in no particular order...

So here's the first of the retelling of exploits from the past week or so. This is really the only negative experience I had the whole time, and it wasn't the worst I've ever had... But I feel the need to get it off my chest anyway. So here goes.

We'd been drinking beer for far too long and drinking cocktails that were too strong hours before that. The room was still stationary, but I couldn't entirely say the same for myself. My words weren't slurred, I don't think, but I'm sure I was visibly intoxicated.
He wasn't even my type. I generally go for people way more attractive than me. That sounds like I'm being conceited, but I'm not. Ask anyone I know. I have some bizarre tendency to pull in people WAY out of my league. And even beside that, I have a type, and while that's often older than me, he was way too old.
Nevertheless, I ended up on a Beirut team with him. (I feel like somehow this is how a lot of my hookups begin...weird.) I don't even remember if we won, I was instead taken by the conversation that somehow rapidly turned to threesomes. I'm not sure where the entrypoint for that conversation lay, but that's what we were discussing. And he told me he'd want to have a mmf menage a trios, and I said I'd found that there weren't many men (who I've slept with, at least) who were into that. He took that as an invitation and we exchanged numbers. We hadn't actually touched at that point, save for the errant high-five when we made a cup in the game.
I don't remember who won. I remember the game ended and he said he had to go and asked me if I'd walk with him to his car. I said OK. Which was stupid. But I figured it would just be outside the gate. Maybe a goodnight kiss, harmless.
When we'd walked a block and a half, I asked him where the hell he'd parked. He said he was walking to the light rail station. I said I wasn't going that far. He said Yes, I was. I was going home with him. I said No, I'm fucking not. I have to go back. I tried to leave nonchalantly. And then he caught my arm and pulled me back to him. Grabbed my face, pressed his lips onto mine. I chuckled uncomfortably and said ok, now I really do have to go. My friends will be worried. He begged me to stay. I said No.
He put his hands on my shoulders and slammed me against the outside wall of a garage and he was on me again. His lips were on me, his hands were on my tits. I cursed myself for wearing the pink shirt that showed off my rack. I tried to push him off me, tried to bite him. He took it as another invitation. I kept yelling No! I have to go! People are waiting for me! and my pleas were muffled by his tongue darting in and out of my mouth. His face was rough and stubble scratched my lips and chin. His hands were cold and I felt like I could feel the beer and dirt staining them and, consequently, my untanned skin.
I was still trying to squirm away when my phone rang. I'd forgotten that I had it with me. It was my best friend, asking me where the hell I'd gone. I couldn't have been happier to hear her voice. He let me answer my phone and I stepped back into the shadow of the alleyway as I backed away. I shrugged, still trying to play it cool, and he stood half-engulfed in the shadows, watching me walk away. As soon as I made the corner, I took off sprinting. I wasn't entirely sure where I was, but just hoped my feet would sense the urgency of the moment and recall where they'd been minutes earlier. I stayed on the phone with my friend, on the verge of tears. As I ran around another corner, afraid that I was lost in the neighborhood, I saw her standing outside the fence. I jumped into her arms, and she climbed into another friend's car with me, where I had a minor breakdown. The host (who's car it was) came out and apologized for his friend (who I'd wandered off with). I took a deep breath and marched back into the party to refill my beer.

Now, my feminist side tells me I can't really be held responsible, because as soon as I said no (and it was serious, there was no playful tone), he should have backed off. But I can't help but think that I brought this whole experience on myself. I feel like I might have been inadvertently leading him on. I didn't mean to, but that doesn't mean I can't be held responsible. I mean, in the end it was essentially a moot point, and nothing really tragic happened. Nevertheless, I can't help feeling mildly responsible for what did happen. As such, do I even have a right to be upset by the situation? Any thoughts, anyone?