In my 20s, I used to frequent this dive bar where everyone felt like a community, a real Island of Misfit Toys type of place. There was a core group that formed, and we'd all go out or end up out together most nights. Eventually, my place became the go-to location for the afterparty when the bar closed but nobody was quite ready for the night to end. My place was small, though, so I'd only ever invite my immediate friends, yet word always got out and a group of 5 or 6 would quickly turn into 20-30 people cramming into my basement apartment and spilling out into the backyard.

At the end of the night, after most people had left and those either too drunk to leave or trusted enough to stay were finally ready to lay down, we'd end up cramming people like sardines into my queen-sized bed, throw the comforter over us, and pass out. Once in a while, someone would opt to sleep on my papasan chair, but most of the time, it was the cuddle puddle.

One night, a guy I didn't know well stayed over. He was friends with most of the people at the bar. I'd seen him around many times and he'd flirted with me here and there, but he never quite held my interest. He was an attractive enough guy in his mid-20s who always wore thick-rimmed glasses, cartoon character t-shirts, and beanie, but the nickname he went by ("Peanut Butter" or "PB") prevented me from taking him seriously. He was so well-liked by the rest of my friend group, though, that it never occurred to me that he was anything more than a chill, goofy guy.

As all 6 of us piled into my bed (lengthwise to make everyone fit), I covered my guests up with blankets to make sure they'd be cozy enough. It got cold down there, especially in the winter. Then, I climbed in next to PB and laid down on my right side so we were back-to-back. I opened up my arms so my best friend could slip in and be my little spoon. We were already wearing our fuzzy footie pajamas, hers with a snowflake pattern and mine with red and black gingham.

At some point after drifting off, I woke up a little bit when I felt PB turning over. Now, he was facing me, his chest pressing into my back due to how tightly packed we were. But, I thought nothing of it. As I began slipping back into sleep, I felt his hand rest itself on my left hip, but the liquor and exhaustion had me gliding in that smooth space between asleep and awake. If any part of my brain thought this was strange, it brushed it off. After all, the group often cuddled without it becoming anything more. Besides, part of why I liked wearing the onesie for sleepovers is the lack of easy access.

However, when I didn't react, the hand starting moving, steadily rubbing up and down from my hip to the outside of my upper thigh. What awareness I had dismissed this, too, wanting nothing more than to be fully asleep once more. But, he didn't stop there, maybe feeling bolder due to my lack of response. His hand moved from my thigh to my ass, spreading his fingers out over the left cheek and groping it slowly. As his touch grew more probing, forcibly spreading me, I was vaguely aware of the sensations, but my unconscious mind kept incorporating them into my dream, trying to convince me that I really didn't need to wake up.

Of course, he wasn’t content with feeling me up. I was naked underneath my pajamas, and as his fingers steadily worked themselves between my ass cheeks, he began forcing a finger against me. The seam was being pushed uncomfortably then painfully at my hole. I remember feeling my brows furrowing as my mind separated itself from the dream, becoming more aware of the unpleasant sensation. When his finger forced itself into my ass through my pajamas, I completely woke up.

My bleary eyes opened to the room darkened with a few beams of streetlight trickling in through the window. I realized all at once what was happening, but my drinks toward the end of the night had taken their toll. The haze of liquor was on me, and my vision swam. I couldn’t speak or move, but a pained whimper came from my throat. With horror, I did my best to stifle it. I was in bed with my best friend and my bar buddies, and PB was hurting me in the most embarrassing way. If someone woke up and saw, what would they think? Would they believe me? Do I even want to find out? “No” was the answer I gave myself, “just be quiet and try to go back to sleep.” My body felt tight and strained, I forced myself to lie so still, my eyes clenched shut.

He’d heard my whimper and froze, his finger still plunged halfway into my ass. After a moment, he slowly withdrew it, and everything was still. The breathing of our friends sounded so loud, but my own heartbeat was louder. As a shameful tear fell onto my pillow, I reassured myself that he’d lost his nerve. But, as I began to let out the breath I’d been holding, his arm stretched over mine. I felt his hand on my left breast, first cupping, then slowly squeezing and kneading it before moving to the other. Gradually, his fingers swept down over my soft belly, tracing slow circles over it, which actually felt somewhat nice. Yet, when his fingers began to trace lower, I managed to cover myself with my hand, blocking him.

At this point, he knew I was awake, and I was certain that was the end of it. Obviously, it wasn’t. His hand began rubbing up and down my inner thigh then moved on top of mine, pressing more and more firmly. I tried to keep my hand in place, but his hand engulfed mine and pulled it away, his arm pinning mine. His fingers wedged themselves into the warmth between my legs. As I felt him separating my lips and digging through the soft fabric to swirl and rub his fingers over my clit, I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned my body as much as I could away from him and hid my face deeper into my curled arm, trying my best to shut out his touch and keep myself quiet.

Now, he couldn’t easily reach around me…and surely he was worried about someone waking up, right? Nope. With my backside even more exposed, he quickly but quietly reached down to grope my pussy from behind. My thighs clamped together but did little to stop his approach. With his thumb resting on my ass cheek, his other four fingers rubbed slowly but aggressively over me again and again. I wanted to disappear, feeling so ashamed for not being able to stop it but even more because it was starting to feel good. My free arm felt so heavy, but I reached back to block his hand. My fingers grasped weakly at his arm, which didn’t move. The strokes against me grew stronger as he attempted to again force a finger into me through the fabric.

With all the strength I could muster, I turned myself over to face him, my movements causing everyone in the bed to stir lightly. With heavy eyes, I stared up at him. “Stop, PB.” I whispered, “Please stop.” His expression seemed embarrassed, like a kid who got caught stealing a cookie, but not sorry. “Really?” he said, reaching for my zipper. I curled my arm up to my chest, blocking him in reply. “Please, don’t,” I whimpered. As if to emphasize the point, my best friend rolled over in her sleep, draping her thin arm over my waist and nuzzling into my back. This seemed to make him feel bad, and he stopped. He stared down at me for a moment, as if it was only then he realized what he was doing was wrong. “Sorry,” he whispered, then turned over toward our male friend and we all went back to sleep.