Rape, it's not just for dudes.

Rape. It can happen to men. Women scream or fight. Men have to take it with stoicism. Why? Try explaining to your friends how you tried to fend off a woman’s sexual advances in the manliest way possible. It ain’t gonna happen. She’ll recount in embarrassing detail your childish screaming and general overall unpleasantness. When a man unluckily happens to be raped, they are left with no choice but to take it in the ass...and quietly. Probably not the best phrasing considering the context.

With that said…

It started out so innocent but I was currently in hell…or at least that’s what I called her.

“Why are you crying?” she asked as she had her way with my body.

“Because it’s so beautiful.” I could only hope she bought the subterfuge.

“Are you gay or just a bitch?”

“Ummm…neither.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Don’t you think if I was gay I’d be penetrating a different orifice? Also no bitch I know possesses a flesh light saber like yours truly.”

If you could see the image in my mind’s eye, you would sense me cowered in a corner, naked and afraid, in a place so dark it made you forget what light is. The walls neighboring me had a grimy and stomach-churning texture as though someone had ingested large amounts of corn then spackled the walls with the contents of an enema. Compared to my current setting, I could only long for a place like the image you’re now visualizing.

Internally, I was an entropic mess. Externally, I was a stoic, confident man capable of withstanding anything, even this unwanted sexual play. Let the record properly indicate though, I was terrified. Was she using me for my seed? Was she some sexual deviant that got off on raping? (You bet there was a pun intended, kiddos!) These questions and many other equally frightening ones swirled inside my head. How I was able to transform the internal fear to an outward display of confidence is a compliment to my birth sign, Gemini. The twins sometimes come in handy. Like the time you and I were talking and I acted like I was interested in what you had to say.

Anyway, I remember hearing or reading somewhere that fear is a weapon. Able to be used interchangeably by opposing parties involved in an interaction. Its desired use simply depends on who is able to impose their fear the best. I kept telling myself I was reasonably smart and could conjure up a plan to use it to my advantage but nothing was proffering itself. My ability to use fear as a weapon was equitable to a gang of retards humping a door knob. Useless and disturbing.

Let’s rewind the reel to try to discover how I got into this mess.

It all started with a conversation I had with a woman I met in the mall. We were waiting in possibly the slowest line to ever exist, the sloth of lines if you will. We initially exchanged comments about the dawdling pace of the line that made the other laugh. A good, natural laugh. She was pretty with nice features. The conversation evolved into what each other was doing that night. I told her I was running errands and was probably going to chill after that. She told me about a BBQ at one of her friend’s house that started at 7:00 and asked if I wanted to ride over there with her.

“I should be done with my errands by then so yeah, let’s do it.”

“You mean have sex right?”

“Of inter-course…I mean of course.”

Sometimes I can’t help but be silky smooth. It’s what I do. The night progressed and by the time we had gotten to the BBQ I knew I was going to have to play crotch defense all night. This chick emanated desperation like a turd does stink. If such a comparison can be made, she was as desperate as Elton John is gay. Knocking the bottom out of this chick is far removed from something I’d endeavor to pursue. Not because she wasn’t attractive but because the desperation was too nauseating. I’m still clueless as to how my current predicament evolved. Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone to the BBQ with her. Perhaps I shouldn’t have joked with her about sexual things but what else is there to joke around about? Perhaps my words leave women with no option but to whore themselves in ways they’ve never considered. Whatever the case may be, it’s hard for me to not take advantage of verbal opportunities that present themselves. Take this little gem for example. This is probably one of the reasons I am currently getting raped. Don’t you love the inner monologue that’s happening while this traumatic experience is occurring? It’s all I can do to not think of what’s really transpiring. Oh yes, the rape inducing gem I mentioned.

“Are you ready to go?” she asked.

“Almost I just need to take a shower. May I use your body as a towel?”

“Indeed.”

“It’s going to get you all wet, is that okay?”

“Too late.”

Why didn’t you just use your boner as a weapon to aid in your escape you ask? Great question. I was too terrified? I don’t know. I have no good answer for that. In hindsight, a well placed bludgeon from my flesh night stick could’ve have gotten me out of the situation. I only feel more stupid now for not thinking of something like that before.

Don’t fool yourself, I tried to escape but she repeatedly implemented sneaky, clandestine attacks that concerned me. I would think I humped her to sleep and was in the clear only to turn around and be balls deep in her. My only responses were useless, internal questions like “What in the wide, wide world of f*@# is going on here? And how the monkey did she do that?” Desperation made this woman incredibly shrewd. Giving her the business only heightened her desperation. I am unable to explain how that was possible but I am currently experiencing it.

Why didn’t you just capitulate and play dead or something? Capitulation was not an allowable option. I had to play along to propitiate and prevent this chick from placing me in a Misery situation. Her compulsion left me no choice. Sex or torture. You would understand if you were able to see her eyes. A plan began to piece itself together in my head causing me to half smile and have that far off look. If only I could pull it together! It would take meticulous timing and perfect execution. It had to work. I was running out of boner skin. Not even Wolverine could regenerate skin as quickly as this chick was wearing it off. How was I withstanding her insatiable need for boner skin you ask? Callous is not the right word here but you get the idea. Usage has rendered my unit indestructible…or so I thought until I met this woman who’s clearly well versed in all forms of sluttery. It was as though she knew someone in desperate need of a penis skin skin graft and was using her vag to extract the skin. That was probably over the line, even for me. Deal with it.

To be continued….