Rape

Because rape happens so often, it wouldn’t be such a taboo if it was a man who did it. It wouldn't be hard to explain to a man I was trying to be intimate with.   They would forever understand my situation and would sympathize with me.  To be able to explain (as opposed to hiding) why when I am in bed and flinch because of a certain touch, they would be able to understand from my past why that touch makes me flinch.   They would understand why an orgasm is hard to reach and would be gentle with my needs.  They would understand that it still feels good to me, but that something deep down inside just won’t let it happen.

If I had been raped by a man, everything that is wrong in my life would fit in its right place.  No make-up would be acceptable.  No contacts would be warranted.  Baggy clothes would go un-noticed.  If I had been raped by a man, the copious amounts of medication I have put down my throat might actually help me.  My drinking problem and promiscuity would be explained, and I would have more outlets than I ever thought possible.  The cuts on my legs would be accepted as a coping mechanism and people would want to help me instead of judge me.

In my ideal world, being raped by a man would have changed the core being of who I am to this very day; however, I do not live in my ideal world.  I live in a world surrounded by lies and disappointment.  A world full of random sex with strangers, alcoholism, and a serious nicotine addiction…or perhaps the alcoholism is more serious.  To counteract those horrible acts, I have a severe panic disorder that has created a true homebody.  At 26, I am nobody, but surprisingly, I am going places so fast that my head spins.

I have fought my past for so many years, but I am over my current state of thinking.  It is time to reveal my truth to the world.

Reader…think back to your earliest memory…Do you have it?  Are you three and sitting in a kiddie pool surrounded by loved ones who are enjoying their time with you?  Are you four and having your birthday at Chuck E Cheese with all your friends eating pizza and drinking caffeinated soda?  Are you five and starting your first day of kindergarten, worried that no one will like you?  Where are you if not in a sandbox or swinging on a swing?  My guess is that your earliest memory is something fun, as it should be, because at that age you had so much to learn.

I was five when I created my first memory.  Anything prior to that I unintentionally blocked out.  Every day after early morning kindergarten I went to Mindy Peore’s house.  She had an at home daycare ranging with kinds from birth to 6^th grade.  Walking in her house you could smell old cooked food that seeped a stench of B.O. Mindy had long, stringy brown hair and resembled a look of way too much Sun-In in  during the summer months.  It was almost a golden brown…but an ugly golden brown.

I liked Mindy’s house at first.  She gave us all treats after school and she let me play with her daughter’s barbie dolls. None of the other kids ever got to play with the Barbies.  Mindy made us sit at a plastic playschool picnic bench and color inside the lines.  If we strayed from inside the lines, Mindy made us start a new page. She would tell us to re-do it and then walk away.  Coloring had to be perfect at Mindy’s house.

The story is that Mindy walking away left me an opening to act out an experience I had learned about and unwillingly experienced.  Even if unwilling, I learned to love the feeling it created.

Underneath the Playskool slide was a toddler; probably about two, still in diapers.  I thought, “This could work.”  I made my way over to the toddler, who was underneath the slide and out of vision from all other occupants of the room.  I mounted the from behind.  I dry humped this poor child until I had an orgasm.  What sways be sideways is that when I was done I went back to coloring as if nothing had happened. 

True story…that is my first memory.  I dry-raped a child.  I don’t even remember their name but can only hope to this day that I didn’t create their first memory. How dare I beget an unwanted act at the infantile memory of an innocent?

Are you asking yourself how I could do such a thing?  Where I would have even learned it?  It is a simple story.  My sister had sex with me before I could even speak full sentences.  Is it her fault that this happened?  No.  It is the teenager that thought it would be funny to have her sister and my sister have sex with each other.  From what I have gathered, the older girls watched.

Did they think it was funny?  What would ever possess someone to do such a thing?

Reader, I don’t blame my sister for the start of this scenario as she was only seven; however, I do blame her for letting it go on so long.

Visit me soon if you can even fathom reading more.

-M