I still remember how his eyes turned read with anger, desire and lust. Every word sneered out of his lips sent me a step backwards until I had nowhere to go. All the smiles and laughter obliterated by the fear and regret.
He already undressed himself in the bedroom and inserted a condom. He was now rushing my shirt and t-shirt out, throwing them on the floor, my jean button soon followed simultaneously with the zipper. I stood there naked and confused, as he stepped back to examine me with a hungry look before charging for me again.
He positioned me on the couch, my sweating back meet the cool leather and he reclined himself positioning his manhood with my womanhood. With disgust and irritation I watched as his erect manhood entered me, his face buried between my neck and shoulder he growled in my ear with pleasure.
I lay there contemplating how to escape the situation without getting shot at or risking my life anyway. His every move sent me more irritation and frustration; I felt no pain or no pleasure. For the most part I felt like I was the third person in the room. I was out there watching a horrific movie develop in front of me.
He pulled out and walked me to the bathroom where he put me on the corner of the bath tub and kneeled in front of me, he continued pleasuring himself with me and I continued blaming myself for everything.
I blamed myself for agreeing meeting with him. Today I know, I couldn’t have predicted the short comings of this afternoon. I charged myself for the cropped t-shirt that showed my skin. Today I know couldn’t have known I was a PREY that day and he was a PREDATOR in a hunt.
I accused myself of being naïve and vulnerable, I’ve always attracted the wrong people. In actual fact, they don’t come with tags for me to know whether they are right or not.
My reveries were disturbed by his grunts and groans as he reached orgasm. Discourteously I felt cold water wash over me. He left me in the tub to remove the condom I was so grateful for. I washed myself with the cold water, trying to remove him off me, fragrance or any trace of him in my body.
He came back with a creepy old towel, I wiped myself off and went to the living room to my ill-discarded clothing, picking up my jeans entangled with the panties and next both my shirts. He came out of his bedroom dressed, with a satisfied look and a malicious smile. I prayed the universe to swallow me right there, It failed me.
To me today being a victim of rape means; not trusting men, being scared of affection, hating sex, a lot of angst, wanting to be alone, and feeling spiteful of men. I will forever have it at the back of my memory, just for it to haunt me now and again.
Nothing Will Ever Give Me Back What He Took From Me.
I won’t ever be able to talk about it to society without being judged. Society will ask, what was I wearing that had him assaulting me? Because I wasn’t a virgin anymore I deserved it. Society will ask, didn’t I enjoy it?
A victim forever remains a victim psychologically if there are constant reminders of the past experience. It’s even sadder if a victim has to face their offender.