Decades ago, we didn’t call rape by a date or acquaintance 'rape'--so what was there to report?
One was the best kind of rape, as far as my credibility as a victim was concerned. The other was the worst
In one, I was 35, on a morning walk in France, when a stranger jumped me from behind, beat, raped, repeatedly choked me into unconsciousness, hit me with a rock, and left me for dead at the bottom of a ravine. I reported it, spoke out about it, and wrote a book about it. My account of what happened was believed, and my assailant, who would have been prosecuted even if I hadn’t pressed charges, was found guilty of rape and attempted murder.