I once participated in a “rape sex” fantasy. Would you like to hear about it?
Of course not. That’s why I’m going to tell you.
We were college students, and one summer her parents split town for a week. One night, she–not me, no way–suggested that we might play out a little fantasy. She confessed to me that she thought it might be fun to be tied up and “taken advantage of.”
Well, I started out to the car for the jumper cables and duct tape, but no, that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted me to break in to her house, unannounced, run her down, tie her up, and have my way with her.
Frankly, I thought this was a little bit fucked up, but I agreed that sometime that week, I wouldn’t tell her when, I’d, well, rape her. We arranged a few details. First, I would call within an hour or so of my “break-in” so that she could leave a door unlocked (no need to damage anything). Second, we had a prearranged code word–“red light”–which would stop everything right then and there. Third, after I called, she’d put her parent’s little rat-dog in the basement where it fucking belonged.
In those days, I was not the clever, suave individual you would see today if you ever saw my hulking six-foot five frame and enormous genitals. Back then I was a five-nine idiot with a smaller than average member and the common sense of a moth.
So the next night, I drive to the 7-11 near her house, call her up and ask her if she wants to see a movie. Sure, yeah, I’ll be by to pick you up in an hour yadda yadda. Then I hop in the rod and blast over there in about five minutes.
The front door is locked. No matter, thinks I, the back screen is always open in the summer. And sure enough it was. I crept inside…
And that little bastard fucking rat-dog laid into me like my legs were two ham-hocks. “OW! Goddammit! Fucking dog!” Into the basement with that little snarling tornado, but not before it nipped me again on the finger. What the fuck was it thinking? I’d only dropped by to rape its guardian.
My legs were bleeding, so I had to wrap them with paper towels and tape 'em off with scotch tape from the kitchen drawer. Quietly, I made my way up the stairs with my rape-kit. I crept into her bedroom, and there she was, dressed as if she had just gotten out of the shower…
“Oh, I thought that was you. What are you doing here so early?”
What? The fuck?
“I’m here to fucking rape you, dammit!”
“What’s wrong with your legs?”
“Your fucking dog… would you just shut up and start screaming?”
“You want to rape me now? I just got out of the shower.”
“Look, do you want to get raped or not?”
“Well, you’re not very convincing.”
“Your damned dog was pretty convinced.”
“Yeah, but he hates you anyway.”
“All right, fuck this. Look, I’m the rapist. Get your ass on the bed and prepare to get violated.”
“Oh, okay.”
I reached into my handy rape-kit, and pulled out a few pairs of panty hose which I had discreetly relieved my girlfriend of the night before, in order to tie her up.
“What the fuck are those?” she asked, “I was looking for those all day, you bastard!”
“Well,” I said, “you wouldn’t go for the jumper cables.”
“You stole my panty hose? I needed those today, you dumass.”
“Oh, just shut up and let’s get this over with.”
“Dick.”
I tied her down and pulled out my secret weapon: a peacock feather.
“What the hell is that?”
“Shut up, bitch.” At this point, I was beginning to realize the versatility my role provided me.
“You are NOT going to tickle me with that. That’s it. Red light, we’re calling this thing off.”
“What?” This was unexpected. “You can’t just bail out of this whenever you want! You’re supposed to be getting raped, fer chrissakes!”
“No, screw that. This sucks, I’m done, and if you piss me off any more, your ass is out of here.”
“Oh, fuck this,” I said reasonably, “let’s go see a movie.”
She was still pissed at me about ripping off her panty hose. And for locking away the damned dog without turning on the lights, because it tried to scratch its way through the newly painted basement door. And for bleeding on her comforter. I got no nookie that night, at all.
So the moral of the story is this: there is nothing fun at all about rape, not even when you’re faking it. I recommend against it.
I hated that fucking dog.