tagReviews & EssaysI Have A Rape Fantasy

I Have A Rape Fantasy

bytranslation©

I imagine you, or someone like you. Someone you know and care about deeply. I imagine them on their way to their car in some subterranean garage or dimly lit driveway. Maybe a park. Or their door to their apartment. Anywhere where I can do what I imagine makes me happy. Makes me feel strong, virile, and superhuman.

I imagine them at their door. They have a chill up their spine. A silent voice screaming at them. An itch they don't know how to scratch. Something awful is about to happen and they can't comprehend what it is or why. After a day like today, just one more in a lifetime of sensory overload numbing you to that instinctual ringing telling you you need to run. That's when we finally meet.

Who am I? I'm no one. Well, maybe not no one. You might even recognize me a bit. We might have seen each other a few minutes earlier coming up the sidewalk or some staircase. I might have known you for years. We could even be friends. Out for a night of fun. You might have even liked me a little. It doesn't matter. I'm someone who knows you enough to know that he can take from you what he wants. How ever much time that took me is not really relevant at this point, is it? I've decided what the next few minutes, hours, days are going to be like for us. You don't have a choice in the matter. You never did. You know what ever it is I want is not what you want. You don't like me. No reason why, but you know you don't. You don't want to hear a question, a compliment, a breath. You just want to get inside. Away. Safe.

That's what we have in common. I want all those things too. Not just for myself, for everyone. But since I'm not really interested in achieving those things for myself today, I see that in you and I want it. I want to take something from you. I am going to do whatever I have to, to get it.

I might be smiling. I might not. I may have a mask on. I may be armed with something nasty. Something cold and metallic. It's not the only weapon I plan on using on you but it's only one I had to acquire on my own. The voice in your head telling you this is not good has finally recovered its wind. You see my eyes and you know what I am. You don't want to believe it. I could have never possibly met you. You could not possibly know me. You remember hearing about that other girl you knew a friend of, but that was her.

Fear is a very unpleasant sensation. You've been frightened before. You might even have been the victim of some manner of violence before in your life. Some bitch who didn't like the way you looked at her. Some asshole that shoved you out of the way to get a taxi. But nothing like this. This is not the fleeting, impersonal violence that saturates the world. This is the most personal violence you can ever imagine. That's what makes it so fun for me.

I'm in your way. I'm in your head. That's all I need. I know you know what this is. My cock is hard as an icicle. So is my heart and so is my hand when it comes crushing across your cheek. You will fight me. I will not stop until you at least attempt some kind of physical resistance. You'll slap back at me. You'll scream. You'll kick and punch with all the anger and hate you can summon on such short notice but it won't matter. You know you've already lost. You know how this is going to end and you will soon detach yourself from this vile reality as soon as you can to escape the pain that I want you to feel.

You feel me tear into you. Your clothes shredded with your dignity and your self-respect. A better person would have seen this coming. A better person would have been able to fight me off. Would have been better prepared to face me. To defend against this attack. You're just a whore, a harlot, a cur. No more worthy of respect than the crust you wipe from your mouth on a hot day. My words as well as my body get inside you. I'm taking what I want and I am letting you know with every gasp and thrust how much I enjoy this. I know you have stopped fighting. Victory is mine. You are mine. Everything you thought you could keep from me you have realized was never yours to begin with.

I leave you there. The awkward silence in the wake of evil passion. Or at least what seemed like passion. There is no passion here. No feeling. Those things are now mine. Every sensation you and I feel now is what I wanted. I've taken it and I can do with it whatever I please. You don't matter. You never did.

I walk away happy. Satisfied. Strong. Well, stronger than you at least. I'm most likely a coward. An impotent liar who knows nothing of strength and honour. I'll even blame you for this whole ordeal in my own mind before I get too far from you. You're a strong modern woman after all. You should have been able to stop this.

I wonder how guys can walk around convincing themselves that you didn't want this. I mean, I hear it all the time. I hear women say it all the time. They say shit like "I have a rape fantasy" and I see guys eyes widen in disbelief and disgust but say nothing. I guess they just tack it up to the Feminine Mystique or some bullshit. Either that or you just have no idea what rape is. Maybe you thought it was some gorgeous harlequin romance novel coverboy just reading your mind. But that's not what rape is.

It's not. Remember?

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