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[AMGREATNESS] After days of gossip and innuendo to the effect that the likely next Supreme Court Justice might just be some sort of pervert, Anonymous finally came forward and identified herself as a victim of a then 17-year-old inebriated Brett Kavanaugh who (she says) sexually manhandled her in 1982 when she was 15. More specifically, the woman now alleges that Kavanaugh and another student at a high-school party entered a room inebriated, pinned her to a bed, and then groped her while she was clothed. Young Kavanaugh then allegedly attempted to take her clothes off her while he and his classmate, Mark Judge, both laughed “maniacally.” She adds that she had sought “medical treatment” for her unspecified injuries.

Anonymous identified herself in the Washington Post on Sunday as Christine Blasey Ford, a registered Democrat, Bernie Sanders supporter, and psychology professor at Palo Alto University, who otherwise had no recollection exactly where or when the supposed assault occurred some 36 years ago. Nor did she offer any clear reason why she had never then, or in the more than three decades since, contacted authorities to report the purported assault, other than claiming in 2012 that the incident then 30 years earlier still troubled her and contributed to her own sense of unease.

Or as Ford explained her sudden self-unmasking over the weekend: “Now I feel like my civic responsibility is outweighing my anguish and terror about retaliation.” A cynic might suggest that anonymity was useful in the 11th-hour smearing of Kavanaugh, but had proved not quite enough to derail his nomination, and so the fallback and default position of identification followed.

"There's another bathroom in here," a voice I had just passed said quietly. I turned to find Brett Kavanaugh Mason Crawford and two of his friends leaning against what I imagined was a bedroom door. He wore a smile that I didn't trust. "It's the master," he whispered.

I quickly measured my mistrust of him against the biological need that was growing. "No bull?" I asked, instantly regretting putting words to my doubts.

"Honest," Brett Mason said, raising both his hands, one holding a beer bottle. He showed me what I thought was an innocent expression. One of his friends, Judge Frank I thought his name was, nodded in agreement. Brett Mason opened the door and stood to the side.

"Thanks," I said and entered the room. I was surprised when Brett Mason then closed the door, staying outside and leaving me in peace. The room was the master. A huge four poster bed with a small sitting area in a window alcove... I opened the first of two doors and found a huge walk in closet. The next door held a magnificent bathroom. Dual sinks and a walk-in shower that could hold ten. The mirror reflected a head of hair that looked like it had been in a convertible for a few hours...

I left the bathroom, and my gratitude to Brett Mason ended as quickly as it began. He stood inside the bedroom between me and the door to the hall. The smirk on his face was anything but friendly.

"Thanks for letting me know about the bathroom," I said in a friendly tone. Brett Mason didn't move as I approached the door. I tried to shove the fear that was growing to the side. He hadn't done anything wrong, but his stance indicated he had ideas.

"You going with the dweeb?" Brett Mason asked. He was like a wall between the door and me. I was forced to slow or attempt to push him out of the way. At six-five and a good two-hundred-plus pounds, it would have been a futile attempt.

"I don't know any dweebs," I responded. I put my hands on my hips and gave him the look my mother gave me when she was upset. If it weren't for my hips holding my hands steady, I was sure they would be shaking.

"McGuire," Brett Mason clarified. His massive arms folded themselves across his chest.

"Caleb and I are just friends," I said, letting some anger fill my tone. It was better than letting the fear escape.

"You turned me down and let that nerd take you to the prom?" Brett Mason asked.

"You never asked," I replied. I thankfully held back the rest of the statement that formed in my mind...

"You obviously don't know what a real man is like," Brett Mason said. It sounded more like a threat than a statement. He leaned forward and fear made me take a step back. I gritted my teeth and decided to stand firm and not back up anymore...

"No!" I shouted. This time, real anger filled the word... I tried to move around Mason now that there was more space between him and the door. I wasn't quick enough.

Brett's Mason's hand shot out and grabbed my wrist like a vice. An involuntary grunt left my lips as he yanked me against his chest and wrapped his other arm around me. I only got out the first part of a scream when his massive hand covered my mouth. I grabbed his wrist with my free hand, and he chuckled as I tried to pull his hand from my face. Black fear filled my mind as he dragged me deeper into the room. I could do nothing against his strength...

"One night with me and your life will change."

I tried to hit his sides and scratch at his face. It was like a brick wall and only made him laugh. My wrist felt like it was going to break and tears filled my eyes.

"Silence," he ordered as his hand moved from my mouth to my hair. With a fistful of hair, he yanked my head back straining my neck. Pure terror filled me when I saw the intent in his eyes.

Dear Senator Feinstein;

I am writing with information relevant in evaluating the current nominee to the Supreme Court. As a constituent, I expect that you will maintain this as confidential until we have further opportunity to speak. Brett Kavanaugh physically and sexually assaulted me during high school in the early 1980’s. He conducted these acts with the assistance of REDACTED.

Both were one to two years older than me and students at a local private school.

The assault occurred in a suburban Maryland area home at a gathering that included me and four others. Kavanaugh physically pushed me into a bedroom as I was headed for a bathroom up a short stair well from the living room. They locked the door and played loud music precluding any successful attempt to yell for help. Kavanaugh was on top of me while laughing with REDACTED, who periodically jumped onto Kavanaugh. They both laughed as Kavanaugh tried to disrobe me in their highly inebriated state. With Kavanaugh’s hand over my mouth I feared he may inadvertently kill me.

From across the room a very drunken REDACTED said mixed words to Kavanaugh ranging from “go for it” to “stop.” At one point when REDACTED jumped onto the bed the weight on me was substantial. The pile toppled, and the two scrapped with each other. After a few attempts to get away, I was able to take this opportune moment to get up and run across to a hallway bathroom. I locked the bathroom door behind me. Both loudly stumbled down the stair well at which point other persons at the house were talking with them. I exited the bathroom, ran outside of the house and went home.