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Once Joe and I were alone, he took a seat by me on the bed. His hand rested on my knee. I fought the urge to pull back. After all, I had asked for this. I had to follow through with it. With his hand still on my knee, he leaned into me, slowly bringing us down, so that we were lying on the bed. The hand on my knee moved to my thigh, my belly, my breast. With his thick, rough hands, he grazed my neck.
I released a soft moan of fear and disgust that he took as a sign of arousal, which worked to my advantage. I was on a mission— keep Kris and Newbie safe. His hands cupped the sides of my face. He did what I hadn’t counted on him doing. He leaned in and, without hesitation, kissed me. His tongue was as rough and heavy as his hands. It chafed as it lashed against the inside of my mouth. The weight and movement of it was like an eel floundering out of water.
I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing my thoughts to memories of my ex, Eric. I imagined it was his mouth on mine, his hands intimately touching my body, the body that had been his for two years. I thought about him. I kissed him. I was going to make love to Eric. Eric would never do anything to hurt me or those I cared about. Eric loved me, and I loved Eric. This is Eric. As long as I kept my eyes shut...this was Eric.
The kiss stopped, and the bed shifted. Sheer will pried my eyes open. I was afraid to know what was coming next, but preparedness was crucial for survival. In doing so, I lost Eric. I was left with him.
He stood at my feet, eyes glazed with need. With one hand, he grabbed both of my ankles and, in a swift motion, flipped me onto my stomach. Panic clawed at my insides. I blinked back tears stinging the corners of my eyes. I could do this. I had to do this. It was the only way to keep everyone safe.
A string of pleases and begs for mercy ran on a loop in my mind. There was no undoing what I’d done. I’d asked for this, and I was getting what I’d wanted. If only I wanted it.
He ordered me to unbutton my jeans, then he ripped them off, throwing them against the closet doors. The hangers inside rattled from the jolt. He dragged me closer to him, closer to the edge of the bed. He spread my legs fast and hard, stretching my inner thigh muscles taut. I let out a sound, somewhere between a yelp and sob—I feared he’d ripped me in two. I heard the zipper to his pants slide undone, then the heavy fabric pooled with a thud onto the floor.
My body will recover. I will be okay, I said to myself, foreseeing my imminent future.
A pain so tangible I wanted to reach out and slice its throat shrouded my vision in darkness. All that existed was the brutality of his attack. There was no preparation. He didn’t start slow or use any lubricant as he entered a sexually forbidden zone I’d never wished to explore.
Please don’t let me die this way.
My voice was unrecognizable to my ears. I might have screamed, cried, begged. Whatever I did wasn’t pleasant to me, but the noises excited him. The pain got worse with every unrelenting thrust. Relaxing my muscles was impossible. If it didn’t end soon, I was going to lose consciousness.
What if he is waiting for me? Do I fake it? What if that’s not what he wants?
I looked over my right shoulder. Taking a risk that he wanted this, I said in a barely audible whisper, “I am close. Are you?”
Tears burned in the wells of my eyes. I turned away in case they fell—unwilling to bear further punishment from him—but not before seeing his shirtless torso, the sweat beading off his forehead and what I had expected but hoped wasn’t true. Blood covered my behind, lower back, and his pelvic area. If we didn’t stop, I’d go into shock.
“I was waiting for you, Erin,” he grunted, his thrusts coming harder and faster. “You are allowed to release, but DO NOT take the Lord’s name in vain! What is my name, Erin? Say my name!”
I couldn’t remember his name. Coherent thoughts were coming few and far between.
Another impaling thrust. My mind knew it had to remember, or we might never stop.
“Joe!” His name jumped free of my lips. “Joe!” I screamed his name over and over while he poured himself into me. As he did, my soul left my body, falling into the hell he created.
He pulled out, but instead of dismissing me, as I had expected, to take a shower and clean myself off, he turned me over, put me on his lap, picked me up, and carried me into the bathroom. As if knowing I wasn’t stable enough to stand, he placed a towel on the lid of the toilet seat and sat me down gently. I winced from the pain.
With his back to me as he turned on the shower water, I waited, not daring to utter a syllable. Once satisfied with the temperature of the water, he turned toward me and stretched out his hands for me to take. I was at eye level with the apex of his legs. The sight before me was repulsive. Blood—my blood—covered him.
I survived. That’s all that matters.
I placed my comparatively small hands into his, which dwarfed mine. We stayed in that position for a brief moment. He helped me to my feet, then released my hands to unbutton my blouse and remove my bra—the last of my clothing. I noticed that his socks were still on, so I knelt in front of him to pull them off. When he wouldn’t budge, I glanced up to find him looking down at me, his eyes on fire.
When will this end?
There was no turning back. I’d made the mistake of kneeling before him, and now I’d pay the price. I situated the light blue bathroom rug in front of the toilet under my knees. Using a wad of tissues from on top of the vanity, I cleaned him off as best I could, and with steady breaths and visions of Eric, I wrapped my hand around his length and slid him into my mouth. The taste of him, mixed with the blood drawn from my body, lingered on my tongue. I fought the urge to stop, knowing my safety was not the only thing at stake—there were two innocent strangers I had to protect, as best I could.
I stroked my hand up and down his straining erection in time with my tongue licking him from base to tip in rapid circular motions. The hard pulse of his arousal beat into the muscles of my hands. Closing my eyes, I envisioned Eric standing before me, only Eric.
I tried going fast, hoping to get it over with as quickly as possible, but he slowed my head with his big hands placed on either side of my face. I continued sucking, kissing, and stroking until I could barely feel my tongue or face from the never-ending task.
No man that I’d been with before required as much attention. I hated that it bothered me that he hadn’t yet finished.
Unless I’d suddenly become inadequate, Joe had more restraint than any ex-boyfriend I had ever slept with. I shouldn’t have been surprised; he controlled everything around him, why not his body, too?
Just as I was losing feeling in my legs from my uncomfortable position, a slight quiver emanated from his body. A guttural moan followed.
Oh, thank Christ.
The taste of him began to trickle down my throat. I tried to pull away. I couldn’t do this with him, not without throwing up. But then what would happen to me, the others? He held my head firmly in place, only allowing enough movement for me to finish him off.
As soon as he released himself in my mouth and took a step back, I brought the rug I’d been sitting on to my face and spit out the poison before it became a part of me forever.
I was afraid to face him.
What if that wasn’t ladylike? What if not doing it wasn’t ladylike? What if pleasing him in that way at all wasn’t ladylike? What if using a rug to purge his seed wasn’t appreciated?
My eyes slowly rose, stalling on his lips, which had twisted into a smile as reassuring and friendly as storm clouds before a blizzard. My hand shook beyond my control as I placed it in his, opened and waiting for me to take. When his large hand gripped mine, my knuckles cracked. He helped me to my feet, drawing me close to his chest. He smelled like sex, sweat, and a rotting corpse, or perhaps that was all in my imagination.
We stood, my arms hanging lifeless at my sides, his wrapped around me in a loose hug, our chests pressed together until he’d had enough and released me. I followed behind him into the shower. There was nowhere for me to stand but under the spraying water, which ran into my eyes, distorting the image of him. The wet hairs of his arm brushed against me when he closed the shower door, sealing my coffin shut.
It was such an intimate act, something Eric and I had done countless times in the morning before work, after work, on the weekends... Never again would I be capable of showering with another living soul. Even alone it might prove overwhelming—another thing he took from me.
Why was I fighting? What would be left of me if I survived? Because of him, I’d never trust again, never be comfortable around a man again. I’d be petrified to be alone ever again.
He lathered up a washcloth with a bar of Ivory soap. The clean scent I used to love now smelled like dirt from a fresh grave. The cloth separating my skin from his calloused hand slithered like a serpent down each of my arms, my belly, across my breasts, down one leg and then up the other, stopping between my legs. He coaxed them apart with his hand, keeping me open with his knee. He rubbed the washcloth over and around this sensitive area of myself and damn my body for betraying me. I let out a soft moan, not of pain or fear, and not to please him, but because my body found relief, found pleasure. A well of nerves, all dreadful, begged to be drained.
I fought against his nearness, but my efforts were useless. My fatigued muscles couldn’t muster enough strength to push him away.
I knew it was wrong. I knew my feelings weren’t real. But they were real enough to confirm that a disconnect between the body and the mind was entirely possible.
I recalled a story I covered where male politicians stated that if a woman climaxed during a rape, it meant the sexual encounter wasn’t rape. That ignorance now infested my thoughts like termites in the walls of a dilapidated barn. All the scientific reasons I learned, which explained why a body could react positively to negative stimuli, evaded me. There was nothing but the present, in which my world had been turned upside down, leaving me with nothing but irrational feelings.
I became lightheaded, unsteady as he continued to toy with my delicate center. His hand never touched my flesh, only the washcloth massaged my skin, drawing me closer to the height of the peak I’d soon fall over.
My hands fumbled, searching for something to hold onto behind closed eyes. The building desire, the water pouring down above me, and the truth that I was soon going to orgasm at the hand of a man who’d raped me twice, kept my eyes closed to avoid the disgust of reality.
“Hold my arms.”
I hated the idea. Hated him for suggesting it. Hated even more that without his support, I’d fall.
I did as he said.
Every muscle in my body tensed as a wave of pleasure washed over me, dragging me under a thick, toxic current. My head pulsed as if shot multiple times.
His touch, his presence, had forever corrupted me and branded my soul with his devilish mark. There’d be no husband, no kids, no dinner parties. There’d be nothing but hurt and despair.
If my trust in decency and the goodness in humanity weren’t slaughtered the moment he crossed my front door’s threshold, it was with the orgasm he’d dragged from me with little effort. It was proof that trust was an illusion—a man with whom I hated with every last fiber of my being had brought me moments of peace of calmness and pleasure. What was the point in kindness from others if cruelty could bring moments of similar happiness?