
I had finally remembered her name and sought to speak to her, but her friends guarded her closely. The polite, athletic blonde I’d approached earlier in the night happened to be her best friend, and she took the role of lead protector. She shooed me away, but did so fairly politely (in hindsight, I do appreciate that).
Later in the night I’d again started hanging out with my friends and, as we joked around, I saw this friend leading the girl I’d nearly hooked up with out the front door of the fraternity. I thought I’d get up and see what was wrong. As I poked my head out the front door after them and called the girl’s name, I saw her friend grab her hand and say something, after which the two immediately began to accelerate their departure. I stood there and watched as the two girls ran (I mean literally RAN) away from me and away from the house. That was that.
The next morning I was sober and back to my shy, insecure self. I sent her a “hope you got home safe” message on FB. She responded positively, and I therefore concluded that all was well. I resolved to continue to make amends and get her back. My typical oneitis, muted by the alcohol for that night, had kicked right back in. I wanted to “do the right thing” (the more proper, gentlemanly thing), as my fairly conservative upbringing had taught me.
Everything seemed fine
As I attempted to make casual contact again around campus, I saw that things were very awkward between me, her and her friends. I recognized this for the bad sign that it was. I caught up to her that night at another frat party. I said sorry and unwisely tried to move on from where we were before by dancing with her. She pulled away, and moved to dance with other guys.
I was drunk again and somewhat aggressive, so I remained undeterred. I moved to dance with her once more. She eventually pulled away after a minute or two. I do this twice more, unable to take the hint. The final time, she pulled away into the arms of a blonde guy who had been hanging out and dancing nearby, a fellow athlete who played her sport (though on the men’s team, of course).
He was a part of her social circle – they never dated (my understanding was that he was always in an LTR with a girl from his hometown), but she and her friend group trusted him and they knew each other well. He was well liked and well known in that social circle. The damsel in distress had found her knight in shining armor.
I’ll never forget the look they both gave me as she sank into his arms for protection – hers was a mix of fear (of me), anger (at my persistence and her inability to be rid of me on her own), and relief that she had backup (in the form of a guy she trusted from within her social circle). His was a look of stern determination that didn’t betray much in the way of fear (despite the fact that I was much larger than he was).
He simply stood there and said, point blank: “You need to leave her alone”. Others around them were observing too, and up to that point I’d never felt like more of an outsider on that campus or anywhere else I’d been.
I had spent most of that winter trying to improve and become a part of normal social life, and after receiving my first kiss the night before from the girl in question, I’d felt confident that I was making some progress. Tonight, I felt like a complete failure in that regard, like a criminal that members of this “normal social life” I sought to become a part of had united against for their own protection.
The wagons were circled, and my needy ass was outside. Far from having made the improvements I’d hoped to make, I’d marked myself an outsider – a threat. My foolish inexperience and over-persistence had earned all this and, as demoralizing as it was to be faced down like that, I learned a valuable lesson from it in the end.
I stared the guy down for a tense few seconds before saying “fuck it” out loud and moving away. Still fueled by liquid courage, I ended up in a heavy make-out (my second kiss ever) with another female athlete at the party (nothing came of it). My oneitis had not died off, however, and as I sobered up at the end of the night I remained pretty bummed about losing the girl I’d set out for.
The next week, back to my beta self, I resolved to make things right (or try, one more time). My football coach was insisting that we find dates to take to a charity team ice skating event, so I decided to invite the girl. I sent her a text. Five hours later she responded in the negative. A similar thing happened the next week as I asked her to one more event.
It would be around then that I’d figure out a) why she was crying on that first night in the frat and b) why it seemed that certain folks’ opinions on me had cooled quite a bit in the past couple of weeks and things were so awkward around everyone who knew her.
She had been telling everyone around her during the weeks following that night that I had attempted to rape her. She implied that on that fateful night we’d met and ended up alone together in that empty fraternity room, I hid her clothes (the ones she grabbed quickly the breakdown of everything – they weren’t hidden from her at all) and that I’d locked the door of the room we were in (the door was busted and had no handle or lock, and I never tried to lock it).
While I had been foolishly trying to win her over during the past couple of weeks, she had been debating whether or not to go to campus security (who, of course, would turn it into an administrative and legal matter involving the police as well). Word of my alleged impropriety was all around campus – my teammates had heard of it through the grapevine, and that was how it circled back to me. I had kept on trying to approach her, blissfully unaware of the possible trouble I faced stemming from her interpretation of what had transpired that night.
I got scared shitless upon learning this, and cut off all contact with her (as I should have done weeks before in any case). I figured my life was over. Here was a pretty, fair college athlete accusing a relatively large, dark skinned negro (whose aggressive behavior that night had many witnesses) of attempted rape. Who wouldn’t believe her? I was an outsider, after all.
My mother had spent my entire adolescence warning me of just this scenario, and here it was. I stood no chance in court, did I? Would I ever get to graduate school? Would any girl ever want to go near me again? Never mind that, would any employer ever want to go near me? I could probably say goodbye to football once coach found out…
Fortunately, I lucked out. One of her friends (I suspect it was that polite blonde I’d approached secondly on that fateful first night in the frat and who’d played the “lead protector” role after the fact) had likely talked her out of it. We wouldn’t speak for many months, but about a year later (towards the end of my sophomore year), we exchanged pleasantries.
I apologized to her, she reciprocated, and we pretty much buried the hatchet. I teased her one more time about her dancing and we both laughed as a dark-haired friend and teammate of hers (who was likely aware of who I was and probably sought to protect her from me) pulled her off. I never spoke to her again.
That wasn’t the end of things for me, however. I read a recent article on “The Sexodus” impacting the current generation of young men in the west, and I saw much of myself in it.
Jack Rivlin is editor-in-chief of student tabloid media start-up The Tab, a runaway success whose current strap-line reads: “We’ll stop writing it when you stop reading it.” As the guiding intelligence behind over 30 student newspapers, Rivlin is perhaps the best-placed person in the country to observe this trend in action. And he agrees that the current generation of young men find it particularly difficult to engage with women.
“Teenage boys always have been useless with girls, but there’s definitely a fear that now being well-intentioned isn’t enough, and you can get into trouble just for being clumsy,” he says. “For example, leaning in for a kiss might see you branded a creep, rather than just inept.”
The new rules men are expected to live by are never clearly explained, says Rivlin, leaving boys clueless and neurotic about interacting with girls.
“There are also a lot of blokes who ignore women because they are scared and don’t know how to act. It goes without saying that boys who never spend any time alone with women are not very good at relationships.”
In my inexperience as an 18-year-old, I made mistakes on the night of my first meaningful interaction with a girl. As a result of this, my first romantic engagement with a female ended in a false rape accusation. That incident put an end to my fledgling campaign to come out of my shell. I stopped going out completely. I also stopped drinking almost entirely, fearful that another drunken night could lead me to do something stupid and invite another charge of impropriety.
I became paranoid and neurotic – talking to girls seemed too risky with too low a return on investment. The negative impact the incident had on my reputation didn’t help. My school was a small one, and there wasn’t much more than one degree of separation between most. I could sense the negative perception of me in my peers even when I made a few attempts to socialize normally.
The incident had drained my social capital and turned any positive pre-selection I could have built into negative pre-selection – the incident had helped to color me as someone no girl would want to be seen with. I felt increasingly that nothing positive could come from my interaction with women – the end result would be either a) a rejection on the basis of my being a “creepy” outsider or b) some initial success followed by some small mistake of mine leading to an accusation that could end my life. I had gotten lucky once – surely, I’d not get lucky again.
So I quit talking to girls. My confidence hit rock bottom. I stayed in my room whenever I had the choice. I kept to myself. I was a ghost for almost the entirety of my sophomore, junior, and senior years. I took solace in exercise, studies, the internet, and video games. I essentially became a herbivore – I gave up and I checked out. I didn’t know it then, but I realize now that I was a part of “the Sexodus” now being discussed in mainstream media. I had essentially gone into a romantic exile with no real interest in coming back.
After several years, I showed some signs of recovery. Fortunately, much of the time I’d spent during college in isolation (the time I didn’t spend playing video games) was spent on self-improvement: I put romance out of my mind altogether and just worked to get smarter, fitter, dress better, and become better able to objectively analyze some of my biggest faults and eliminate them.
I gleaned as much information from the internet as I could in order to accelerate this process. This allowed me to slowly but steadily build up the confidence I needed to begin speaking to women regularly again after several years, and do so much more successfully that I’d initially been able to. In short, the incident essentially pushed me to fully digest the red pill and, as a result, I’m in a much better place now.
Impact upon the present
I’ve not fully rid myself of the consequences of the incident and the accusations it wrought. Having digested the red pill and successfully killed the chronic neediness, oneitis and outcome dependence I suffered from as a teen, I find that I still remain more romantically apathetic and aloof than I’d like to be. At times I suspect that the incident and my subsequent recovery and digestion of the red pill left me a little too romantically jaded, cold, and cynical – while I enjoy far more sexual success now than I ever did, I fear I’m no longer capable of the deeper, more romantic interactions I longed for before.
I don’t value the love of a single woman (and the consistent emotional intimacy that could come with it) the way I once did; in fact, the value I put on that love has declined to such a level as to leave me wondering if I could sustain a healthy long term relationship even if I wanted to (I’ve still not bothered to try). My desire to seek out that kind of relationship remains at an all-time low.
The problem is that remnants of my more conservative, traditional self do still exist—I still dream of having many children and a large family. I wonder, however, if I still have the ability to trust a single woman enough to successfully form that family. Having come through this incident I’m unsure if I’ll ever be able to face that question and say “yes,” at least not in the western world (perhaps the expression of those remaining conservative and traditional elements of my self would benefit from time spent in a more conservative, traditional society).
That being said, I’ve learned that you can certainly get close to a full and successful recovery from the emotional, mental, and social ravages of a false accusation. One need not remain a part of “The Sexodus” forever, so long as one remains dedicated to their self-improvement.
The Lessons Learned
My experience taught me several lessons that I feel could be applicable to any man subject to a similar set of events.
1. Know That False Rape Accusations Are Real
Over time, I found out that the accusation I went through wasn’t an isolated incident on my campus and that plenty of my peers had gone through similar situations. This is a real problem, and it is not rare – there is far from a minute chance of you facing a false accusation. Do not let feminists try to convince you otherwise – they look out for women’s interests, not yours.
To a feminist, a man who has dealt with the stigma of a false rape or sexual assault accusation is a) an unfortunate but minor blip on the radar relative to the greater realities of rape culture (read: bad, but not as bad or as common as other things and thus deserving of much less concern), or b) collateral damage, part of a “small” price worth paying for the purpose of promoting awareness of “rape culture” and helping victims (read: a price society shouldn’t hesitate to pay).
Neither of these perspectives offers much help to you should you be faced with this fate, but they generally sum up the view held by modern feminists and the mainstream media that is now dominated by their perspective. Protect yourselves – nobody else will.
2. Be Very Careful When Engaging Intoxicated Women (assuming you can’t avoid dealing with them all together)
Drunk girls can look like fun to hang out with on first sight (especially when you yourself are intoxicated, along with everyone around you), but they can carry with them quite a bit of risk. The most common sources of false rape claims are those quick, drunken one-night-stand types who were intoxicated when you met them and got into bed with you rapidly, going all the way.
These are the ones most likely to leave the experience feeling “guilty” or “weird” about what happened. When knowledge of the hook-up gets out, the false rape accusation becomes the weapon used to defend against this feeling of having been “too slutty,” and the judgment that comes with that from her peers.
Now, she’s not a “slut” because it wasn’t her fault—it was yours. You made her do it. Continued engagement in quick one-nighters with intoxicated girls you do not know ensures one the highest level of exposure to false rape and sexual assault claims.
The safest thing to do is to avoid intoxicated girls altogether. Assuming you can’t do that (given the prevalence of alcohol in modern social scenes), exercise caution. Get confirmation texts after the fact, and be very sure to adhere to the following point…
3. Limit Your Alcohol Intake (know yourself)
It is hard to exercise the caution I recommend above without first ensuring that you are in a state that will allow you to apply it. Learn to handle your liquor: find the level of intoxication at which you can enjoy yourself while still maintaining some sense (different guys may have different levels – know yours), and learn to limit yourself to that level whenever you drink and go out.
Don’t go out looking to hook up while intoxicated until you do this. If you fail to ascertain your personal limitations before drinking and try to give it a go anyway, you’ll find it much easier to find yourself in a situation in which you (or you and your friends) failed to exercise caution, hooked up with the wrong drunk girl under the wrong circumstances for a quickie, got clumsy and made a few mistakes, made her feel uncomfortable, and exposed yourself to an unwarranted but still potentially dangerous accusation of rape or sexual assault.
The better you become at keeping your wits about you while engaging these women, the more likely you will be to recognize and guard against the pitfalls that could increase the risk of a false accusation and the less likely you are to be exposed to a false accusation. If you’re the type of person who loses all sense after even a handful of drinks and can’t avoid clumsiness and a loss of control, then don’t drink at all before engaging women (learn to game while sober).
In short: never go full retard.
It would be several years after the incident before I became comfortable drinking on nights out again. I have learned to drink less, and I regulate as I do it (getting glasses of water intermittently after I’ve had a few) so I stay in my most sensible “zone” of intoxication and never get too far beyond that point. Find your zone (that range in which you can enjoy drinks without getting sloppy or out of control) and stay in it.
4. Know That Game Is Necessary
As observed in my story and in the article describing the nature of “The Sexodus” and those men who are a part of it, game is necessary. We no longer live in a man’s world, at least not here in western society. This is a world where natural male instincts and behaviors are more commonly considered pathologies and diseases than simple facts of life. Harmless follies made in the male process of understanding the opposite sex are no longer mere follies – they are affronts to society itself and matters of national concern.
The modern dating arena in the western world is, in some ways, a minefield for young men. Their very nature is offensive to their society. Teenaged males have long been clueless with regard to the opposite sex, but whereas in the past such cluelessness may have been laughed off or treated as harmless folly, today it might be treated as grounds for a criminal investigation, or (as was more mercifully the case in my instance) the costly smearing of one’s reputation (along with the anxiety and isolation that comes with it). This makes cluelessness more costly than ever.
Had I maintained a more firm understanding of some of the most fundamental principles of game and red pill thought (ex: outcome independence, basic rapport building, etc), I might have left the fraternity house that night absent any experiences I’d come to regret. The same goes for millions of other young men who have paid the price for a lack of basic game.
Many false rape accusations are based on a girl’s regret. My case was one of these: I attracted the girl, showed my weakness and inexperience as the interaction went on, and made the girl regret her decision to let me anywhere near her (and risk her reputation in the process).
If you are able to build and maintain a decent level of comfort and rapport with a girl (such that she genuinely enjoys the time spent with you), you will be less likely to do something that makes her uncomfortable and she will be less likely to regret your interaction. The better your understanding of game and the more complete your digestion of the red pill, the better you will be at establishing this comfort and rapport on a regular basis.
I’ve come a long way and matured a lot during the last few years, and perhaps I have these experiences to thank for that. Maybe I would not have come as far as I have without having them to violently shock me into taking the right path. Had I not been punished for being a needy, gameless idiot, I’d probably have carried on being a needy, gameless idiot.
Incentives drive behavior, and these experiences gave me incentive to make a change for the better. Regardless of their possible utility, however, I am above all just glad that they’re behind me. Hopefully, if you can learn the lessons that I hadn’t yet at 18, you’ll not need to put such experiences behind you.
Read More: 3 Signs She’s Making A False Rape Accusation