'I'd been on two wonderful dates with a man I met on Tinder. On the third, he raped me.'

Content warning: This story includes descriptions of sexual assault/domestic violence that may be distressing to some readers.

According to a survey published by the Australian Institute of Criminology in October 2022, three out of four survey respondents have been subjected to sexual violence while using dating apps in the last five years. 

While modest efforts have been made by the three most widely used apps, (Tinder, Hinge, and Bumble) to improve safety, all three apps note in their fine print that users are ultimately responsible for their interactions with others. 

In January 2023, the National Roundtable on Online Dating Safety was formed, intended to explore safety reforms for online dating platforms. In March, Federal Communications Minister Michelle Rowland issued an information request to the top 10 dating services across Australia. 

The request was to obtain information about the kinds of violence users experience whilst using their sites, and the policies in place to ensure user safety. As a result, there has been ongoing consultation to ensure better prevention strategies.

The cultural stereotype assumes these acts are being perpetrated by monsters lurking in the shadows, but the reality is that these people exist in plain sight. They are ordinary people that lack awareness and often experience internalised misogyny. I'm acutely conscious of this - I'm one of the three in the statistics above and I never even reported my assault.

Watch: We lose one woman every week in Australia to domestic violence, but that's just the tip of a very grim iceberg. Post continues after video.

I matched with John* on Tinder. We'd been on two dates at this point and nothing in our previous interactions had given me alarm bells. I wanted to take things slow and articulated this before the third date, explaining I didn't want to go home with him that night. It had nothing to do with him; I just wasn't there yet. 

A few drinks in and the question was raised. I politely declined the gentle pressure that I've experienced with many men in similar situations, he then whispered in my ear: "Are you sure? Come on, I really like you. I just want to spend more time with you."

Another couple of drinks and a sensible time to go home. The question again. "We don't even have to sleep together, we could just cuddle." Tired of saying no, I relented based on that being the agreement we had in place. He booked a taxi, and five minutes later, we were at his house. We talked and kissed, and for the first hour or so, he held up his side of the bargain.

I remember what follows in excruciating detail. I remember tears spilling down my cheeks as I silently screamed while he moved inside of me, ignoring my plea to stop. I remember being frozen in place like an antelope that feels a lion's teeth pierce its jugular, waiting for the suffering to be over. I remember the blood, and not being able to believe how much of it there was. I remember locking myself in the bathroom, blood running between my legs, as I tried to comprehend what had just happened.

One of the worst things about that evening was not being able to go to the safety of my home until the following morning. My phone had run out of battery; not only did he not have the right charger, he also wouldn't call me a cab. I contemplated escaping into the night, but I didn't even know what suburb we were in or if that would trigger further violence.

In the morning, he asked if the blood could have been related to my period. I said that I'd had my period a week or two earlier and had never experienced anything like that with previous sexual partners. He seemed confused, and I was too exhausted to explain that you shouldn't have sex with someone that doesn't want you to have sex with them. 

I called a girlfriend once I got home, but the words got stuck in my mouth. Some words, like rape and assault, never made it out but just danced in our minds. Grief and unease filled the huge space between sentences. She asked if I was in pain. I was, but the pain didn't feel like it belonged to me. My body didn't feel like it belonged to me. I imagined it was a suit I could unzip, climb out of and dump in the corner of a dark alleyway.

I mentioned earlier that I never reported my assault. I've seen how these things play out. A voice clamours that a man cannot be held fully responsible for his violent behaviour if he cannot control his need for sex, another minimises that violence occurred or trivialises its impact, and even more shifts the blame onto the victim. A continuum of abuse and excuses that the society we live in has normalised.

The burden of prevention gets thrust onto the victim: don't wear short skirts; don't walk alone; don't leave your drink unattended. We are taught that men are knights in shining armour, who will use their strength to protect us; we are not taught that the price for protection is ownership. And if women are viewed as owned, they should not be surprised when men use that same strength to hurt them.

A study of male college students conducted in 2015 by Nicole Bedera Ph.D showed all those interviewed could articulate a basic definition of consent. Most understood the concept of enthusiastic consent, yet very few had actually demonstrated it in their most recent sexual encounters, both in hookups and in relationships. And when they realised their actions conflict with their words, they jumped straight to expanding their definition of consent instead of questioning their conduct.

When I've shared my story with friends, people have called my rapist a psychopath. Unfortunately, as the study above highlights, I think the truth is much simpler: he did it because he could.

Listen to The Quicky on how we can help women who are locked inside with their abusers. Post continues below.

A comprehensive ABC investigation in 2020 slammed Tinder for failing to respond properly to sexual assault complaints and kick predators off their platform. Perpetrators were even using features within the app, such as the unmatch function, to remove chat history and make it more difficult to be reported. Since then, the app has worked with U.S. anti-sexual assault organisation RAINN to develop a trauma-informed reporting process.

While this is a step in the right direction, it's clear from the current investigations by the Federal Government that more needs to be done. We need to hold dating apps accountable for using their technology to prioritise user safety, whether that’s better identifying problematic interactions or blocking those with a history of domestic violence. At the same time, the thing that will likely make the biggest difference is educating people about consent. As highlighted by domestic violence activists and support services, there are a multitude of ways in which education initiatives can be integrated into different dating app functions.

An issue of this scale and magnitude requires a multi-faceted approach, and any safety reforms implemented by dating apps must be fortified through mutually reinforcing actions by governments, organisations, communities and individuals. Actions that teach men how they can be blindsided by entitlement in pursuit of their own pleasure, how a woman's existence does not imply consent and how to take responsibility for the hurt caused by their own gender.

*names have been changed

The author of this story is known to Mamamia but has chosen to remain anonymous for privacy reasons. If this article resonates with you, you can contact the author at her pseudonym email address: ceciliafinley.writer@gmail.com

If you would like to reach out to the author of this story for support, she has created a private email address, where you can contact her here. 

If this has raised any issues for you, or if you just feel like you need to speak to someone, please call 1800 RESPECT (1800 737 732) – the national sexual assault, domestic and family violence counselling service.

Feature Image: Getty.