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#Rape
By FireParamedic82
Graphic letter from a young model to her ex-boyfriend explaining that she was raped by two homeless men during her first date after dumping him.
My life without you—chapter one. I don’t know if I should be telling you this, for my own best interest but I think I have to tell some one or I will just stop breathing. I don’t know if I am saying that I still want to be with you. I don’t know anything. I am supposed to be at a TMF shoot right now. Not an underwear one where they fixate on my tits or ass. That I could have done. This one was just my lips and eyes. I was going to be modeling a watch. Close ups. My eyes have red rims and are swollen.
I went on a date finally. My first since you. It was the night before last. He was a guy I met in line at Starbucks. He was 27, handsome greenish eyes, big gym muscles, but not grotesque big, about your height, mocha skin. Yes, his mom was black, dad white. His name was Washington. We had both already ordered and were waiting on the right side. I noticed him look at me. I noticed his eyes.
“You look lonely. Go out with me tonight. Is that a yes?” He said it so calm and confident. No pauses. He hadn’t moved from his spot leaning on the wall five feet away from me. Six other random people heard him and looked at us.
“I already have a place to go. You want to know where?” He asked, acting nonchalant.
“Where?” I said not sure how to react, off guard.
“A nice restaurant that has a band. They take requests. Great food. Nice place. No expectations. No reason to say no. So say yes. Let’s be less lonely together for a couple yours then go back to our lives. I still need to hear that yes for confirmation.”
“Yes.” I said. I was lonely without you. Seemed harmless enough. Jess has been telling me to try dating. I wish I could go back to that moment and change it.
Then he introduced himself. We exchanged numbers. He said he would pick me up at 8:30. I gave him the building address but not my apartment.
I was both excited and worried. I missed you and even though I ended it I had a little of the feeling of betraying you. Also excited to see what was out there after eight years. I knew I did not want to rush anything.
It didn’t help with my anxiety that he was nineteen minutes late. He picked me up in a black Escalade. But he wasn’t driving. It was an Uber. Yep. He said his Benz was getting the transmission fixed. Then he made me laugh a couple times and all was forgiven. Until…
He gave me a spiel about how a date is so much better if there is no sexual tension, or expectations. Worrying about if anything is expected, will there be pressure that I have worry about, will I still be fresh later if I decided I want to. He said we should just get rid of all that and just have fun.
I agreed. But then he said that he had already talked to the driver, who is willing to pull over so we can just get sex out of the way before we even get there, so we can just relax.
I told him no, but it took some time. He is the kind of guy who lays on the charisma and makes you think you should just go with his will. But I finally got him to understand I was not comfortable with that.
The place we went to was near the stadium, where the Jay-Z concert was that night. I didn’t know Jay-Z was still a thing. He was big ten years ago when I was 15. Now I thought he was just mentioned in celebrity news. But no. Traffic was bad, black people walking everywhere.
So we got to the restaurant. A jazz place. It was nice. Whatever. I had three Martinis. I was not going to mention I had any jobs beside nurse at the clinic, but he caught me off guard. He asked me if I make more at the women’s clinic or modeling. I did not want to flat out lie. He also found out about my dad having money the same sneaky way.
So we lingered there a while and finally left. So it is already ten thirty. My shoot was not until afternoon. We decided to walk a little. The concert is still going. Not too many people out and about.
Well I decided he was half full of shit, but he had some good to him. He was masculine,= and he made me laugh a lot. Obviously there was pressure for sex that I honestly thought I would be giving in to. But I had kept up an act that I was not interested in ever having sex on the first date. I don’t think either of us were paying attention to exactly where we were walking. We passed a gas station then it was almost like the area behind it was pitch black, after we just had neon lights and headlights in our face.
That’s when the nightmare began. Out of this nowhere two homeless guys (it was immediately obvious by the grime, the ratty clothes, and the smell), are on top of us. I mean there is one right in each of our faces. The shorter one, who was really short, had a sawed off shotgun and put it right in Washington’s face. He was dark black like straight from Africa. The taller one who was a light skinned black guy grabbed my hair on one side and put a big knife up to my face with the other.
I felt weak and all my body tingled with terror. I looked to Washington, I think I was assuming the big muscles man would come to the rescue. He had talked about knocking some guy out while we ate. The little guy had the shotgun in his face. Literally touching it.
“You wanna die, motherfuckuh?” The little guy was saying with some kind of actual African accent. Washington was shaking. His mouth was hanging open. He just shook his head rapidly to answer. Like the bobble head doll of a scared child.
“Good then give us all your cash.”
“You too, bitch.” My guy said with a normal Ebonics voice. I nodded and pulled my purse off my shoulder.
Then the filthy men started laughing. “Now we all smell like piss.” I think is what the little African said. I looked over at what they were looking at (still a knife in my face), and Washington’s knees were shaking and his red jeans were a lot redder down the legs. He had peed.
“Ghu—ghu-ghu.” My date started to stutter. “I just have a debit card. No cash. Let me keep my wallet. Tell ‘em, Layla.” He nodded while he looked at me with pleading eyes.” He had flashed a hundred dollar bill when he took out his wallet, probably on purpose. But I went along with it. I nodded carefully, avoiding the big blade.
“That’s true.” I said. I thought we were at least making momentum by talking to them.
“Come on, brothers. You don’t want to take my life. Please.” He begged.
“What about the woman.” The African said. “You want to die for her?”
“No. No man.” Washington did not look back at me.
“We trade her for your life.” The African, who seemed like the leader said.
I let out a cry of some kind, to express some kind of emotion, or remind him that I existed. Before I was done Washington was running off in the direction we came. That’s the last I saw or heard from him.
But I wasn’t done there. Not even close. They took me back farther into the dark. I could see better now. They had a ditch like depression behind some bushes that was their outdoor home. There was a loaded shopping cart down there. The big one kept a hold of my hair.
“Don’t make another sound or I’ll cut your throat like butter.” He said.
Before I knew it I was down on my knees. Knife man was moving his layers and jacket out of the way to take down his pants in front of my face. He held the top of my hair and had the knife down near the side of my head.
“You betta suck good if you wanna live.” He said.
The smell that came from his crotch was toxic. I know from you that some of the smell was fungal. Your medical residency knowledge did not help me though. It made it worse. I gagged before I even opened my lips.
Now I know what you will think. I remember our conversation about how could a girl really be forced to give a blowjob. She had to try so hard to make the right pressure and moisture with her mouth, that it was really a skilled task, so if she was being ‘raped’ she could not actually be forced to suck a cock. And she had her teeth, dangerous weapons right there on his most sensitive part. I don’t know if the conclusion is that she is a slut, or weak, or really wanted it, but that is all bullshit. On my knees, with a man standing above me, it was such a vulnerable position. Even if he did not have a big knife and dark chocolate buddy with a fucking shotgun nearby, it is a very vulnerable place to be. He could hurt you in so many ways. Smash your head eyes, hit it, kick you, cave your face it with his knee. And you are in no position to escape.
But there was not much thought. Just fear. I held my breath and put the lips that people pay me to take pictures of around him. He was big, but not huge. I did what I do. When I saw that he was into it, I even put my hands up. One on the scrotum, and one around the shaft. Within two minutes the disgusting excuse for a man was ejaculating against my tonsils. I just swallowed it all, scared of getting any of it on my face. As sick is that is.
My head was pounding. I was gasping for air when the African, who was now two feet away and kneeling beside me, asked, “How that be, Gus?”
I thought he was talking to me he was so close.
“Oh yeah, cuz. The bitch got talent.” He was holding my chin and pointing my head up to him. Smiling and savoring the sight of me. “You gots to get yourself one of those. She fine.”
“Got big titties too.” Afro said. “You see this body!” He was groping me. They kept talking like I was not a person.
It was hell, I thought. So now it was Afro’s turn. I started working on him. The smell not much better. I just wanted to be done with it. But he stopped me.
“I want the pooos.” He said. I knew immediately what he meant and tried to go back to using my mouth and hands with renewed enthusiasm to finish him immediately.
Bang! I saw stars a felt a stinging flash on the side of my head. I got a metallic taste. He had slapped the side of my head so hard I was on my hands and knees on the ground trying to figure out which was up.
I resisted as they both stripped off my clothing. My little blue leather jacket. My Diesel jeans. My white Kashmir V-neck sweater. My blue VS bra and panties. They even took off my shoes. All was tugged and stretched and tossed on the dirty ground. And they held me as he entered me missionary style. The truth is I had given up before he even got between my legs. All the fighting was getting me was hurt. They were easily overpowering me.
I was crying. His filthy dick was inside me, covered in who knows what diseases. It went on for a long time. He complimented my appearance and body parts to Gus in crude ways. He tried talking to me a few times but I would not answer. Even thought I was not doing anything purposeful, it felt like it took all my strength and energy just to survive it.
It went on for a long time. He was drunk. They even made jokes and passed a bottle of clear, generic looking liquor. They made me drink some of it. It was like everclear. So awful, so painful. He had threatened to ‘kiss it down’ my mouth if I did not take the drink. When he finally seemed to be doing more than showboat fucking me I pulled him close and reached down to massage his balls while I pelvis fucked him. Or as you say, sucked his cock with my pussy. I wanted it to end. It worked.
I was rewarded with evil, African, transient sperm trying to find my eggs. After he lay on me long enough for his dick to go limp and rolled off, I carefully tried to crawl around and collect my clothes.
“Not so fast there, pretty bitch.” I forget who said it. But they were talking to each other about keeping me for the night for warmth. I begged them to let me go. They laughed. I was their ‘wife’ now. ‘Too good to let run away.’
The weapons were displayed again. Negotiations let me put on my sweater and jacket, but no pants or underwear. They had me sit between them and we finished the big bottle. My legs were so cold that as we lay down to get ‘shut eye’ I was glad for the big ones baggy pants to cover me as he lay on top of me. I did not know where the knife was. I assumed on the other side of him. I laid there and cried myself to sleep between them.
I don’t think we slept long before I was jostled awake. They were talking, slurring badly as Gus was trying to maneuver my legs. I realized they had decided on a threesome with me. I was not really part of it again. So Gus was in me, from behind. I froze up as I figured out they were going to try to fuck me at the same time, anally and vaginally. They were like the three stooges as they bungled around with idiot logic trying to do the impossible before I ended up on top of Gus, with Afro getting on top of me and trying to fuck my ass. It was painful for all of us. Finally they gave up. They decided on running a train. There I was in some dirty ditch behind a gas station, thirty seconds walk to a busy street. I was on my hands and knees with my neck arched back. One of them humping my mouth and the other doing me doggy style. Anyone who drove by had no idea what horror I was going through in the back dark area they did not even give a second thought to. The planet Earth floated in dark fucking cold space and I wanted my life to end.
Nothing mattered any more. I don’t know if I was crying or not. I was drunk. I think I had puked. I was in pain. I noticed that their dicks smelled less terrible. Then I remembered the flip side, that I had cleaned them off and what was painfully toxic smelling was gone now because I had taken in down into my stomach, and my pussy. There was even a point where they were both singing some song I never heard of, badly. In my suicidal mental bottomless pit that I was in while I tried to survive, I even reached out. I remember trying to get into the spirit of the song. I tried to enjoy it and to some extent succeeded. That’s when I got one of them to cum in my pussy. My jaw and neck were hurting so bad I climbed on the other one and sucked his cock with my pussy. I don’t even remember which was which, honestly. One and two. I had gotten them both off, that was my goal.
I woke up with the pre-dawn light. I was naked and was clinging to one of their stinky blankets. I was freezing. They were both snoring. They were right on both sides of me with centimeters to spare. But no touching. I was in pain all over. So much pain. It was slow, but I was hurrying carefully as I crept away. I put my clothes on quietly, leaving the underwear for the sake of speed. I grabbed my shoes. I took a few steps away barefoot. Then a few more. I realized I had no purse of phone. I slowed. I looked back. Still snoring. I went back, so cautiously. I went to the shopping cart and carefully riffled though it. Useless broke electronics, glass bottles, plastic bottles, clothes, half eaten pizza, but not my stuff. I founded it Gus’s coat—that he was wearing. He had big inside pockets.
I did this all so carefully, shivering from cold and fear. Then I saw the shotgun handle sticking out from under the torn up blanket under Afro. I had a debate with myself but crept over and slid it out so carefully.
Suddenly I was standing above them holding the gun pointed at them. I started shaking even more. There was no more internal debate, my body just reacted. My hands. My finger. I braced myself. I pulled the trigger. It clicked back all the way but nothing exploded. Nothing happened. I did it again. And again. I pulled back on the pump, which was loud, and did it again. The fucking thing had no shells in it. It never had. If it did I would have killed two homeless men behind a gas station while they slept.
Afro started to stir from the noise. I put the shotgun down quickly at my feet and speed tip toed away. Back to the sidewalk and over to the brick corner of the gas station building. I looked back quickly to see if I need to run faster. Nothing. No sound except the city in the background. I stepped out more. Nothing. I could not even make the shopping cart out at first in the darkness. Then I saw it. Nobody was vertical. They were sill passed out.
I turned and started walking along the side of the gas station toward the front. I put my shoes down and on. I was three inches taller but the new terror came rushing in. The new struggle. Facing the world.
Just trust me. It is a horror in itself. It was so hard. Having survived, I was so alone.
Standing still I realized how bad I smelled. I smelled like them. I had gotten used to it but it had cleared while I was moving in one direction in the breeze. It caught back up to me when I stopped. Like piss, puke, poop and perspiration stirred in a pot of desperation.
I forced myself into the gas station. I asked the Arab looking guy for the bathroom key. I am used to guys looking me up and down, you know. But this time it felt more intrusive, and uncomfortable. He was maybe forty years old.
“No public bathroom.” He pointed at a sign.
“Please sir, I know you have a bathroom. Can you make an exception just this once. I won’t tell.” I said.
He shook his head like he wasn’t sure. I stepped back, conscious of the smell and leaned down like I was fixing my shoe. I knew I was instinctively showing him my breasts. No bra. I stood up and ran my fingers through my hair, lifting the sweater and showing my belly while I arched out my butt to the side a little. I felt so sleazy having to do all that after what had happened.
It worked. But I felt raped again. He came out from the counter and unlocked a side door. I was hesitant to walk past him and had a good idea anyway. I bought gum, mouthwash, a big bottle of water, and they did not have any soap, but I saw a little bottle kids bubbles with the little loop thing. It was soap. I put all the stuff on the counter and bought it with my card.
I spent six or seven minutes in the bathroom, and used up all the paper towels. I cleaned myself in the sink, using the bubble liquid. I gargled and spit the mouthwash, then used some of it as perfume on several parts of my body. My sweater was dirty in places. My hair had been a mess, but now looked passable. I had washed off the little make up that was left and my dried tears away. My eyes were puffy and I felt disgusting, but it would do.
I put in for Lyft cab, and had to go ask the driver the address of the gas station. In four minutes I was on the way home. I had a bit of a freak out on the elevator. I ran down the hall and opened the door, locked it and went straight for the shower.
I washed vigorously inside and out.
Then got dressed, used all my products, looked out the window, and called the police.
It took a while, and I got transferred, and told them a third time I had been raped by two homeless men behind the gas station. Finally I was talking to the right jurisdiction. They told me to come in and file a report.
I lost my shit. I screamed at them that there were two muggers and rapists that were armed and even though they knew where they were the police the were not willing to do anything. I bluffed that I would go to the news with this.
They sent a car. It was a male and female cop. The guy was white, the woman was black. I had to ride in the back and the seat was hard cold plastic. When we got there, two and half hours after I had left, Gus and Afro were gone. So was the cart.
They asked me if I had been drinking. I told them about the date and the bums making me drink. They asked if maybe it was the wrong place. They made me feel like shit. I went in the gas station but it was a different guy. We went back to the scene of all my anguish and I frantically told the story.
Contrary to what you would expect. The guy seemed pretty decent, but the black woman officer, who was fat, seemed to be getting off on it.
Now, Mike, I know I was seeming crazy to them, but they had to partially believe me. Even so she asked questions, in her official tone of voice, that were to satisfy some white hating sexual gratification.
“Would you be able to describe the assailants’ genitals if you saw them?”
“So was there anal penetration or not?”
“So fingers, but not penises?”
“Why did you go home and take a shower if you wanted people to believe you?”
“Did you have sexual intercourse with anyone else last night.”
“So how many times did you provide oral sex to each of the men?”
“And none of the sex, even the oral sex, was consensual? Even after you drank with the men, was it still non-consensual?”
Then she got into my blowjob technique. Behind the guise of official business asking me what I was doing with my hand on the scrotum exactly and even how fast I was moving my head back and forth.
The worst was when she pretended to see a cut on my bottom lip and asked me to open my mouth while officer Donnely, the white guy came around. I fell for it and when she told me to hold my mouth just like I was while they were forcing themselves on me, she put her finger on my lip and rubbed it and I even bobbed my head a couple times to cooperate before it dawned on my how ridiculous it was. I saw her fight to hide her smile when she saw me realize she was messing with me.
I got mad and asked them why they were not writing any of it down. They told me they would need me to come down to the station and make a statement. “Just like on t.v.”
Dejected, I asked them to just take me back home. I lost my shit again as we got closer and told them what I thought of their police work and I was not polite. The black female told me to “Shut up and get the fuck out of the car!”
I did.
Donnely, the guy got out after me and tried to calm me down right under the tree in front of the apartment doors. He apologized and talked about how before he went through the academy he had totally different idea of what it was to be in the police and how cops really had the odds against doing much good. He was sweet and offered to walk me up to my door so I would be safe. Then offered to walk me inside and check the place. He was not ugly but not what I’d call attractive and was mid to late thirties but there was some awkward tension as I was seeing him out. Then he goes and asks,
“So how would you feel about getting together sometime just to talk, or have dinner or a drink or something?”
It caught me off guard and I said, “Ummm, well I guess maybe.” He smiled and pulled me close, kissed me on the forehead as we hugged briefly. “Well I’ve got to get back out there but I have your number so I’ll call you.”
As soon as I closed and locked the door I filled with rage again not just that the cop who I reported being raped all night long to just hit on me, but that I gave him the idea that he might get laid because of it. That I am such a pathetic twenty-three year old home health nurse/model weak slut! I slid down my door and sat on the floor for a moment before I shot back up and opened the door to scream at him and put him in his place. But the elevator doors were closing and he was gone.
So, Mike. I miss you and it has not been very good without you. And I am not sleeping well and I don’t feel so beautiful anymore.
Thanks for listening.
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By FireParamedic82
#Rape
