Ammo #2 - TW Sex. Assualt

Ammo #2 - TW sex. assualt

Hi - graphic and horrible below, sexual in nature. TW - sexual abuse, assault/rape.

For context:  I don’t like anal penetration.  I’ve been able to get to the point where it doesn’t hurt, but it’s never felt good.  So between that, the prep, stress, ridiculous amount of lube required, and clean up, I just don’t want to do it.  I have no moral objection - If it’s your thing, great - but it’s definitely not mine.

At 19, I had tried anal sex, but it still hurt. So I really didn't like it then. 

My ex had broken up with me.  At that time I was devastated, as I didn’t know it was temporary, which was compounded when he told me he was actively dating.

So, my go to coping method was self destruction. And I had a knack for seeking company with the absolute worst humans with air in their lungs.

That’s how I met Rapist.  And he and I had a whirlwind fuckfest that did absolutely nothing to heal me, or make me feel better, but it did allow me to detach from my reality further and just stop feeling altogether.

Make no mistake, I knew within 5 minutes that Rapist was human garbage - he’d been to jail for violence, pushed drugs on people he knew couldn’t help themselves, regularly snorted cocaine to be aggressive, was violent with women and was harassing his ex.  He treated his mother, who I suspect survived Rapist’s dad’s abuse, terribly, and tried to control his sister.  He seemed proud of all of this.

He was also super aggressive with a cat and dog he owned because he wanted to make them “mean.” That doggie was so sweet - Hooch was his name. He used to hide behind me when Rapist was picking on him. I hope he got away.

Rapist invited me to a party at his house. There were 20+ people there, but I didn’t know anyone but his sister, who I’d met a few days prior.  She turned out to not be an ally anyway - story another time.  He and I were exchanging sexy talk most of the evening and I was content with it until he said “I’m going to take your ass tonight.”  My demeanor dropped immediately and I said “ Not you’re not.”   He responded with “Yes, I am” and walked away.

Why I did not leave at this very instant I’ll never be able to explain.  I don’t really know. It was cold out, and dark, and the walk home was about an hour. And I guess I’d hoped he was kidding?

So, when the time came to shove me into his bedroom, I was about -105% turned on because I thought he was going to try to fuck me anally. He was aggressive undressing me and pushed me onto the bed.  There was half a second of relief when I realized he was aiming for my vagina but that ended very quickly.  There was no warm up, and my fluids were definitely not flowing naturally. Furthermore my muscles were so clamped down that I’m surprised he succeeded (He remarked later that he loved how tight I was - now a trigger).

When he pushed violently in, I yelped. Not a sexy yelp.  Like an animal caught in a bear trap kind of yelp.  He proceeded roughly as if nothing had happened.  

I, somewhat mercifully, don’t remember a lot.  I remember saying “No, stop, you’re hurting me” at lease twice, likely three times.  Rapist didn’t even acknowledge that I had spoken.  He choked me a little and slapped me.  After I had realized that this was going to happen anyways, I remember trying to think of ways to make it end quicker.  I tried to please Rapist.  Mostly though, I just laid there, stunned.

After he finished and rolled off, I cried.  Rapist didn’t understand and I did not attempt to explain.  I layed there until it was morning enough to leave.  I never contacted him again.

I have always been active and I am a formidable woman. I hate myself for not fighting back. It prevented me from acknowledging it as rape. It took me 8 years to get the courage to go and talk to someone about it.

He found out about this experience two years ago when he was snooping through my things.  He found a letter I had written “to Rapist” that was part of my therapy with my social worker at the time.

When he found it at the beginning, he told me that I should do the world a favour and kill myself.

As time went on he used this experience to torture me in other ways.

Flashbacks

But not the kind you expect.

Where one minute I'm laughing at some stupid thing on my phone and then I see his face. He's looking at me the way he does when he's made me laugh so hard I can't breathe. In that second i see all the love; it's real and I am vindicated. I forgive him for calling me a cunt yesterday. This feels like happiness, I think.

All I want is to go back there. To that moment. Instead I'm sitting here slumped over my steering wheel.

I realize that this could be textbook gaslighting, but he used to tell me that I was awful to him.  He told me I was neglectful and emotionally abusive. And when he first kicked me out he threatened me with a restraining order, a peace bond and legal action. 

I don’t remember doing anything sufficiently to warrant these allegations and threats. But maybe some of what he’s saying is true.  Maybe I’ve just  blocked it out or not recognized that my actions were abusive.

These are the things that keep me up at night and curled into a ball during the day.

I knew it was abuse when I would silently panic at the sound of his car pulling in the driveway.

_______________

send me the thing or things that made you realize it was abuse

Jesus has a place for me, a life of sin and infamy

When I met him, I was certain I had found my soulmate.

I was a miserable teenager; I was always unhappy and never understood why.  I think I understand better now, but that’s a post for another day or blog.

He presented himself as exactly what I needed. He had a shaved head, with piercings all over his face, a leather motorcycle jacket and chain on his wallet. When he found me I was in ripped fishnets and my catholic school skirt at a bar underage.  We were wasted, and convinced it was fate.

He introduced me to ‘real’ punk: Dead Kennedy’s, Choking Victim/Leftover Crack, F-Minus, Pistolgrip, etc.  He told me he found solace in punk when his home life turned sour in his early teens. This music aligned with everything I was feeling (angst, restlessness, anger) and hated everything I hated: in short, boo discrimination and establishment, yay liberty from the reign of old white men. 

I felt I had hit the jackpot.  I had met a handsome bad boy who was just my type at the time.  He was a rebel who’s views mirrored mine (so I thought), who stood for something.  And he was absolutely mad about me. He spent his last $10 on me. He would send me songs that he knew would tug at my heart  - “Who wouldn’t be the one you love” from the Pumpkins - and draw us bubble baths.  He scraped together what little money he had and bought me a ring - the one I just recently took off - and told me that one day he’d marry me. He wanted us to live for one another.  He called me his saving grace, “the one”, his beauty, his reason. 

I remember distinctly thinking that I would take a bullet for him.  I was inconsolably in love.

The first incident occurred within the first two months of us being together officially.  However, I chalked it up to a stressful home life, and with the stuff above, found it easy to ignore him screaming at me.

He was testing my boundaries.

Little by little it all ebbed away. All of it.  The kindness, the rebellious spirit, the spontaneity, the love, even the values I thought he and I shared.  

This all seems… so long ago, but I put on a song today that I haven’t heard in years.  It took me back.  Back to when I didn’t see him as a monster.

I am not the lies my brain may tell me.

Taking time to affirm and appreciate yourself everyday is so important.