... my neighbor (HB5-ish) told me on Saturday night, standing on my front porch. It was kind of awkward hearing the doorbell ring at 10pm in the first place, not to mention the fact that she was the one woman on my street I've barely had longer than a 2-minute conversation with. She was clearly drunk, though still speaking relatively clearly. To her credit, there are some situations where a sober guy having sex with a black-out drunk chick can legally be considered rape.
She asked to use my phone because her "rapist" stole it and drove off. I let her in, direct her to my garage for some privacy, and went back to putting my kids to bed after a fun night at Chuck-E-Cheese. My wife's came out of our bedroom, confused about who was at the door, so I told her what was going on. Her heart sank as she rushed to the garage to console our neighbor. Putting her crazy work schedule aside, my wife decides this is more important, so she headed over to the neighbor's house to sit with her while she waited for the police. That way she wouldn't have to be alone after ... you know, being raped.
About an hour later my wife comes back in with a disgruntled look on her face: "She was not raped!"
What happened? I asked with a grin, already having suspected this conclusion an hour ago, based almost exclusively on our neighbor's demeanor when she first asked to use my phone. Here's how it went down - noting that my neighbor apparently had excellent memory of everything.
She was tailgating at a bar and got fairly drunk - but not too drunk to forget things. She met a guy. He drove her home. She invited him in. They had sex and cleaned up afteward. She changed the sheets. They cuddle and fall asleep for an hour. He takes a shower while she's asleep (evidenced by the fact that it was dripping when she woke up) and drives off. She can't find her phone.
In her mind, he took advantage of a drunk girl, stole her phone and fled. She cries rape. So, she drives (still drunk) to the police station, but there was no one at the desk. She rings a buzzer a few times before realizing she could be charged with drunk driving, so she leaves and drives back home again. She looks around for her phone, can't find it, then knocks on my door.
Fast forward - my wife's sitting in her house hearing this sob story about how she just got raped and had her phone stolen. She suggests calling the phone to see if anyone answers: no answer. They hop on Facebook on the girl's laptop and message her friends who were still at the bar. Her phone is there. My wife leaves. Police show up 15 minutes later.
"I'm so glad I left before the cops got there!" my wife says.
"Because it would be really awkward trying to tell them everything I just heard and yet listening to her call it rape. She was not raped! That was a total waste of time. She's just a girl who made some bad life choices, had sex with a guy she didn't really know - or even like - and doesn't like dealing with the consequences of those choices. But you know what really ticks me off? How do you think she's going to remember this night? In her mind, this is always going to be the night she was raped. That's just absurd, but God-forbid anyone try to tell her otherwise. And if she ever finds that guy again, who knows how she might try to ruin his life."
I'd never been so proud of my wife.