There was a massive party outside of my apartment. One man pushed through the crowd to talk to me. He was charming enough, I figured I could have a quickie with him before heading home to sleep. We talked, I flirted. He knew I wanted sex.
I walked upstairs and found that I had left my keys inside. I obtained a hanger from my neighbor and went to work on the lock. The nameless face appeared and offered to help, informing me that he “used to be a crook.” I thought nothing of it until he invited himself inside. We flirted a bit more, I knew I was going to have sex with him. For a brief moment I even wanted it, mostly so that he would leave. His presence made me nervous and I regretted talking to him. I agreed to sex, informed him that I’m in a long-distance relationship, had to work early, wanted him gone by morning and that I didn’t want him to call me, ever.
Then he started to run his mouth.
We sat on my bed. As he touched me, he told me this would be the best experience of my life, multiple orgasms, blah blah blah, I’ll forget my stupid old boyfriend and he’d fuck me until morning.
Fuck that. I told him I just wanted a quickie, wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am, gtfo.
He told me I had to give him head, when I protested he told me I’d be so turned on that I’d be begging for it. I could tell he’d done this a million times, taken advantage of women who were extremely drunk and slightly afraid of him. The more he talked, the more I wanted him to leave. I allowed another rapist into my life.
By this time he had most of my clothes off. I never reached out to touch him. I told him I had changed my mind, I’m really tired, give me your number and we could do this another time, I’m really uncomfortable, I’m scared, I don’t want to do this.
He shushed me and proceeded to explain and repeat why this was going to be so great, how I’d be begging for more and I’ll never want it to end.
I wanted it to end right there. It crossed my mind, leave now or I’ll call the cops. But then I thought about the whole “crook” bullshit. He literally just broke into my apartment. He saw the bat and the mace by the door, he saw the knives and blunt objects surrounding us. If I pissed him off, he could easily come back another day and do a lot worse to me. Or he could kill me right then and there. He wasn’t happy when I told him I didn’t want to do this, he only grew more aggressive.
I laid back and quietly let him take me.
It was painful. It felt like my first time. Everything he said made me want to vomit, everything he did caused unbelievable pain. I stared at the ceiling, motionless, wishing he would see my discomfort and offer to stop. Instead, he ordered me around and I obeyed as if he had a gun to my head. I shook, cried, and pushed back as much as I could, this made him angry. He started calling me “crazy bitch” and other obscenities. He finally asked me if it was my first time, suddenly compassionate. He assured me that he would slow down and go easy on me, blabbing about how he would do anything to please me. His condescending bullshit made me cry hysterically. I couldn't believe that he wouldn't just stop when I was clearly upset and in pain. When the condom broke, I curled up into a ball and screamed into a pillow. He walked around my apartment, searching for the other condom that he had, telling me that he was going to fuck me so much harder this time. When he couldn’t find it, he climbed on top of me, despite my begging him not to. I started screaming and trying to fight him off of me. He finally stopped after I calmly informed him that this feels an awful lot like rape. He stood in front of me, his massive penis in my face and said: “The least you could do is give me some fucking head, you crazy ass bitch.”
I vomited all over the carpet and begged him to leave. He kissed me and touched me, reassured me that he's a good person, convincing me that I was insane for not wanting it, his last attempts to coerce me into consent.
I don’t even know how many times I apologized for “being crazy” and “starting something I couldn’t finish.”
I swore that if this ever happened, I would report it. I owe it to the fifteen year old me and to every girl who might fall victim to this asshole. I didn’t even get his name. I asked my neighbor if he knew him and he said he didn’t. I can’t explain this to the cops, a judge, a doctor, my parents, my boyfriend, anyone. All for what? An investigation that will go nowhere?
Self-pity and such.
I'm scared. Afraid to leave the house. Afraid of sex. Afraid of men. Afraid of alcohol. I could sit here and say "It's not my fault" a million times but I'm aware of the countless errors that led up to this. I should have learned my lesson by now. I pretty much feel like crying all the time. I hate myself and I want someone to tell me it's not my fault. More than anything, I desperately want to tell someone. Every time I decide to tell someone, I choke on the words and my eyes start to burn. It feels like I'm suffocating. So here you go, internet. Thank you for listening.