First let me say that I’m writing this anonymously. I say that because I don’t want you to know who I am. I don’t want to be judged. I don’t want you looking at me not for the person that I am, but as a Bill Cosby accuser. Bill Cosby accusers get treated like the bottom of a person’s shoe. I’m a wife, mom and person who is pretty successful and happy in her life. That said, I allege that Bill Cosby drugged me when I was 18. I don’t know if he raped me because I don’t remember what happened after a certain point. He did not ask me if I wanted drugs. I am black.
Speaking to a friend recently about what happened- which is something I rarely do because I’ve only talked about this to a hand-full of people in my inner, inner circle- she suggested that I’ve kept it secret because “we don’t tell,” as if I’m bound by loyalty to the black community or to Bill Cosby himself. And while that could be the case for some, not me. I keep quiet because I am afraid of my life being ruined. I’m afraid for my kids to have to live with this burden, a burden that I didn’t ask for, let alone them. I think of my husband. I carry this because I know that a lot of people will not believe me or support me and will view me as a opportunistic, greedy, lying, manipulative slut. So let’s be clear, loyalty has nothing to do with it.
Bill Cosby drugged me when I was 18, almost 30 years ago. However, I didn’t know that is what happened until a few years ago when I started reading the testimony of Bill Cosby accusers. I discovered that he had agencies, modeling and acting, that would send him girls. I was one such girl sent to him by the president of my modeling agency, a white woman around his same age, now deceased. She sent me straight to his brownstone on the upper east side, after I admired a photo of the two of them in her office. I, like many people across the globe, LOVED Bill Cosby as this was the height of The Cosby Show. During that first meeting, he asked me about school (I loved school), my grades (I was an honor student), what type of family I came from (single-parent mom), and if I would be able to afford college (No). Right there on the spot, he offered me a full-scholarship to an HBCU of my choice. I didn’t really know much about HBCU’s except that ‘A Different World’ was popular and black schools looked cool. I refused the offer because at that time I was determined to become a supermodel.
But he stayed on me, inviting me to watch Cosby Show tapings and always ending it with ‘are you ready to go to school yet?!’ “Not yet!” I’d tell him enjoying that he would take the time to even care. During these Cosby Show tapings, there’d be people having dinner in his private room before the show. Once there was even a Japanese chef all dressed up making sushi. It was so exciting because you’d be sitting at the dinner table next to a famous star, or psychologist, or just important people of all nationalities, all there to celebrate and be in the company of the world’s biggest star. Once my mom and uncle came and he treated them, like everyone, with the utmost respect. He had a knack for making everyone feel special. For this girl who once told her mom as she watched The Cosby Show in their hometown, “I’m going to meet him one day,” this was proof that dreams really do come true.
One evening after a taping, which was still a very jovial time where people would wait to have a drink with him in his room, chat, and say goodbye- this was also where he would make sure that his guests had a car service home- I found myself in his room alone, doing what I remember to be a slow motion dance. He was close to me, holding me up, moving my arms around as if I were a rag doll. I remember thinking, ‘Wow, Mr. Cosby is magical! Is this, yoga? A dream dance?’ I had no clue what was happening. Then he asked, ‘Do you want this to go further?’
I said, ‘No.’
That’s all I remember. I don’t remember what happened next or how I got home, and I didn’t even give it much thought throughout the years until accusers started coming forward. As I would read their stories, I started seeing the similarities to mine. How he would ‘allegedly’ prey on young women from poor backgrounds, without fathers. How there was a system in place where his room would clear out and you’d find yourself alone with him, while someone was posted outside the door. How agencies sent him girls. I was the perfect Bill Cosby victim because I never would have dreamed him capable of such a thing, and therefore, I trusted him completely. I never second-guessed what happened in his room that day because it was inconceivable that he would have drugged me. How? Why? What?
Another reason I don’t come forward is because I don’t know if he raped me. Compared to women who claim to have woken up with him masturbating next to them, having sex with them, or lying there naked in a bathrobe, ect…my case is pretty light. If I may be honest, I’m grateful that I don’t know what happened to me during that time because I would have had to live with the memory, all these years, of knowing what he did. But it doesn’t excuse what he did. He never asked me if I wanted drugs. I never had a choice. You can’t erase a woman’s memory. You can’t do things to women when they are unconscious. Now, while I can escape the memory of what he may have done, I still live with the guilt of not coming forward, of not standing with my sisters, of feeling like a coward for staying in the shadows. I can’t escape the conversations online, or on my social media feed from men and women I know personally who are defending him, calling it a witch hunt, trashing the victims, claiming it’s a race thing, dismissing each victim because they waited so long to come forward or because the majority are white. Come on, it’s just a little easier for white women to come forward because they don’t go home to the same community. But look at the women who are coming out against Trump. They aren’t doing so well. People want them to shut up. So while it might be a little easier for me to make sexual accusations against Trump (hypothetically), Bill Cosby is a big no, and black folks are outraged.
The other day I couldn’t take it anymore when I was on a bus and some black folks of a certain age were talking about how they didn’t believe he did it. I stood up and went to the back of the bus where they were and said, ‘I know you don’t want to believe it, but it’s true. He drugged me. He has done some very bad things to a lot of women. Black women too. But we will never come forward because of you. You don’t believe us. You think we’re trying to tear him down and it’s not true. If he did these things to your mother, your sister or someone you love you would not be happy, and even if he was 100 years old you’d want justice. If you can’t believe that someone like him is capable of this then it’s going to keep happening.”
To my surprise, they said they believed me, and even expressed that they were sorry it happened to me. They actually got to look me in the eye and know that I was telling the truth. How many people get a chance to talk to a Bill Cosby accuser? Not many unless she’s on the witness stand and then she has to prove HER innocence, she’s not just sharing her story. And as liberated as I felt coming out to them, and sharing my story here now, even anonymously, I can’t do that everyday. I sat on that bus after they got off and cried salty tears because it’s exhausting. People’s loyalty to Cosby is like iron. That’s why I commend every woman who has come forward against him, white and black, because it took all of them (I believe it’s around 60 women) to bring him down. And know that if there are 60 women who have come forward there are so many more, like me, who you will never see, because we live in the shadows. But we’re here, and we’re BLACK, and we stand for #metoo too. We just don’t stand as tall or as loud. Don’t judge us because we never asked to be Bill Cosby victims, accusers or martyrs. This fuckery happened to us and we just deal with it the best way we can.