it was maybe one a.m., and i was walking home from a party, stone-cold sober but tired, tired. a nice man in a lexus approached, asking for directions and offering me a ride the mile or so home. before i got in the car, i made him promise this was just a ride, nothing else. after i got in the car, he asked if i wanted to go back with him to the party he'd been at.
i'd been going to parties where i only knew one or two people those days, trying to make new friends and all that shit. and i had this self-image of sine nomine: intrepid adventurer, so i said sure, a party sounded fun. but then he didn't follow my directions; he said he had to go by his place and check on his kids since his wife was in africa on sabbatical.
wife, kids, sabbatical -- hey, no danger. besides, we were on a fucking freeway doing 55, so i had no choice. when we got to his place, he looked in on the kids, then started arranging cushions and pillows into a king-sized sleeping mat on the floor.
"why don't you go take a shower? you walked several miles; you must be sweaty and dusty," he said.
"i thought you were going to take me home."
"i will, i will, in the morning. see, you can shower off the dust and borrow some of my pajamas and i'll drive you home in the morning."
i freaked. i just freaked, lost it, whatever. i grabbed my shoes and ran barefoot out of his place. out to the highway service road. a cop there suggested i call a cab home. right. like i had $20 for cab fare.
i decided to walk to a nearby cafe that was near a bus stop and drink coffee til the buses started running again. i stumbled along the service road, carrying my shoes, crying. a man in a car stopped and asked what was wrong, and i poured out the whole story, sobbing convulsively.
this guy offered to let me use his phone to call for help and said if i couldn't reach anyone he'd drive me home. i hesitated. he promised no harm would come to me. he swore not to touch me, so i got in the car, still sniffling.
we went to his place. he put on a tape of _the wall_ and showed me a scrapbook of pictures of his girlfriend. i relaxed. i couldn't get anyone on the phone, and just then he came back in the room and offered me a joint.
what the hell--i was panicky and freaked and crisised out and thought it might calm me down. and i TRUSTED stoners. i knew that no stoner would ever ever hurt me. so we got stoned. relaxed, buzzed, happy.
then he took my jeans off and raped me.
i remember tears streaming down the sides of my face into my ears, the strange way they almost-tickle. i begged him to stop. he shoved his cock down my throat. i gagged, so he shoved it back in my vagina. he tried to make me ride him, but i stood up, numb, crying, and said "i can't do this. i can't do this. please stop. i can't." he pushed me down onto the couch/bed thing and finished fucking me until he came. then he went into the other room and washed his dick, put on his clothes, whatever. i remained in the fetal position on the couch, beyond tears, beyond words, beyond movement.
he came back, told me to put my pants back on, to get in the car, it was time to go. robotic, i did all he said. in the car, he said, "just a sec; i for got something." i *knew* he was going to get a gun and shoot me but i couldn't move, could barely breathe. every breath all i could smell was the scent of my sex and his come; it choked me.
on the drive home, he asked for my phone number, talked about how great the sex had been, and asked me to go down on him while he was driving. i cried. i'd had lovers before, but it felt as if something had been taken from me. i lied about where i lived, walked home a block in a gray texas dawn, and slept until twilight.
--
sine | deb
still not sure it was rape.