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Fahckmylife's Blog
Crap adult, OK human.

I found stories…

A while ago I found a heap of stuff that I’d written that makes me seem like a complete misandrist (spell check doesn’t believe this is a word…surely you mean misogynist, Caroline?) despite the fact that I’m not.  I think this story is like two years old or something.  Some of you probably read this already.  Anyways, I haven’t checked it for spelling mistakes and I’m not 100% happy with it but sure have a goo.

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All things considered it was pretty easy once I had found him.  To be honest, I was impressed with my detective skills, despite them simply involving the Internet and a phonebook.  The beauty of it was the fact that so many years had passed and bouts of severe depression had physically taken their toll on me.  Add a change of hair colour, a bit of make-up and nearly ten years and you have a totally different person – at least superficially anyway. An apparently confident me and completely unrecognisable as my former self.  To think that I had just seen his picture in the paper.  To think that this had triggered such a chain of events…

 

So now we’re kissing at the end of his bed in the orange half light from his lamp.  I love the pretence of us having a drink as I think about how they remain untouched on the bedside locker.  I love the way he thinks that this was his idea as he starts to gently push me down onto the bed.  I love the way he’s putting his weight onto me and I’m being a good compliant little girl.  I love the fact that I know he thinks that I am enjoying this – I mean I am but not for the reasons he thinks.  As his fingers start sliding under my top he makes an eager little muffled sound and I feel sick and excited at the same time.

 

I suppose that I should explain here that I’m not shrugging my own accountability here.  I should also point out that I’ve lived with things that weren’t my fault for long enough.  Yes, I know that how I’ve lived my life up until this point has really been up to me and I fully accept responsibility for my own actions.  Still, seeing his face in the newspaper, so smug and un-aged, captioned with a large cheque and congratulations, enveloped me in anger. It made me realise, after nearly a decade of blaming myself that to a certain extent I was a product of my own environment.  If that one horrible incident had never happened I wouldn’t be in this situation.  So, in my defence, tracing my life back to that one point proves a defining moment in my life.  A moment that I’ve only come to realise is not my fault but it’s tarnished my existence ever since.  And he’s the key player in that life changing moment.

 

He is completely lying on top of me, groping and breathing in the most undignified way possible at such an early stage of ‘foreplay’.  He still seems to think I’m enjoying myself so I kiss him back and mimic his noises a bit, forcing his hands more firmly onto me.  My clothes inch off seconds at a time, his head buried in my neck, gasping and fumbling the whole time.  If he could see me now he’d see I was rolling my eyes.  If could see me know in this light, lying like this he might recognise me, even for a second so I close my eyes.  His fingers begin to dig and root and soon my trousers are on the floor.  He pulls his own top off and I start to unbutton his jeans to avoid looking at his face.

 

You see I went through a horrible period for a while after the ‘incident’.  I liked to try and play it down but it didn’t work that way.  Not in retrospect anyway.  Let’s just say that I abandoned my childish things with ferocity and threw caution to the wind.  I mean it wasn’t like it mattered anymore, right?  It wasn’t like I was actually worth anything to start with so I tried to level everything off to zero.  So in a nutshell, I lost myself in the usual things, effectively drugs, drink and in turn a series of virtually anonymous sexual encounters, in the hopes of finding something of value or finishing myself off.  If you think about it logically it really defies any rational thought.  You’d think that I would avoid all those things and stay locked inside a little bubble to protect myself – at least for a while anyway.  But, the darkest moments were those when I found myself completely alone with my own thoughts and blurred visions of his face.  So I went on a rampage, lost a lot of things I did not realise were important before, my health for one as the doctor had confirmed, essentially leaving him as the victor.  Seeing him in that paper, the stark contrast of black and white, unmarked by the past, pulled me through it.  I had a new focus.  A new goal.  My time was limited but I knew I could have the last laugh.  I’m not saying that it’s right to do what I have done but at least I could show him some of what I have experienced at his hands.

 

I moan in a way that I have grown accustomed to accentuating from my promiscuous years as he roughly pokes and prods and roots around for something he seemingly can’t find.  I smile for him though and pride myself on my acting skills.  I stroke and I feel and utter the odd swear to assure him he’s doing such a fucking great job.  I lick and I squeeze and I rub and push my head as far away from his as I can, making sure that our eyes don’t meet.  His hands are everywhere and nowhere in particular, grabbing and clasping and basically doing nothing of any great purpose.  His fingers jab into me viciously, I doubt it’s intentional, but it hurts and only serves to highlight the fact that he wants this so badly.  Not half as much as I do though…  He momentarily stops in an effort to try to reach his locker, so I pull him straight down onto and into me, holding him tightly in place with my legs.  He doesn’t resist that much and pretty soon it’s like he’s forgotten what he was trying to do in the first place.

 

See what he forgets, or fails to even notice is that tonight is not the first time that we have met.  Ten years ago we had one conversation together.  Admittedly, I was a bit of a naïve 16-year-old.  Admittedly, he was an attractive 22-year-old.  Admittedly, we were both drunk but were getting on pretty well.  And admittedly, I did decide that I agree to go upstairs in the house with him to one of the bedrooms. OK, so yes I did kiss him and lie down on the bed with him, giggling and cooing.  Ok and so yes I did let him open my bra.  But, it was never my intention to have sex with him.  It was never my intention to be pinned down by the wrists with him grunting on top of me.  It was never my intention to lose my virginity watching him looming over me in such an undignified way, holding a hand tightly over my mouth, muffling my protests, hot breath on my face.  My intention was to bite through his hand, scream and get away, but the more I bit and the more I squirmed the more he seemed to enjoy it.  His eyes locked onto mine as if to claim me as he shouted ‘bite me!’

 

It was never my intention… It never was…   

 

He hasn’t really picked up any definite rhythm.  It’s more like a random banging and it hurts a bit. If I actually cared about having sex with him this really would not be up to scratch, but I moan and curse and grab his ass cheeks.  I flip myself around without disconnecting so I can avoid his face for a bit longer.  I reckon it’s more likely to achieve the desired result in a shorter timeframe and getting me closer to my own goal.  He starts to grunt now, a familiar grunt, like from all those years ago and his breathing gets a lot more frantic.  He slaps my ass.  The end is nearly in sight.  It’s not like he really cares how much I enjoy it anyway.  I put up a little resistance.  I guess he likes that.  The whole force thing must do a lot for him. His pounding away at me has become especially panicked now.  I can tell it is very nearly over. I smile again…

 

‘Bite me!’ I shout.

 

And surprisingly he does.  Right on the neck.  I demand blood to be drawn and he does.  And soon it’s all over as I feel it ooze down the inside of my thighs.  My necks stings but it’s all going according to plan.

 

You see he has ruined my life and in return I plan to ruin his.  It’s very simple really.  Because of him I have never been able to maintain a normal relationship with anyone.  Because of him I have never been able to treat myself with any self worth and as a result…

 

I immediately start to put my clothes on, mopping up the blood from my neck and the spunk with tissues from my pockets.  He laughs on the bed, giggling the way some people do, after they have had an orgasm.  He looks at me and continues laughing nearly hysterical with an arm over his forehead.  I pull my jeans up saying nothing, letting him have his moment of euphoria or whatever it is when you actually enjoy sex and have an orgasm.  I smile weakly at him.  There is no going back now.  I sit on the edge of the bed.

 

‘That was deadly…’ he sighs looking up at me.

 

I smile again.

 

‘You remember a girl called Jenny about ten years ago?’ I ask in a casual tone.

 

He does – I can see it in his face.  He shakes his head.

 

‘Lie back down… give me a few minutes and then we’ll start round two…’ he says trying to pull me back on the bed.

 

I stand up and look down at him.

 

‘I know you do…  because when you asked me my name I lied… My name isn’t Sarah…I’m Jenny’ I say and put on my coat.

 

‘What the fuck?!’ he says starting to get up from the bed, pulling boxer shorts up his legs.

 

‘And about ten years ago you raped me at a house party…’ I trail.

 

I can make eye contact now.  It’s difficult but I can…

He stammers.  Unsure as to what to do.  It’s not like he can deny it.  We both know what happened.

 

‘Look I know what you’re thinking…’ I say matter-of-factly and start walking more towards the door.  ‘Why do this now? What do you hope to achieve etc., etc., etc.,….’

 

‘Yeah well…’

 

‘Well you see after you raped me I went a bit mental…. Slept with a lot of people to make myself feel better and it didn’t work…Maybe it wasn’t that… I know you didn’t make me do that but still I was’ and I laugh here ‘a bit fucked up to say the least…’

 

He looks on in awe as I open the door and step outside.  As I peer in the door I turn to him, a safe distance between us.

 

‘In fact …I got HIV then.’

 

And I walk down the hall and don’t look back.

 

 

 

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