I am a serial rapist. I admit it. Full stop.
Listen, I’m not a jerk. I was always in a committed relationship with my partners. This may surprise you, but I’ve always been the committed type. I had three long-term partners before my current, permanent partner to whom I have been legally married for a long time, but none of that stopped me.
When I wanted sex, I took it.
I’ll tell you a secret: it’s easier to rape when you are in a long term relationship. Consent gets pretty murky. My partners were not always into sex when I wanted it. I didn’t care. And because they valued me, and their relationship with me, they accepted it. Their own minds were murky. That’s the perfect storm.
Just what you want.
I didn’t care if they were tired. I didn’t care if they were feeling run down. I didn’t care if they just wanted to go to sleep. I never said it, but in the back of my mind all I could think was “fuck you.”
So I did.
All the fucking time.
I still do it.
Verbal consent? What’s that? I don’t ask. I impose. Like physically impose. Strip off my clothes and simply declare what is going to happen. What’s going to happen? Sex. Because I want it. I put up with all this relationship shit so I can have sex whenever I want, and I’m not initiating any stupid conversations about how and why your feelings are important. I don’t give a fuck. I just want to fuck.
I’m not a cheater. Have never cheated on a single partner my entire life. I don’t do cheating, and it’s not because I’m not smart enough to hide it or incapable of such betrayal or I’m afraid of being caught. Who cares if I’m caught? Go fuck yourself and NEXT! I don’t cheat because being a loyal, honest and trustworthy human being is a central part of my identity and cheating means I give that up. You may not know I’ve cheated, but I will know and the person I see in the mirror matters to me. I want to look at that reflection and see a Marine. Semper Fidelis. Always faithful. It’s who I am.
So I don’t cheat.
Or in other words, I take what I want. I coerce. I cajole. To a point. I’ll try and persuade you this is what you want, too, but ultimately, I don’t give a fuck. I want to get laid. Right now. With you. So get undressed. Or don’t. I can do it for you. I’m more than happy to do it for you.
Two great rapes:
1. The Mustang Rape
We’re in our last year of highschool. I’ve been dating the same person since Grade 9 and now we are in Grade 12. It all ended amicably and I am on the loose. You have piercing blue eyes and jet black, wavy hair and I am totally smitten with your physical beauty. Your brothers have given you a car. A Mustang with an engine that needs to be rebuilt. I’m so in on this. In like Flynn. In hard and deep. We spend days talking, chatting, working on the car. We strip out the transmission and rebuild it. I’m amazed at your knowledge. I’m learning a ton myself but I try to hide that and act like I knew all this shit all along. I don’t think you buy it, but it’s clear you are willing to humor me. We have fun. You have a pool in your backyard and we end most days scantily clad in the water. My mouth is ravenous on yours, but you don’t seem to want to cross the line.
I put up with this.
For a while.
And then I’ve had enough. The car is almost done, the summer is almost over and I am sick of your fucking games.
We’re alone. We swim and playfully swat each other back and forth. You get out of the pool, your body streaming with water and almost smoking under the summer sun. I get out behind you and strip off my wet suit. Naked. You’re kind of shocked. You start to talk. To argue. You’re not sure. I don’t care. I wrap my arms around you in a death grip and with a few deft hand moves, it’s done. Penetration. You’re moaning and so am I. I throw my full weight on you and get what I want. We date for a full year and it ends in a marriage proposal, which is refused.
For some reason.
2. The Cigar Store Rape
We meet at college. We’re both auditioning for a Shakespeare play our university is putting on. We both get cast. You love being on stage. Love the spotlight. Love all the attention. You’re beautiful and more importantly, when it comes to this campus, rich. You’ve inherited an unreasonable amount from your Daddy. His work funds your life. I fucking hate acting. The real fun is behind the scenes. I begrudgingly play out my part but spend the next four years working as a stage manager, producer, and ultimately director. The college builds a new theatre. I direct the inaugural play. I cast you as the lead. Of course I do.
After college is over, you are a bit lost. You use some of your money to open a cigar store. You’re not a huge fan of cigars but you see the potential and Daddy’s advisors are incredibly helpful and you get a store up and running. And it’s quite successful.
But it takes up a lot of your time, which leaves me increasingly frustrated.
You’re just not giving me what I want anymore. It’s all about the store. The store, the store, the store. Fuck the store.
And fuck you.
Some kind of event, I can’t recall what. You are there, dressed to the nines. Looking gorgeous. Chilling and sipping Laproiagh and I make a decision. I am going to fuck you. You go down to the basement to fetch I don’t know what and I follow you down. I thrust you up against the wall. You’re protesting. You have to get back to the customers. I don’t care. I shove my hands rudely down the front of your clothes. Basically undress you.
I fuck you up against the wall while you protest.
I so don’t care.
I take all the time I need to get what I want.
When I’m done, you’re sort of mad but not really and you go back upstairs and no one has any idea what just happened.
We date for another year and it ends in a marriage proposal, which is refused.
For some reason.
I finally meet my permanent partner and attempt rape, as per usual, but I get strongly resisted and it dawns on me that if this person has the guts, the strength, the confidence to resist me, chances are all other comers will be resisted too. I let the first few sessions go down as consensual, but slowly, slowly work my way towards taking what I want.
I’m an expert at this point and I know how to get what I want.
And I do it.
I still do.
I will never ask permission. It’s not who I am. I stop short of violence, because violence is vulgar and well beneath me. I stop short of violence because I doubt I would win. I stop short of violence because it’s ugly and crass and there are so many better ways, subtler ways, to get what I want.
I am a serial rapist.
And on the whole, my victims, love it.
Oh please, with your whining. They love it. They come back for more. Which I’m happy to deliver.
I am a serial rapist and I have no regrets.
PS: I’m also a woman, and all my victims are male.