Raped by a dream date

When I think back to that night in June last year, I could cry over how naive I was. I went on a date with someone I thought could be my dream man and ended up being raped by him in a dark north London alleyway. I am not saying it was my fault - of course it wasn't. But I could have done something about it afterwards and I did not, because I was too ashamed. I felt too stupid. And that is why I am talking about it now.

I do not want another girl who has been raped not to report it to the police. Even if that girl knew her attacker, even if it was on a date, and even if he used a condom. If you said "no," he should have listened. If he went ahead and had sex with you - against your will - then that is rape.

At the time I thought I had a pretty perfect life. I had a great job in music PR and a lovely flat shared with two friends. I worked hard but played hard, too: I was out at gigs and parties at least five nights a week. I went home to my family in Sheffield every other month. Life could not have been sweeter - all that was missing was a boyfriend.

At the beginning of June I was at a concert in the West End. I'd had a really great evening and got nicely drunk at the after-show party with one of the guys who worked with the band. He seemed nice, and was very funny and flirty, so I gave him my number and told him to call me for a date. I was really excited because I hadn't had a boyfriend for a while and this guy seemed to be just what I was looking for.

When he sent me a text the next night to ask me out for a drink, I went completely over the top, buying a beaded cardigan and dress from Karen Millen, and a pair of strappy sandals from LK Bennett.

I got changed at work and went off to meet him in one of my favourite Soho bars. He was already there and we settled in a corner and started chatting.

He bought the drinks - I was on half pints of snakebite and black (lager, cider and blackcurrant) - and after a couple of hours was feeling quite drunk. He said he wasn't drinking because he was driving.

He started to be very tactile with me, stroking my hands and touching my face. I thought the date was going really well and remember texting one of my friends from the toilets: "All brilliant, he is fab!"

Then he suggested dinner, and I didn't really notice how drunk I was until I stood up to leave - I had to hold on to him to get up the stairs. I remember apologising and being very surprised because I'd only had three or four drinks. I later found out from the barman that he had been adding double vodkas to each drink.

He walked me to his car - he had suggested a place he knew in Finchley. It was one of those warm summer nights when everything seemed romantic. As we drove, I was struggling to keep myself together - I felt a bit sick and couldn't wait to eat to sober up.

He pulled into a side street that led to a badly lit dead-end road, pulled up and turned the engine off. I remember joking that the food had better be great because the restaurant couldn't get much passing trade.

Then he clicked the central locking down, leaned over, pressed his hand on my mouth, reached under my seat and pushed it back. I thought he was just messing about so I laughed and tried to push his hand away.

That was when he turned nasty. I became frightened and could not understand what he was doing. He became detached, a different person. His jokey demeanour fell away and he pressed hard on my mouth with his hand and very quietly said: "Shut the f**k up and don't move. Just stay still."

Of course, I tried to get out of the car, and he slapped me twice, really hard, across my face, which made me cry. He undid his seat belt with one hand, keeping the other across my mouth, pulled my dress up and yanked at my knickers. I could not believe what he was doing. It happened so fast and I was terrified.

His hand smelt of cigarettes and I was mumbling, "Please don't. Just stop." I felt incredibly powerless, went limp and stopped struggling. It was as if it was happening to someone else. I sat there, frozen, as he pushed my car seat back and had sex with me. It was unbelievably painful and I remember him saying how much I liked it really because I was letting him do it.

When he finished, he pulled my dress back down and said: "Let's make you all pretty again." He asked if I still wanted to go for dinner and I said no. In shock, I started to shake. I asked him to drive me home and did not say a word on the journey.

He dropped me off at the end of my road, and said he would call me. Unbelievably, I actually said thank you and stumbled back to my flat. It was still early, about 10pm, but dark and no one was at home. I went straight to bed and must have passed out.

I woke up incredibly early the next morning and felt excruciating pain; I discovered there was a used condom inside me and every moment of the night before came flooding back. I started to cry and just couldn't stop, ran a bath, and scrubbed and scrubbed away at myself - I felt so disgusting.

I couldn't say the word "rape" in my head. That couldn't have been what happened to me because I was on a date - with a really nice guy. After the water started to get cold, I got out and called my best friend. It was about 8am and she answered sleepily. I started to cry and could not talk. I just sobbed that I needed her.

When she arrived, I choked it all out and showed her the condom.

I couldn't stop crying and shaking and the first thing she wanted to do was go to the police, but I simply could not. I am not saying that I felt I had asked for it - but I felt I'd been incredibly stupid and had not been able to stop him. I had his number, I knew where he worked, but I couldn't face going to the police. My friend packed a few things for me and moved me into her place for a few days.

On the way there, I stuffed my new outfit, shoes and the condom into a rubbish bin because they made me feel disgusting.

I phoned work and told them I was ill; my friend took time off with me. We talked and talked and both kept crying, and she urged me to go to the police. But I just felt too ashamed.

The rapist never called me, though I was scared he would - I would not have known how to react. I knew he had done a terrible thing but it felt as if he had some kind of power over me. My friend signed us up for self-defence classes, which did a lot for my self-confidence.

But I felt so powerless that I stopped using public transport because I was scared of seeing him, and frightened something more would happen to me.

I took taxis everywhere. I didn't want to go to any gigs any more.

Work seemed pointless. I continued taking time off, did not confide in my employers and, after about six weeks, quit and signed on. I started to fall apart: I wanted no one to know what had happened - to this day I still haven't told anyone apart from my three closest friends.

Staying in bed all day, I lost weight and am convinced that everyone thought I had a drug problem because I was so anti-social and skinny.

Finally, my friend dragged me to a rape crisis counsellor and that turned things around for me at last. I started to see that this was not my fault, and grew determined to become a survivor, rather than remaining a victim.

I moved to a flat on the other side of London with my best friend a few months ago and started a new job in a clothes shop. I am thinking of beginning a part-time counselling course in September.

But, best of all, I have started to feel like "me" again. Two weeks ago I took the bus again for the first time, and my confidence is definitely coming back. I have even started to date someone - he knows all about what happened to me and is sweet and gentle.

I am not going to let my rapist ruin my life any more. I want to move on and make it part of my past.

If you have been affected by rape call 020 8572 0100 the Women's Counselling Service phone line between 6.30pm and 9pm on Mondays. Donations can be made by cheque to The Women's counselling service, PO Box 315, Hounslow, Middlesex TW3 1QF.