The glossiness of a Netflix series was a highlight in my professional life. A successful author in my early 30s, my speciality, a childhood dream come true, was romantic fiction — frothy page-turners that became hits.
My heroines had control over their lives, were successful in great jobs, and lived in beautiful English villages before finding wonderful men with whom to live happily ever thereafter.
Then, I was raped on a 2018 date. After my assault, a series of traumatizing events occurred that led me abandoning chick-lit bestsellers and I to work on a horror story about a survivor.
My experience was something I felt the need to share in writing. This was how I came to terms with the events that happened, even though my friends and family couldn’t help me.
Zoe May (pictured), who was attacked and raped on a first date, shares how she left her chick lit books to create a story about a survivor of sexual assault.
And while I’ll always believe in happy endings, I’ve also learnt how important it is to recognise when things are wrong — and try to change them.
My love life before the time I was raped was far removed from the joyful world that I wrote about. For years, I was single. I’d had a couple of relationships from dating apps, but they hadn’t been great.
The first guy was strong but lost his interest in the end. Another wanted a ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement while I had developed feelings for him. Months later, we were chatting and it became obvious he still didn’t even know my surname. To him, I was nothing. I was devastated and walked out.
However, I was able to meet someone online during winter 2018. I liked his looks and he was my kind of guy. The conversation was intense. He was very kind and read one of my books.
We’d been chatting for two weeks when we agreed to meet. I suggested that we meet at a nearby pub. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going, as I’ve always assumed I can take care of myself.
When we met I wasn’t disappointed — he was gorgeous. The two of us talked about work and his desire to switch careers. He said he was interested in becoming vegan like me. My defenses fell apart, they did. His appearance was perfect.
He’d bought the first round and I had my usual glass of red wine. The second round was ordered and I went to the loo.
It was probably then that he added something to my wine. As soon as I returned, I started to feel strange and drunk.
Zoe (pictured), suspects her date may have put something into her drink when she was going to the toilet. She would not be out of control after drinking two glasses of wine.
Was it because I hadn’t eaten? I don’t think so. I know my tolerance for alcohol and while I’m not a heavy drinker, I would never be out of control after two glasses of wine. Even so, I felt disoriented.
My date saw I was ‘unwell’ and suggested he call a taxi. I was willing to be escorted by him. As I believed he was trying to help, I accepted his offer. When we got to the taxi, I couldn’t stand properly.
He quickly reached out to me, wrapped his arm around my neck and handed two bills to the driver when we arrived at our home. As I watched him, I had a moment of clarity when I told myself, ‘He’s done this before.’
He walked inside with me, and after he’d closed the door things became blurry. I don’t remember anything after that, but when I woke the next morning, I had the overwhelming sensation that something awful had happened.
My clothes were on the floor, and as I took in the sensations I felt in my body, it was obvious I’d had sex. Lying beside me, he said he had to go and disappeared before I’d properly woken up, leaving me alone and confused.
Flashes from the previous night came back as I laid there. The moment when he’d pulled off my top, a fleeting second of us naked in bed together, then him on top of me. It was blurred and it left me with a lot to fill in. It made me feel uneasy.
Zoe (pictured), racked her brain looking for memories while she knew they had sex, but felt that she wasn’t conscious of it.
Was it possible? We did what else? I racked my brain but the memories wouldn’t shake loose. I knew we’d had sex but it felt like I hadn’t consciously been part of it. The thought hit me: there was no way I was able to consent — this was rape.
In absolute panic and still in bed, I text a male friend to explain what happened. The reply was dismissive: ‘You’ve done what thousands of other women have done. Gone out, got drunk and had sex.’
This is something I view now as a dark misogynistic reaction. However, my friend at the time said it was his fault. I tried to hide my shame because I felt embarrassed.
The date text me that day asking if everything was fine. I replied with nervous emoticons. My stupid response was that I was fine.
That response meant no one, and certainly not the police, would ever believe what I’m convinced happened.
I have never spoken to him again.
Zoe (pictured) said she was horrified to discover just how easy it is to buy the date-rape drug after digging online
That night was the worst. I’m not someone who has one-night stands, but was it possible I’d had consensual sex with him?
Hopelessly confused, I asked myself if maybe the situation wasn’t that bad — perhaps I was overreacting.
I began to feel more upset, and eventually my anger turned to fury. I couldn’t stop wondering, what did he put in my drink? How had I got so ‘drunk’?
Then I found an YouTube video in which a woman describes how her boyfriend had given her rohypnol. This is also called the “date-rape drug”. She could have been talking about me as she listened to my encounter.
It was so easy to purchase the class-C drug that I began to research online. There are thousands of sites promoting its use to take advantage of women — it leaves your system so quickly it’s nigh on impossible to prove it was ever there.
This is why I’m making a private and upsetting experience public. I want other women using apps and meeting strangers to be aware of how easily this can happen — and to know they can and should speak out against it.
Zoe (pictured), said that writing about someone who has survived sexual assault helped her mental healing.
My logic is that the silenter I am the more complicit. It would be easy to say nothing and continue this pattern of behavior.
In the following months, I continued to work on romcoms but felt like a hypocrite when I wrote about nice men. Not that they don’t exist. However, I had another story in me that I was eager to share. I was angry.
Writing about someone who has survived sexual assault helped me to mentally process the event. It took me to a dark place — but ultimately it was cathartic.
Now I’m a lot more vigilant about who I meet. I’d rather forge a genuine connection in real life than a virtual one with a stranger when his intentions are unclear.
A while back, I had been running behind on a date. He asked me to order me a beer. No.
But I know you can find a nice guy — after all, I write about them.
Not all men are threatening, but it’s important to be aware.