Continued from Rape??? (Part 1 of 2)
I sensed someone in the bus with me before I heard him. I did not move, since I thought it was my travel companion who came to bed. I felt movement on the mattress beside me. The blankets covering my legs moved and then I felt a hand on my legs. I pulled my leg up and moaned, pretending to moan in my sleep. I tried to peek through my eyelashes to see him. What I saw scared me. It was not my travel companion who got into the bus with me, but the man who was introduced to me as his best friend. It was the same man who looked at me from a distance while I was still at the party, undressing me with his eyes and making me feel even more uncomfortable than I already was.
I sat up and wanted to move away from him, but he grabbed my ankles and pulled me closer. He threw himself upon me and started to kiss me. His hand was on my breast, kneading it, hurting me. I turned my head away, trying to escape his mouth. His stubble scratched my chin, my cheeks as I turned my head from side to side. His mouth seemed to find my mouth over and over again; his tongue found the inside of my mouth. I moaned, and tried to push him off me, but he was too strong, too big. I felt one of his hands between us and realized that he was unbuttoning his pants. In a flash he stood up, dropped his pants and grabbed my legs again before I could move to the far corner of the bus.
I remember him mumbling or saying something about fucking me because I was just too hot to let go. I remember that I said “no”. I remember that I said it several times. I also remember that he did not listen. That he just kept on telling me that he was going to fuck me. That he wanted to fuck me senseless. I kept on protesting, trying to get away from him. He hurt me. He was harsh in his movements. He held my legs. He pushed me down. He held me down. He jerked my panties down. I kept on saying “no”. He never once listened. I could smell the booze on his breath. He was much stronger than I was and he could easily restrain my struggles.
With each of his hands he grabbed one of my ankles and pulled me closer to him. My buttocks were resting on the side of the bench. I struggled to get away from him. I could not. In a very low voice – almost threatening – he told me to stay still, because he was going to fuck me no matter what. An image flashed through my mind: me being found lifeless in the bus the next morning. This image was mixed with an image of who was waiting for me back home. I was afraid. I stayed still. I allowed him to enter, to fuck me, to hurt me, to hold me down, to spurt his cum on me. I did not move once until he left the bus.
I was quiet when we went back home the next day. My travel companion remarked that he was told that I had quite some fun the night before. I did not dare to tell him what happened. I felt ashamed because I had let it happen. Because I did not fight more. Because I did not scream. Because I felt dirty. Because I was just too shy to tell anyone what happened. Because I did not even know whether I could call it a rape. I just felt ashamed and wanted to bury what happened in the far corner of my mind.
I did… until someone triggered this memory…
© Rebel’s Notes