Raped--Guilty
As Charged
I
was raped. I was eighteen years young and very naïve. A gentleman
(?) knocked on my apartment door one night and invited me to a party.
Should I have left immediately when I arrived at the apartment and no
one was there? Should I just accept the fact that I trusted the stranger
who told me the guests would be back at any moment as they just went
to get more beer? Is naivete a crime?
OK, I didn't
get it until the bony fist made contact with my cheek and the wall behind
me became one with my back. Am I to blame because I didn't notice the
phone connected to an absent handset? And if I had noticed would I have
had the chance to get away? Maybe I should have crunched my trembling
teeth around the inflated penis that enticed the vomit from my stomach
to the ever-saving neatness of a bowl that took away all the remnants
of my fear with but a single flush. "You vomit once more and I'll
just have to kill you," that deep horrific voice echoed from the
basin.
Oh, I made it out alive, but to this day I do not know which was worse,
the pain of having a maniac's penis shoved into my young vagina or the
policeman's inquiry about the orgasm that in his mind surely occurred.
Maybe the most terrifying moment was when the cops told my parents,
"Well, you know she wasn't a virgin."
I dropped
the charges after being repeatedly assured that the court process would
show me to be a slut. My rape was not a real rape because I had gone
along willingly to the assailant's house. I got what I deserved-two
shots of Penicillin. Hello Dolly!
It only
took me ten years to wash away the fear that overtook me in those endless
five hours. The rapist has probably raped again. Of course, that is
my fault also for not pressing charges. So I spent ten years in hell
trying to get my life together and am responsible for how many more
countless rapes because I was too scared to face the jury. Damn me to
hell for I was raped. I am guilty as charged.
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