What I want is for you to write “fuck me” on your chest. Write it, do it! And then I want you to walk out that door and I want you to walk down the street. And anybody that wants to fuck you say “sure, sure no problem” And when they do you have to say “thank you very very much” and make sure that you have a smile on your face , and then you stupid fucking coward your going to know what it feels like to be a woman.
- I was groomed
I had just turned 18 and moved to London after my A-levels in Stafford. I met a screenwriter at Resistance Gallery in East London who told me he was casting for a female lead in the sequel to his film about a baby doll who turns out to be possessed by an evil spirit.
He took me to The Groucho Club (an exclusive private members club in London. I sipped my mojito, thrilled I was at this place where Brad Pitt was a member of and the bragging rights I had acquired to tell my new friend Marie.) He told me about the script and even took me and my friends from work out to an Aphrodisiacs event in Shoreditch and paid for our table and Grey Goose Vodka. At the time, I had no idea about gaslighting and manipulation and so had no idea I was being groomed. He told me to see where he lived which was this converted boys orphanage further in East London, that he wanted to show me his Aleister Crowley altar and items. His place was huge and covered with esoteric occult items. He had the book of the law in reverse.
I had, in my (very) limited experience in London, went to Torture Gardens once at this point, a fetish club, with my first boyfriend in London named Carl from Bristol. Me and Carl dated for about 2-3 months before he dumped me.. We had met at a Cruxshadows gig and further started talking at Slimelight after the gig. I was enthralled by london and played being a submissive to Carl (who was a virgin and maybe a year or so older than me). He played being a Master to me, mostly just lightly whipping me and using a silken glove at Subversion and Torture Gardens. We were both barely legal, and did not do S&M things in private, it was more of a fun spectacle. Carl was my first heartbreak.
18 year old me told the screenwriter that I had been submissive to my ex. I don’t remember how this even came up. He got noticeably turned on and started to hit me. It hurt. It wasn’t in a safe environment and he wasn’t my boyfriend and it hurt and I started at the light on the ceiling willing it to blind me. Afterwards he raped me. He told me it was sex magic, part of thelema and that by saying certain sentences during the rape it was willing the universe for him to get the funding for the sequel and for me to be the star. I suddenly didn’t give a fuck about anything apart from how old and wrinkled he was (older than my father) and just froze until he came.
After he came he got off me, made us toast and jam and started talking about hiring prostitutes in the past. I didn’t know anything about prostitutes or brothels. He mentioned having a daughter who was older than me.
This all came flooding back today at NYC Pagan Pride. I was attending a Magick in Recovery workshop and the person leading it practiced Thelema. I knew about The Golden Dawn and had looked in Crowley but had stopped, for some reason. It all came flooding back. I couldn’t process it all right then so was manic the rest of the festival, talking to everyone, attended two more workshops. As me and my fiance left Pagan Pride (he was not at the workshop with me, and we met up later that day at the festival) it came out, and as he gently asked me details the floodgates opened. Where I had met him. The name of the movie he wanted me to star in. (Or what I thought it was, I am googling and can’t seem to find it now). How much it hurt when he hit me and how disgusted I was when he raped me but I never said no because I was groomed but could not, until that moment, realize I was groomed. How disgusting his wrinkled prune hands felt over my body.
I can’t at this moment, remember his name. Maybe my mind it still blocking it. Everyone who has been through extreme trauma knows things come back in pieces. If anyone can tell me more, please do. I know a photo exists somewhere at the night he took me and my work friends to.
I even wrote a prose piece about it on my blog at the time entitled “Beware the False Prophets (of a Lost Generation).” You can read it here:
He was the man behind the stanzas “Is he the aged film executive in Vivienne Westwood, who believes spirits haunt his sleep and lives in a converted boys orphanage?
And sometimes you see through the bullshit, the smokescreens and the lies. Sometimes when it is late and you are sober, somehow, and they push you and grab you and force your mouth to theirs, their ugly hands pushing up your dress, and you are screaming inside. And this is wrong, so wrong, and you don’t want this, yes you want the fame or salvation or whatever they have promised you but not this, anything but this.
But something inside of you freezes, grows cold and hard as a stone, and you cant do it, you are too weak and scared to fight, still tipsy on his promises and you know, you just know that he wont stop.
It is better to submit than be violated.
And then comes the day when you walk away.”
I sent this piece to the filmographer of my first youtube video and he said it was basically a how-to on how to rape me, but I still hid behind metaphor. Unfortunately unlike in the piece I physically COULD NOT WALK AWAY. Not then, and after that was written brings us to:
- His name was Jonathan Weissler.
I was 19 ½.. I have written about this before, but not named him publicly. His name was Jonathan Weissler and this is his IBDM page.
He is also apparently on twitter, though seemingly not very active:
I met him through the “posh” Soho/Knightsbridge/33 Portland Place scene. He was a producer and I was raped at Elstree Film Studios at his office overlooking Sherlock Holmes 2: A Cast of Shadows. He started talking to me about a role but it all seemed so legit as I wasn’t at someone’s residence, I was in an office at the studios. Seemed until he asked if I wanted a drink. I barely touched the champagne as I wanted to be sober for my audition. I sipped about a third of it but felt instantly like I could not stand. Later in trauma therapy I remembered knowing I was spiked. This time I said no. This time I said I had a boyfriend. It didn’t matter. He was violent. My face was slammed into a black leather couch. My body was forced down but my mind was, as before, floating. I watched myself being violated somewhere from the ceiling. At some point later that night I met my then-boyfriend B. He asked why my bra strap was undone. I remember stammering “I-I don’t know. I don’t remember.” I did not want to remember. Thankfully at the time he did not press although he told me later on he suspected.
After the rape, Jonathan Weissler repeatably messaged me on Facebook. He offered to pay me 1,000 to have sex with him. I was so deep in denial and shame I THOUGHT ABOUT IT. I thought about allowing myself to be raped again because if I was paid for it, it would be like the prostitutes the screen writer mentioned. I had already been violated so why not profit from it? He went on to say he had another young woman over at his residence. He mentioned her being 16. That combined with how deeply disgusted I was by him (he was huge, Harvey Weinstein esq in both size and power compared to me, still in my teens and with a fledgling modelling career) made me realize I could never actually go through with it. I blocked him on Facebook.
I did not report because after he raped me I still allowed him to contact me for a short time on Facebook before blocking him.
If anyone knows any London news outlets or anything who you think would take this story, let me know. Not reporting this when I know he raped a 16 year old, probably MANY other teenagers, is something that has continuously haunted me for YEARS.
I told the only other person I knew in London named Adam that he had raped me, because he had apparently been talking about it like it was consensual. Adam was the first person I told, a couple of years after it happened. He urged me to report, but by then I was still too scared. I did not report because I thought no one would believe me or my name would be smeared and dragged through the mud. Adam showed me screenshots of Jonathan Weissler’s Wikipedia page which apparently kept being vandalized by other woman he preyed on:
I started going out clubbing more after that. Drinking and substance abuse would continue off and on from then until just about last year. At time of typing I have not touched a drug in over 10 months, or a drink or cigarette for 6.
After the trauma I started working in the adult industry, doing dominatrix work as my mind’s way of reclaiming my power (I was never able to be submissive again after the screenwriter).
I did not report because the first time, I could not even comprehend I had been raped, after the second time I was terrified my later drinking and substance abuse, hell even my modelling (I modelled up nude levels) would somehow all be used against me. Who would believe me? I was a NOTHING. I was NOBODY. I was WORTHLESS. I became very close with another brilliant, beautiful writer/model named Cassie She had also been sexually assaulted and she died of an overdose at 25, when I was 23.
The next 3 years were a cycle of harming myself, praying for death or an overdose because those 2 times I thought would be my “big break” I was both physically and sexually assaulted.
I prayed for the mercy of death. I wanted to make myself so incredibly small so I would not exist. Thumbelina fighting my monsters with the needle. I lashed out and still struggle with chronic dissociative anxiety, complex PTSD and cyclothymia as a result of both childhood trauma and rape. (The childhood trauma was not sexual in nature).
I did not report because of the people (mostly older white cisgendered men and the mother of a partner) told me I just needed to “get over it.”
The thing with trauma is, you can’t face it unless you get to the root of it. Complex PTSD sucks too because I cannot “get over” my triggers. They can happen at anytime, anywhere. The worst is when it happens during sex. I don’t know if I can ever have a normal sex life even being engaged because at times during the act my rape will play out in my mind and I start shaking uncontrollably. For hours.
Fuck anyone who tells you to “get over” your rape. Seriously. FUCK. YOU.
On the way home today, after realizing I was raped (at least) twice, I stopped by a grocery store. My fiance walked off for literally less than a minute and some guy started harassing me about my “interesting” look. Still processing what had happened with the screenwriter all I could do was murmur “thank you” and walk back to him, and he asked why I did not follow him. Because, you know, we live in a society where you need a male escort in order to feel safe. I was away from his side from less than a minute. This is rape culture.
Yesterday, I started reading other incredibly brave inspiring women’s #WhyIDidNotReport. Hannah, I love you so much. You are so incredibly courageous. I had NO IDEA. If it was not for reading your story yesterday, and thinking about it, I would not feel strong enough to write this. It was in my head all of today and its woman like you and my other friends all sharing their stories maybe the damn would never have burst.
NO ONE DESERVES TO BE RAPED. NO ONE.
I don’t care if you have a history of alcohol or substance abuse, what industry you work in. I don’t care if you are a movie star, stripper, data analyst, sex worker, accountant. No one deserves to be violated.
I am still TERRIFIED typing this, shaking but it needed to come out. Oh how much this needed to come out.