I think he raped me.
Twice now in the month and a half that I know him.
But I dont know. I can’t be sure. Did I agree to this? Was this my fault?
Yet I message him to apologize for “freaking out “. He says its “ok”. I say I’m embarrassed for literally running away from him and immediately to the bathroom where I barely make the toilet with my vomit. I’m embarrassed because when he tried to touch me, my body curled into a ball shaking, I again ran. Right out of the house and down the street. Hyperventilating. Repeating over and over again what just happened in my mind. He drags me back and throw me in the shower and washes my body down and then throws me a towel and then goes home.
I’m in the middle of a flashback and the next thing I know. He’s beating me repeatedly with the whip. I put out my hands and yell stop. He restrains me. Puts his hand over my mouth.
He’s hitting me harder. Fucking me like I’m a piece of garbage. Calling me a whore. And that’s what I am right now. Not a human. My tears turn him on and he gets harder.
We’ve played these games before… but this feels different. His hands hold my wrists. Tears are streaming down my face and I keep pleading with him to please stop.
He goes harder. I freeze up and curl myself into a ball. He rips my hands and feet apart and again restrains them. He enters me again.
He’s harder now. There is nothing loving about this action. My pain and fear is clearly turning him on.
I close my eyes and just wait for him to cum. When he rolls off me and to my side, I wait. Until he is distracted, and I run. I am naked. I don’t have my glasses. I don’t have my phone. Where do I go. He’s in my house. My phone is beside him.
The first time it happened, I said I didn’t want to do anal. I said time and time again, I wasn’t feeling like it. My stomach was hurting and I was in a triggered and panicked mood already. But it didn’t matter. When I went to push his hands away, he just restrained me. And forced his way in my ass. It tightened up. Dry. Not relaxed. He forced his way in and I wind up bleeding from a tear for the next two days.
We said we’d come up with safe words. But we didn’t because we had never needed them before tonight, even though we’d played this way before. He always sensed my feelings and stopped before I felt worried. We’d start to discuss options for words and be on each other before we’d find one.
I said I liked it rough. Because I do. I said I liked when he whipped me or fucked my ass. Because I did.
Is it my fault? Did I not set clear enough boundaries? Did he not speak and understand english well enough? I can’t be sure of anything. He was very sorry he said. He said before you have said no and fake cry. I think this is the same. I’m sorry. And I think he meant it. He has been good to me.
So the next day. I call him again. We do the plans like we had already scheduled and we move into the next day of this “relationship” that I am in now I guess. Where I somehow gave up all my boundaries. All my rules to keep myself safe.
Even though my entire adult life thus far had been polyamorous. Now. I can fuck no one but him. He can fuck anyone. He can read my texts whenever he wants. And he does. He erases contacts and conversations he doesn’t “like” from my phone because they stress me. He takes good care of me.
Is it strange that he makes me feel both incredibly safe and incredibly broken at the same time?
So today is like any other. Except the pain when I sit or move. The welts forming across my back, ass, and thighs. The bruising already blackened in sizes larger than my fists. The foggy head full of doubt.
But we go on like nothing happened different last night than any other. Like it was just some disagreement we had over something minor. And maybe it is. I can’t be sure. I can’t trust my own emotions anymore. I can’t rely on my own memory. Was this a flashback that I blended into reality in a dissociative state, or did it really happen? I don’t even know anymore.
I am just a whore. A piece of garbage. So it doesn’t matter either way.