This is not the usual story, but it's mine. It happened in France a few years after I'd transitioned.
I was traveling across Europe, staying with people I knew in various countries. My last day I had arranged to be in Paris because, while I knew no one there, I simply couldn't go to Europe without at least seeing Paris. But the way the planes run I didn't get there––after checking into a hotel near the airport and catching a train into town––until late afternoon. Not a lot of time to do more than quick sightseeing. And it was also a Sunday. So I grabbed a tourist map and started walking down the wide sidewalk along the Seine toward Notre Dame, figuring I'd begin there and walk back up to the Eiffel Tower, thus seeing (just seeing, but there wasn't time for much else, and as it was the end of my trip I had no money left anyway) the highlights. As I was walking, a man roughly my age asked me in French if I needed any help. I told him I had a map, happy for a chance to try out my really awful French, and that I was OK. Instead of going away, though, he continued the conversation. He was an Arab man, not tall but well built and handsome. I could see he was flirting, but in all honesty that was such a new experience to me at the time I didn't really understand that I probably should not encourage it. He asked if he could walk with me and I let him, again happy to have the chance to talk in French.
We walked to the Cathedral, missing the chance to go inside, and turned back up the Seine with him pointing out many things I might otherwise have missed. Then he took my up some quaint side streets to the Tower Plaza. We arrived there at twilight. Scam artists were doing things like handing out flowers and then hitting you for money; he recognized the scams and saved us from them. We sat in the plaza for a while and watched the Tower as it lit up, and then walked on. I said I needed to get going because I had a flight in the morning; he told me he'd take me to a station. So we started across a bridge. Partway across, he suggested we go down a small set of stairs to see the view of the river, and we did. Looking out of the Seine in the warm Paris night was intoxicating. When he moved in to kiss me, I let him, but I was wondering what the hell I was doing.
We didn't stay there long actually. He walked me across the bridge to the station. When we got in, he showed me where to go to catch my train back to the airport, but to my shock it was closed for the night. The Metro closes for the night in the City of Lights? Apparently it does. He helped me to ask around; there was no way to get back until early morning, and I was––as I said earlier––out of money, so I had nothing for a cab or anything like that.
So he told me I could sleep at his place.
Somewhere in here I'd begun to realize how unbelievably näive I'd acted all day long. How I'd put myself into this indefensible position and I had, essentially, no way out. What was I going to do? Wander the streets of Paris all night alone? I told him I was uncomfortable, but he assured me it would be fine: he was merely offering me a place to crash. I was not worrying only about his wanting sex, which I did not. I was very worried that, if we tried it, he might not fit (as a couple of other men had not) into my too-tight vagina and that he'd figure out I was trans and then... I was shaking just thinking about what might happen to me, in a foreign country alone. But I went with him, thinking I was piling bad decisions on top of each other.
It turned out he lived in a studio flat on one of those Paris street corners where you passed two bakeries just down the road. There was no bed, just a couch. He offered it to me and I accepted, immediately climbing in, fully clothed, and rolling over with my back to him to sleep. Some time later I felt him crawl onto the couch behind me, and I thought: this is what I get for being stupid. He was saying sweet things to me, but it was clear he wanted some payment for his kindness. I tried to say no, but we not only had a language barrier; we also had an intent barrier: I'd let him kiss me earlier and I didn't know how to explain to him that was different without making him angry...which I definitely was afraid of. He grew more amorous, and I realized where this was inevitably going to lead...and what that might lead to. So I thought about it and did the only thing I could think to do to keep him out of my pants.
When it was done––and I kept my eyes closed the whole time, which didn't stop me from crying, but my eyes were half a body's length from his so he didn't notice––he was satisfied and rolled over and fell asleep. I had to try to sleep the rest of the night with him by my side. I quietly cried myself back to sleep.
In the early morning, we awoke and he took me to the station and put me on a train. He waved goodbye, smiling. I'm sure he had no clue that I'd recorded the entire thing indelibly in my memory as a coerced sexual act and felt betrayed and filthy because of it. For years, on odd occasions his face would suddenly appear in front of me and I'd shudder in fear. It has not happened for awhile, but it took a long time. The whole thing happened because I was ignorant and still needed validation as a woman, not to mention someone to speak crappy French with. He took advantage of that––and me––and I'm sure his memory of that night is a lot nicer than mine.