It’s not rape it’s sexual assault:
This sentence is engraved in my mind, because it’s what he’d say every time. He’d get angry at me for making such an accusation. I’d beg him to stop, tell him it’s not right and it feels like rape. He’d be so upset that I’d accuse him of doing that. We were in a long term relationship, we don’t need consent. It’s guaranteed. I’d end up apologising to him for making him feel so bad, and kiss him and tell him I love him and it’s okay. He’d touch me even though I’d try and push him off, he was so strong I couldn’t do anything about it and if I tried to fight it off I’d get hurt because he’d hold me down. Fighting it off was so exhausting and he’d be laughing in my face so I’d feel embarrassed about getting upset. Every time I’d give up. I’d cave in and let him do it because the sooner I stopped fighting, the sooner it’d be over. And that’s why it wasn’t rape. It was sexual assault. And to him, that was okay.