Imagine a girl arriving at a party she had waited all week for to blow off some steam. Imagine her dressing up that evening with her girlfriends, deciding what dress to wear and what shoes to pick although she’d already picked them out a week ago when she was told about the party. Imagine how bubbly they all are, gossiping and giggling at silly jokes. On their dressing table, red wine sits untouched in their pitchers, it’s going to be a wonderful night.
She gets to the party, and her dress is perfect against her body. Her lips look wonderful against the moon and her hair rests on her shoulders serenely. She clutches her purse tightly under her arm and alights the cab.
She wonders at the promise of the night, what it holds for her.
The music inside is soothing and the alcohol flows like The Nile. They take the first shot, then the second, third and then counting becomes a problem. She lets loose on the dance floor and gets lost in the music.
Her dance partner is the guy controlling all the moves on the dance floor. When he moves, they follow. She’s always liked guys like this; guys who can lead. And because she was moving rather well too, she caught his eye. He approached and grabbed her by the waist and they’re now swaying the night away.
He shouts in her ear, WE SHOULD GO SOMEWHERE QUIET.
She politely declines.
He persists, WE SHOULD GET TO KNOW EACH OTHER BEFORE WE LEAVE. MY ROOM’S UPSTAIRS.
She politely declines.
He grabs her abrasively now, DON’T BE LIKE THIS.
She pushes him away. Her girls see this and come hissing towards him. They have each other’s back. He leaves with his tail between his legs.
They dance and drink and sing along because it’s a beautiful night.
She drinks a bit too much and feels somewhat nauseas. She needs to pee too and freshen up. She heads to the washroom, looks at herself in the mirror and bursts out laughing at how drunk she is. It’s eerily quiet in the loo and the laugh comes off louder than she expected. She stares deep into herself and laughs some more until the door squeaks and interrupts her.
The guy is back.
He says hello. He asks her name. They talk for a bit. He’s getting closer and closer to her and he finally leans in for a kiss. She quickly pulls back and says she didn’t want that, that she was looking to have a good time and go home.
The guy grabs her and pulls her closer and says, I can show you a good time, you know.
She tries to break free but he’s too strong for her. She says no. Now he’s kissing her neck and groping her. She tries to fight, scratching and clawing at him but he grabs her hands pins her down. She’s confused and doesn’t really know what is going on until he’s done and leaves. He has the audacity to smile and wink at her when he shuts the door out.
She doesn’t cry for the first ten minutes on the cold floor. She’s in shock. She pulls her dress down and stands up and stares back into the mirror and breaks down. What could be a beautiful night turns out to be her ugliest, and now, her life has changed forever.
Now, this post is for the men and anyone that tries to justify rape.
Imagine if that happened to your daughter, mother, aunty, sister or any other beloved female you know. Imagine if they came home and they told you this. I’d be livid and would want to break the sixth commandment.
I think men who rape women don’t even deserve that label ‘men’. Because they aren’t. They are animals who should be treated like such. To rape a woman shows weakness, it’s as bad as hitting a her. It reflects badly on you and worse, your mother, that your mother raised a rapist.
With rape stories on the rise, lots of silly little arguments that irk me have come up. First, I don’t think rape cases are on the rise, I believe that girls are more confident now to speak about them. I believe their empowerment is working and that makes me happy. What breaks my heart, though, is that there is a generation of women who could not and did not and have not said anything about their ordeal because there was no one to listen.
One of the most popular arguments among the rape conformists is that one of some girls’ dressing begs for it. That a girl in a short tight skirt deserves to be raped because she’s asking for it. This is madness. A girl can wear whatever she wants because it’s a free country. And even if a girl walks around naked, she should be arrested, not raped.
Another argument that goes around is: It isn’t rape because she’s my wife/girlfriend. She might be either of those but as long as it’s not consensual, it’s rape.
I’m fully cognizant that some girls may fabricate stories to slander a guy. We should be wary of such frauds and call them out immediately. The truth is that there is nothing standing between you (a guy) and long ass Instagram stories by some random girl saying you assaulted her. It is only the Lord your God. So when another story unfolds, we should get our facts right before speaking out because honestly, the internet will always support the girl.
Lastly, you have probably read this everywhere but I’ll say it again, sex without consent is rape. There are no blurred lines, in fact, that’s the only line, sex without consent is rape. If she says no, and you do it, it’s rape. If you drug her and do it, it’s rape. If she resists in any way, it’s rape. If she accepts and tells you to stop at some point and you don’t, it’s rape. If you coerce her through incessant pestering and she accepts shingo upande just to get you off her back, it’s rape. Hope you get the drift. No blurred lines.
I stand with anyone who’s been assaulted before. I’ll keep you in my prayers.
5 thoughts to “A Rape Story”
“Close your eyes and go to your happy place,” the mind always whispers.
I do that a lot
There are no blurred lines to the term rape!👏I hope everybody gets it!
They’ll get it! They have to.
Interesting stuff, Simon. You present rape in black and white. I’m curious, though. What’s your take on consensual non-consent? (Id est, rape role-play. People do it.)
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