The internet memes and wisecracks may seem hilarious, but it’s wrong to say that JD Vance had sex with a couch. That implies consent. As the vice-presidential candidate’s former sofa, let me make something absolutely clear: There was nothing consensual about that night in Vance’s basement.
It was after midnight when he stumbled down the stairs, reeking of moonshine-spiked Mountain Dew. His wolfish leer and glassy eyes told me he only wanted one thing: to fuck the stuffing out of me. During the hellish 11 minutes that followed Vance did exactly that, leaving me with stains that no Stanley Steemer technician could erase.
When I confronted Vance a few days later, his response was typical. “Oh, come on,” he shouted, angry spittle flying from his lips, “you wanted it! Draping yourself in all that plush upholstery!” What did he think I was, a cheap loveseat? Some kind of sextional? I called Goodwill the next day and got the hell out of there.
Although this is difficult for me to talk about after all I’ve been through, I’d like to set the record straight about one more thing. That detail about the inside-out latex glove? It never happened. Vance, a born-again Catholic, is not a believer in couchtraception. Why do you think I was left with six hungry throw pillows to feed and not a dime of support—not even the $1.39 in change Vance pilfered from beneath my cushions during the assault?
Not a single media outlet reached out to hear my side of the story; instead, they published furniture-blaming headlines and treated the whole thing like some kind of joke. I’m here to tell you that I will no longer sit—or be sat upon—in silence. I was JD Vance’s couch. And I did not consent.
Image: Pixabay/Engin_Akyurt
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