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ONE RAPE, PLEASE (to go) - PART 2I Paid a Male Whore to Rape Me Because I Wanted To ven though he wasn’t heinous looking, I still wanted him to wear a ski mask. Because of my preconceived notions about hookers regarding their reliability and character in general, I decided that I’d take the reins on procuring the mask. I made the trek to a large sporting-goods store only to find out that ski masks weren’t in season. Oh well. As I left the store, sans ski mask, I was gripped with just how real this was. I was going to be face to face with my rapist in a few short hours. I called Dick up and told him that there was a change of plans. Instead of accosting me outside of my apartment building, we decided that the best way to go would be date rape. We agreed to meet at a bar in my neighborhood, and get a few drinks first.I went to the drugstore and picked up some condoms and some Tucks. I was so nervous that I was like borderline diarrhea. I knew he was just some whore, but I still didn’t want to have a dirty butt in front of him. I also stopped at the liquor store, bought two bottles of wine, and began drinking as soon as I got home, to help me relax. About an hour before our date, I got a text from Dick: “Yo, I don’t want to charge for this.” I texted back, “If it’s all the same, I’d rather just keep the arrangement as we have it.” He responded with, “Are you a cop?” Oh God, I thought. I called Dick up and explained to him that I didn’t want to get raped for free, because I felt that the exchange of money was the only way I’d be able to maintain the small amount of power I needed to feel comfortable. Besides, at this point, a large part of the allure of this whole thing was that I was actually going to fuck a hooker. Giving me a freebie would’ve robbed me of that opportunity. I set him straight and an hour later, I got a text letting me know he was at the bar. It said: “I’m here babe.” As I walked up the street toward the bar, I could see him having a smoke outside. He was cute enough, but skinnier than his picture, and he looked younger than 21. I’m 28. Christ, I thought, who’s raping who here?
We hugged briefly, then went inside and began pounding vodka sodas to cut the tension. I was pleasantly surprised that Dick immediately took control. He decided that our safe word would be surprise, and he told me that he was just going to keep coming on as strong as possible, until he heard me say the word. We played a few rounds of Erotic Photo Hunt on the bar’s Megatouch. I was taking the game sort of seriously, but he wasn’t really paying attention to it. He kept pushing his face into my neck, and saying stupid yet appropriate things, like, “Oh, you’re such a dirty girl,” and, “Yeah, I like when you touched her titty,” referring to the naked girl in the game. He put on the full-court press, groping my boobs and reaching his hand down between my legs, beneath my minidress. By this point, I was sufficiently drunk and getting turned on by his dirtbag display. My tights were soaking wet (which he, of course, pointed out). I began to think I wasn’t really cut out to play the victim, because I was fighting my inner slut, which ached to push my crotch toward his hand, instead of pulling away like my fantasy required. I knew it was time to get the show on the road, before I ended up ruining the whole thing by dragging him into the bar bathroom to fuck him in one of the stalls. We got back to my building and climbed the four floors to my apartment, with him trailing behind, goosing me the whole way. As soon as we got inside, he started in with a DFK (that’s hooker for “deep French kiss”) on my couch. “Let’s go to your room,” he breathed in my ear. I was about to be like, “Fuck yeah,” but then I remembered why we were here, so instead I said, “Oh, I don’t know.” “Yeah, come on,” he insisted, as he got up from the couch and pulled me toward my bedroom. We sat on the bed and he started kissing me again. He pushed me down and I tried to politely nudge him away and sit back up, but he wouldn’t let me. Whoa, I thought, this is really happening! Holy fucking shit! He grabbed my wrists and held them down with one hand as he started frantically undoing his pants with the other. I tried to wriggle free, but I was pinned. “Don’t act like you don’t fucking want it, you little bitch,” he sneered. That’s actually when I began really fighting him, because I wanted to be sure that he put a condom on before anything else happened. The last thing I need in my life is a trick baby. Or HPV. I reached toward my nightstand and grabbed the strip of condoms I’d carefully laid out earlier in the evening. TO BE CONTINUED: ONE RAPE PLEASE | 1 | 2 | 3 |
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