So... so far you have read of the only three men I had known in my life on at an intimate level. Looks a little bleak huh? Well, I thought the same thing. Until I met Robert.
He was perfect. Patient, kind, respectful. He was everything. He had the same spirit that I have and we immediately clicked. It was so easy to talk to him and he was such a good listener. It was the first time I'd ever fallen in love with anyone and he taught me that true love really could be beautiful. It was all so perfect that I almost wasn't surprised when he came to me one day and said that he wasn't sure he wanted to keep dating me - that he wasn't sure we were a good fit together. I gave him two days to think it over and then couldn't take the pain anymore and made up his mind for him. Breaking it off was probably the hardest thing I've ever done. And it is the one thing that I regret.
I spent several weeks trying to get over him and I didn't feel like I was getting anywhere. So I called up a friend from back home. He was about ten years my senior, married, with a beautiful little girl, so I knew that I had nothing to worry about. He had helped me through the passing of my grandfather and I hoped he would be able to help me through this as well.
We met at an overlook above my little home town and just talked... After a while, he offered for us to move to the back of his suburban where he laid out a sleeping bag. We'd done this many times before - it was a lot more comfortable than the seats. After he was done laying down the seats I moved back there to sit on the sleeping bag. Next thing I knew, his mouth was on mine, his hands desperately pulling at my shirt, his body pressing me into the floor.
What was happening?! NO! This is not what I wanted!! NO, NO, NO! Frantic, I pushed at him to try and get up, but I didn't have any room to either side of me to get any type of leverage. And to my horror, He was starting to undo my jean's buckle. "No!" I yelled at him and pushed at his chest. He simply snarled and claimed my mouth with his as he ripped my jeans the rest of the way off. In his anger he dug into my leg with his fingers...
Something snapped in my mind then. Suddenly I was back with my first boyfriend. Suddenly I knew that fighting would be useless - more than that, that it would just make things worse. And so I stopped fighting. I stopped trying to get away, and I started trying to make him happy. I gave him what he wanted and while he was recovering I crawled around the back of the Suburban and shakily found my discarded clothes and got them on. Then I silently got into the front seat and waited for him to get up there and drive me back to my car.
I was empty... Three men had raped me in the span of two years... Three men. That had to be some kind of record right? Did I have a "fuck me" sign on my back that I'd forgotten to take off??
I drove home, my heart as heavy as I had ever felt it...
This happened in October, 2014.
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