MAN SHARES HIS RAPE STORY

NOT HIS REAL PHOTO
I'm a man, and I was raped by a woman. So I just don't matter.
I was 11 years old, an innocent mess of hormones and insecurity. We lived in a 3 storey apartment. The family that lived on floor 2, right wing were just cool. I was that reserved boy in the neighbourhood, shy, quiet and always drawing whatever catches my eye. I knew who the cool kids were, and I wanted to do what they did. This desire to be cool led me to seek the approval of girls and boys alike, who were much older than me; girls and boys who had urges I did not yet understand - fully.
My parents were civil servants. I would spend almost every long vacation holiday afternoon drawing the adjacent mansion, on the balcony of our apartment. It was great, because my siblings and parents shower me with head-swelling compliments. I don't draw and paint anymore... I now paint with words - poetry.
I was the 'jew guy' who wore fat trousers and parachute shirts, carried a large brown coloured Gideon bible to church every Mondays and Thursdays. I felt out of place and had seen these 'cool' boys around the neighborhood living the kind of life I could only live paintings. I couldn't woo no girl because I was shy and the Sunday school teacher wouldn't stop threatening hell and brimstone are for 'bad bad children' who keep girlfriends. I was scared of hell but I fancied those kids. They were free... I was that beautiful bird in a cage.
They must have only been 14 or 15, but they were the epitome of cool to me. The boys would walk up to girls and woo them like pro playboys. I could only woo the hand-sketched crayon-painted girl in my drawing pad.
The long waited long vacation arrived. Finally, fresh air from chalk and noisy classmates. I was home, sibling, as their manner was, were off to big aunt’s house, three streets away, to see movies and play in the school field there. I was home alone... copy drawing the new Simba motorcycle carton I found on the street.
Cool kids were... I saw them. They were hanging out across the street one day, chatting and laughing like
carefree babies. I was trying to get a perfect circle for the motorcycle's wheel... that was when I noticed our 2nd floor neighbour's house-help admiring my drawing from thin pole that divides the apartments. Our eyes met, she smiled and I managed a grin. She's the loud type, always chattering about the latest movie and briefing siblings and I on the recent Super Story episode. She called on me and asked if I would love to cross over to their side of the apartment so she would have a closer look at my drawing. I was thrilled. I love showing off my drawings. Nothing gives me orgasm like a 'wow, Steve, that is beautiful!'
I remember thinking I had to wash the stockings I soaked in water and omo before big sis reminds me of it with a granny-sized slap on my bony cheeks... but this girl already had a plan for me. She came straight up to me and asked me if she can see my other drawings. I smiled and sat beside her, flipping by drawing pad pages to her delight.
Mid way into the tour, she excused herself and went into their house to check on the rice she's boiling. I love rice... they were nice neighbours and therefore I thought it not bad to eat over. I think I heard my name... she called me in. I dropped my pad on the bench that hosted my boy butt and sauntered into their sitting room.
“food is ready” I whispered to my stomach. I was familiar with the house, so, locating the kitchen was no hassle. I remember it had started raining before then and the sky was so dark... visibility inside was poor. I found my way into the kitchen, halfway down, to a space just between the cupboard and refrigerator. All of a sudden, she grabbed me, pushed me to the wall, pressed her lips to mine for what seems like kisses...my back pressed to the wall whilst she pressed her hips onto mine. I was both confused and shocked. Couldn't break free. I was and still is that lanky dude with little physical stamina. She over powered me, brushing her still forming breasts against my bare chest. I had to top on. Then she reached down and unzipped my shorts. I didn’t know why she was doing it.
I thought she was just playing some joke on me. I was still trying to break free from off her grip. My shorts dropped to the kitchen floor. I wondered what she was up to. Pinned to the wall... she slowly pulled up her skirt and pressed her hips onto mine... humping onto my groin. I tried resisting.
I remember trying to push her away and letting out a cry. She clasped my mouth with her left palm and pinned me to the wall... humping with horny abandon on my poor member.
I remember trying to break free. I would have given anything for to just be over. When she pushed me on the ground, I thought it was over.
I hit the ground on my back and she leaped on me. She straddled me. She raped me.
I remember the pain was immense when she gripped my neck... so as to muffle my screams. It felt like I would suffocate.
I don't know how long it lasted. Whatever the actual time, it was the longest time in my life. But, at times it seems like it was just one fast, horrible whirl that came through and brutalized me. I’m not sure remained the same after that experience.
I do know I became her sex doll after that first time. I do remember staying back home when my siblings leave for aunt’s place, so I could fill her ever empty wetness. I remember drawing sex scenes on my drawing pad, instead of houses and motorcylcles and trees and flowers and rivers and playing kids.
I remember my gradual addiction to her, the act, the flirting thoughts, the guilt, the fear.
Part way through the thing, I had given up and stopped resisting. It felt good partially. When she got up, she ordered me out with a stern warning;
“Don’t you tell anyone about this!”
And with that she ordered me out. I staggered outside, picked up my drawing pad and dragged my assaulted frame to our side of the apartment. It hurt so bad. It was only when I sat up that I finally began to cry. I cried for a long time, but there was no way I was going to tell anyone about this. Not even my parents. Would they believe me? Being the shy introvert that I am, I kept it to myself. I wasn't going to share this story until recently. I would rather lie down like a bridge over stormy waters and pretend to be sane, because society thinks boys don't get raped.
Yes, I was traumatized, and it took me more years to fully put it 'behind me'. But it's good that I can tell this tale that society might get some sense. It's just not right females raped by males can always get sympathy, both from men and women while males raped by females generally get disbelief and belittling comments.
I'm a man, and I was raped by a woman. So I just don't matter.
Rape is a crime. Rapists don't deserve no pity. I forgive her and the other culprit I wouldn't mention (because I just can't).
Last words:
Please karma, I beg of you, play blind to her boys. I forgave her already. The trauma is too grave to wish another. Spare her boys (if she's got any).

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