At 15 years old I took part in non consensual sex. I still have trouble calling it rape. Rape is supposed to be a violent act that leaves you beaten and abused right? That is what I thought. I was young and eager for romance, like most fifteen year old girls desiring Edward Cullen, when I met someone interested in me. I was ecstatic. He was brunette, tan, rich, intelligent, and I had only known him for a very short time. I invited him to play some video games and have a snack one afternoon when we were coming home from school on the bus. We were “making out” when I noticed him lingering below my waist, a place no one had ventured to go. I was excited and scared, but before I had time to understand what was even happening he placed his hand on his uncovered penis, the first I have ever touched. I was unsure if what I was doing was right. This was uncharted territory. I knew I did not want to have sex with this boy. We had only been on a few dates. I didn’t know him that well besides our half hour conversations on our bus rides home. I moved my hand away and continued to kiss him instead. Before I knew it he pulled back my underwear and said, “Just let me touch you, it's okay I won’t hurt you.” I felt okay with that but in my mind decided that would be the limit. All of a sudden I felt him on top of me, he said “Just the tip,” as I tried to push him away. Before long he was inside me. I fought him off me as soon as I could and told him he should leave now.
I never talked to him again. My mom had asked me, “What happened to the boy who you were talking to, the one that drove the Escalade?”. I never told her what had happened. I thought this must have been how most people lost their virginity. I was sure it was nothing like the movies.. I mean I was the one who asked him over I must have sent him the ‘signal’ that I wanted to do more. I was naive. I made up an elaborate rape story to tell my friends at school. None of them believed me, because it obviously was not true, but I wanted to tell someone what had happened, and that is the only way I knew how. This is the first time I have ever told anyone in detail what has happened. I feel it is important to let others know, men and women, that it is not okay no matter how insignificant you think it is. Not long after the incident I became a ‘man eater’. I broke hearts, flirted with anyone, and denied them of sex just to prove I was in control. It was not kind, but it was the only way I knew how to handle myself. Since then I have been outward about what goes on in my life. Completely honest with my heart on my sleeve, that way if anything happens again someone may know that I need help. What I am learning now is I need to ask for help and be willing to accept it. Sometimes I feel undeserving of any help. I am not sure why. Sometimes I think it is a personal penance for any cruelty, intentional or not, that I have bestowed onto other. I was raised a Catholic, and we all know how guilt drives them to be “better” people. I will continue to work on this aspect of my life in hopes of recovering.
I wrote this short story as a way to demonize the act of rape. Read it only if you can.
The night I killed him it was raining hard as Lexi and I ran through the door of the club. We just turned twenty-one and were on the prowl for free drinks and stares. After one Grateful Dead, we were on the dance floor enjoying the pulsing lights and the intoxicating aroma of sweat and freedom. That’s when I saw him. He was tall and slender. A distinguished grin arose when he noticed my gaze. The wrinkles next to his eyes hinted at his age, but the long dark hair and depth of his glare suggested otherwise. Slowly he curved his finger summoning me. It took all my strength to deny him in that moment, knowing full well it would trigger his need. The need all men carry with them, the secret to their infatuation, their weakness. “Caught one”,I whispered to Lexi, the kind of whisper you scream when you can’t hear yourself think. “Where?”, she smiled. I pointed to the dark man in the corner, standing with his arms crossed, enamored by our conversation I’m sure. We slowly danced our way towards him, stalking my prey. I felt his eyes along my hips imagining the intensity of the moment we could share later, if he proved himself worthy of my time. Just because we enjoy the chase doesn’t mean we want to be caught. Our right to choose remains valid despite our primal desires. I lavished in the attention, not paying him any mind when Lexi declared, “Your vampire hottie is coming to visit.”
“Your pheromones drew me closer. What’s your name?”.The breath of his voice lingered by me as I answered, “Clara, and this is Lexi”. We danced to the sound of guitar riffs and rapid drums for an eternal moment. I swayed my body back and forth, decreasing the distance from my target. At the sound of a slower beat, Lexi announced her sudden need to excrete her urea and left us alone. He had asked me to walk outside with him, to smoke a blunt and talk about life. “So what’s your story he asked?”, stroking the strap of my hunter green dress, the same color as the dumpster I was so gracefully leaning on. I began to talk of my interests in entomology, specifically predatory insects. He laughed while brushing away the sweep of hair obstructing my eyes, “I am surprised to have met an intelligent woman in this dump.” Slowly he caressed his Roman nose against my cheek and kissed me softly barely touching my lips. As he pulled away he looked directly into my eyes. I noticed the fire behind his chocolate iris, and quickly diverted my fixation to the pieces of gum stuck to the pavement. He asked me for my number. I nervously placed it in his phone as he gently stroked my leg, each time getting higher on my thigh and lingering. It was apparent that we were both well equipped to play this game. He threw down the remaining butt, as we began walking back to the club from our quiet place behind the dumpster. Unexpectedly, he hurried deeper into the dark alley opposite our initial direction. Excitedly he proclaimed, “This is the biggest roach I have ever seen! Hurry, come look!”. Naturally I darted down the alley, ecstatic he was intrigued by my interest. Crouching down next to him I scanned the edge of the brick wall for the specimen, when I felt a firm hand slowly making its way up my back. I laughed and said, “Where is the roach?”. Suddenly my chest was slammed down into the pavement. The oxygen left my lungs. Gasping for air, tears filled my eyes as I felt the sharp gravel pierce my virgin skin. I tried to thrash away crawling desperately on all fours, crying for help. Immediately he straddled me and pulled out a filthy handkerchief, covered in what I imagined to be the blood and tears of his previous victims. Mumbled by the paisley printed putrid cloth, I heard the chirps of music and laughter from the club, as the click of his belt buckle rang in my ear. I knew it was coming. This is how it was going to be. My first time alone camouflaged and beaten by the side of a dumpster. I deserved it. Enticing him with my short dress and my comfort with sexuality sent him into a craze. I wanted this; only I imagined candles, long conversations, laughter, love. I fought again as he hastily pulled down my favorite pair of black lace underwear, the ones I wore so the seam wouldn’t show underneath my dress. Without saying a word he forced his way into my body. A place I had denied to others, despite their commitment to our relationships. The pain of a thousand injections pulsed through my existence from between my legs. I became limp, as he repeatedly infected me with emotional botulism. The spines of his fingers entrapped my waist under his weight. Hours, or maybe moments passed before the vocal and physical release of his violent desire freed me from the torture. Proud and out of breath, the man arose with laughter, as I noticed a large wine bottle littering the ground beside me. Slowly my trembling fingers reached for the neck. Without hesitation I sprang to my feet, and with adrenaline as my fuel, attacked his left temple with a hollow blow. The glass shattered as he wailed in pain stumbling backward towards the dumpster. As I clutched what remained of my weapon, my knuckles white from strain, I launched toward him and began repeatedly stabbing his chest. I clasped my hand over his mouth and felt the hot air of his moans. Slowly I grabbed the very organ that destroyed me and placed it back inside its preferred home in my flesh. He watched as I rhythmically tortured his body, silent and stunned, covered in the sticky poison that kept him alive. I became still as I employed a shard of glass to widen his seductive smile. Horror replaced the flame that once consumed me as he watched me devour a piece of his raw flesh.
The feeling of power came over me as I swallowed each cheek. He became limp inside me as I watched his eyes roll to the back of his beaten skull. To insure no one would talk of the heinous act, I ripped open his jugular and met his ribbed trachea, as blood spit into an abstract collection on my face. Licking my fingers and wiping my eyes, I arose from my position. I hauled the weight of the lifeless body to the side door of the dumpster. With brute force and grunts I shoved the remaining villain into his grave of filth. I reached down beside the spot of our first kiss, extracted, and lit our butt from the ground. I took one last drag while reaching in my leather bag for hair spray to drench a flyer for the club’s ‘Drag Night’. As I lit the flyer with the remaining ganja, I felt remorse for the man and his choices that lead him to this pro curious ending. I extinguished my remorse reminding myself that all great predators distance themselves from the value of their prey.
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