The Sort Of Rape; An Assault in 3 Acts
You will always remember exactly what you were wearing.
He had made up his mind that he would have you before you arrived. He was frantic, motivated, humming through your sentences and touching your knees. He’s handsome. You should be grateful. You should be flattered. You’ll replay the warning signals again and again in your head. Did that make you guilty? Was it your fault?
As you leave he grabs your waist and half pushes you to his car. He wants to fuck you. He’s not drunk. It would be an excuse if he was drunk, but now he’s decided that he is going to fuck you. You made the mistake of coming. As you sit in the front seat and feel anxiety rise, the smell of leather and air freshener rubbing into your skin. He drives, dangerously, barely looking at you. You are sealed to history with a seatbelt. The execution is just a note on the warrant. You can’t run, you don’t know where you are. If only you’d resisted more, done more to go home, you’d be safe, why are you here, why is he touching your thighs and your-
He pushes you in his door, exhaling deeply, and snaps on the light, hand on your lower back, pulling at your zip, spinning you around to him so he can pull down your shirt to reveal your breasts. He didn’t ask. You didn’t say yes. But you didn’t say no. You grab his forearms to slow him down, stop him, wondering if you can still stop this
He responds to this rejection by sliding his hands down your legs, to your thighs, ass, touching, in a way which says you let me get this far, this is your fault now
You try to pull his hands away, but he squeezes hard, trying to arouse you before you can announce non consent.
You: Sorry, this is too fast, can we-
Him: I am so hard, baby
You: Please can we not-
Him: You are so hot (pushes crotch to yours)
You: I’m not on the pill
Him: Shh, don’t worry
He pulls down your jeans and there is an inevitable moment when you feel you have to now, you are too naked to run, too naked to stop, too trapped to stop
He forces you down on the bed and molests you roughly. Yes, molests. You are just too frightened, too weak to resist. The only way back from this, to escape, is screaming Stop you are raping me
But the words don’t come
Why won’t they come
Maybe you can distract him from raping you if you make him come first. It’s survival mode, you turn off the shame and humiliation until the shower than night where you will scream and cry until the soap burns your throat and your skin is raw from scrubbing but the memory stays
You frantically pleasure him until he forgets about your shaking thighs that he has forced open and groans. You are relieved, never aroused. You did this to survive. This stopped you getting pregnant or ill or actually raped. Its not actually rape unless you let him put it in-
When he is done, you feel the humiliation, the white of his eye, the disgust at your nakedness. He throws you some tissues. You leave, gladly. He is indifferent, his prey consumed. You’ll get home, unable to cry in the stumbling dark.
You’ll ask yourself forever what you could have done to stop yourself being sort of raped