That fall weekend, I was a 20-year-old junior in college getting ready for a 60's party at the fraternity house where I was a little sister. From thrifting and a costume store, I found pink and purple hot pants, a matching pink top, white fishnets, and white go-go boots to wear. To complete the effect, I slept in braids the night before, creating a wavy cascade of my hair. That evening, I was ready to laugh, have fun, and dance to great music with friends. I did all of that.

I walked home about 1:00 a.m., entered my dorm, and went to bed in my single room, smiling as I remembered the great time I'd had. A few minutes later, my door opened. A shadow, then a tall young man, entered. As the light from the hall illuminated his face, I recognized him as a member of the fraternity, someone that I knew only by sight. He moved toward me, then onto me.

I screamed; I fought; I pleaded with him not to do it, but he did. He raped me and then left as quickly and silently as he had come.

That was in 1980, before the term "acquaintance rape" had been coined, before night-time escorts for women had been instituted on my campus, and ten years before Anita Hill made "sexual harassment" part of the national lexicon. It was during a time and in a place in which one did not report rape to the city or campus police or confide it to a counselor. One did not speak of such a thing to family or friends. One dealt alone with being raped.

The illusion that I was safe was shattered, and my trust in men was badly damaged. These feelings remain with me. At the time, though, I worried constantly about avoiding the rapist, completing the semester with decent grades despite what had happened, and more immediately, whether or not I was pregnant. The wait to see if my period would come was agonizing, made worse by the discovery that, to my horror, the rapist had infected me with the herpes virus, an STD that is incurable. To this day, each outbreak means reliving dreadful memories and being reminded of that person.

At the time, the only comfort I had was the knowledge that Roe v. Wade ensured that if needed, I could legally and safely get an abortion. I had no doubt whatsoever that I would abort should I be pregnant. Three weeks passed in a blur of trying to act normal, studying, and hoping to menstruate.

I was lucky. My period arrived, and I avoided abortion, but I have never forgotten the shock, sense of powerlessness, pain, and confusion from the violence of rape and the desperation I felt in facing, if only for short time, the threat of an unchosen, forced pregnancy. I can only imagine how women must feel who are made to continue pregnancies that are forced, unintended, or which present health problems. Knowing that I could choose abortion was the one source of solace that helped me to move forward. Now that Roe v. Wade has been overturned, I fear for the millions of women who no longer have the choice that meant so much to me 42 years ago.