(This is the fourth of four posts tonight, the feeding frenzy starts with "Rape and Purgings: part four". Just so's ya know)

We stopped at Godfather�s for pizza and I remained silent and unobtrusive. I was just a body taking up space. I gave them alone time by going over and looking at the video games and juke box. When it was time to leave again, I got in the back and Jonny and Becky were holding hands and talking about how much in love they were and wouldn�t they have a wonderful life together and eventually they�d be able to spend time together.

*shakes her head*

He dropped her off at home with a fairly platonic kiss to his cheek and a lingering kiss to her hand. She went in the house, I got in the front of the car, saying nothing.

We drove north a little ways. He took up my hand, while her tape was playing. I didn�t fight. I turned my head toward the window. He pulled over to a rest area cause traffic was so thick, bumper to bumper, and when he�d shut off the engine, he leaned over to kiss me. I opened my door and said I needed to get out and walk a bit.

We got out and played Frisbee and then catch with the football for about half an hour, until the traffic started moving again. We got back in the car and Jonny took my hand. I pulled my hand away from him and he let me. About half way home - Home was Capitol Hill in Seattle. Becky�s house is in Hawk�s Prairie just north of Olympia. The two places are about 40 or so miles apart - he reached for my hand again, this time a little more forcefully.

He started telling me how special I was. That he really liked me. That he enjoyed the time he spent with me. That I was precious to him. The exact same words he�d spoken to Becky not even a full hour before. Listening to her tape. Holding my hand the way he did hers.

I remained silent, staring out of my window. I willed us to be home soon, sooner, soonest, yesterday. He kept talking. I grew more and more disgusted with each word.

We got to the apartment and I opened my door, getting out and moving to the security door. He was quicker this time, though. He came up right behind me and said he needed to use the bathroom. I narrowed my eyes. He promised, just the bathroom. I let him in.

*shakes her head, slowly*

He went to the bathroom. I was standing in the living room, silent. He finished and then came into the living room, wrapped his arms around me and started kissing my neck. I shrugged him off telling him it was time for him to go. He said just one kiss. I said it was time for him to go. He released me and faced me.

I don�t remember if he grabbed my shoulders or just leaned in for a kiss, I just don�t remember. But he did come in for a kiss and I just let him kiss me. Just one kiss and he would go. I held onto that. But not for long.

He kissed me more aggressively and tried to back me up against the armoire. I pushed him back away from me telling him it was time to go. He grabbed me again and kissed me again, roughly. I sank to my knees cause he had me backed up, but then he sank to his, pulling me the rest of the way to the floor.

I told him no. He didn�t listen. He kissed me and started mauling my breasts. I said no and pushed him away, or rather, tried to. He pressed against me and kissed me harder, with me on my back, and his hand went down to my jeans. I bucked, angry now. I told him loudly that he had to go. He grabbed at my jeans again, trying to release the button. I thrashed away from him, shoving him off of me, jerked to my feet and moved toward the door.

He caught up to me about half way down the hall and grabbed me, spun me into the wall and started kissing me, mauling my breast and then again going for the jeans. I tried pushing him away, he shoved his knee between my legs, pinning me there with his body as his hand groped for the button to my jeans, releasing it.

I kneed him in the groin, hard, shoving him away at the same time. I almost ran to the door, opening it. He slammed the door shut then shoved me back against it, again his hand moving to my jeans, to the zipper, trying to get it down, trying to get my jeans over my hips.

I kneed him in the groin again, as hard as I could, shoved him away from me as hard as I could, jerked open the door and grabbed him by the hair and the arm, shoving him diagonally out of my apartment and down the stairs.

He slid/fell half down the stairs, grabbing the railing with his hand, staring into my eyes and I slammed the door shut as hard as I could, as fast as I could, throwing both locks.

The look in his eyes was so, so.... enraged. the look in his eyes was furious and enraged and accusing. He glared at me and I don�t remember if he said it, or if I just imagined it, but I heard, one way or the other, �How dare you do this to me? You�re mine, bought and paid for.�

I think he might have said the first part and I imagined the last part. But I sure as hell felt like a whore. Damn, I felt like such a whore.

I couldn�t breathe, I couldn�t think. I couldn�t move. I was so scared and lost and confused and so very, very, very shamed.

she loved him and here I was allowing him to feel me and kiss on me and damn it he wanted more and I had been taken out, I had gotten the dinners the gifts the flowers the.... everything. I had gotten the time and the presents and always I had given him the kisses and feels he wanted. Always I�d let him use my body because he had paid for it. He had spent the time, he paid for it. He bought me. I was nothing better than a common whore. In fact, I was worse. I was a whore to another woman�s man. And not only that, but I had WANTED to do it.

For so long I had chosen to take control. I had chosen to play the Game and I was good at it. So yeah, I was bought and paid for. I was nothing better than a two bit slut... a common street walker. So disgusting. so used. So worthless.

And I curled up on the floor of my apartment. I curled up there, on my side, wrapped up tightly against myself, with my body shaking and shuddering and my mind screaming at me to admit it wasn�t my fault. And I couldn�t admit it. I couldn�t say it wasn�t my fault. I just replayed my allowing him to come up to the apartment. I simply saw myself letting him come up, saying he could come up.

Now that it�s so much later in my life, I can admit that it wasn�t my fault. I know that I didn�t ask to be taken advantage of and that I didn�t ask him to ignore my �no�. But I still feel a little guilt. I still, to this day, feel guilt because I didn�t say no firmly enough the first night. And to this day, I still feel shame because when it had stopped the first time, I taunted him, I wanted the power and the attention, so I taunted him to start again.

Now that it�s so much later, I do see that I had some responsibility, that I did play a part in my own rape. And yes, I still consider what happened between Jonny and I to be rape. There was a long time, though, when I didn�t. I told myself, for many years, that it wasn�t rape because he didn�t have actual intercourse with me.

I don�t know if he even wanted actual intercourse with me that night in August. But it�s still rape.

And why is it rape? Because he didn�t stop after the first time I said no. Because he didn�t stop every time I said no.

And still, when I think about that particular time in my life, what is my reaction? Jonny was just a stupid kid who wasn�t raised with the knowledge that when a girl says no, that means stop. And I was just a stupid girl who didn�t know that it was okay to say no more than once. That it was okay to get loud. That it was okay to punch, kick, scratch, claw, bite... anything to get away from what was happening to me.

I suppose that�s really the most important thing about this that any of you readers might be able to use. And it�s important to me that those of you who are young and innocent, or old and innocent, or who have never been through something like that... It�s okay to say no. It�s okay to say no loudly. It�s okay to use physical force and even some form of physical violence if necessary. It�s okay to do whatever you need to do to get away from the bastard who is trying to steal your innocence.

What happens to the person who was raped after the rape is done? What happens when the rapist is gone, but no one else knows?

In my case, I shut up and sucked myself into a less-painful world. I blanked it out of my mind. I pretended it didn�t exist. But, oh, man, but I felt it. I felt it hit me hard, time after time after time. And I replayed the events in my mind, making them much more dramatic. Yes, I imagined the scenes with him wearing this nasty leer, a villainous leer, from some old vaudeville act. Over dramatized.

I argued with myself. Oh yes, I argued with myself a lot. I growled and groused and paced in my apartment, condemning myself for being so damned weak. I would sink down to the floor, closing my eyes as I rocked on the floor, rocking back and forth, silently telling myself how stupid and weak I was.

But I didn�t cry. *smiles softly* No, after that final night in August, I didn�t cry. I told myself that crying was weak. I told myself that because I wasn�t good enough to stand up for myself, maybe I should just stay at home all the time crying and whimpering like a weak-willed little pussy.

And then, the worst nights, I would replay being on that children�s toy, but instead of him kissing me, I replayed him actually fucking me. And I was so disgusted, because the whore I had become in my head... that part of me that was the whore on that children�s toy, loved to be fucked. Wanted to be fucked like that, desecrating that place which was dedicated to being innocent.

I hated that part of me. I hated that part of my psyche that actually liked desecrating the place of innocents. I hated that part of my psyche that would accuse my weak, fragile part of encouraging the abuse, of encouraging the prolonged rape.

And yes, it�s possible to have such a thing as long-term rape. Perhaps it�s serial rape. Perhaps it�s just one rape that takes place over, in my case 7 months* a long time period. Regardless as to what you consider it, whether it was one extended rape, or many little episodes of rape, or something else entirely, the effects were/are long reaching.

When the perpetrator doesn�t stop the first time you say no, that�s rape. When the perpetrator does it again, whether you say no or not, that doesn�t mean that suddenly you welcome his/her touch. Most times, it means that you just don�t have the energy/will to fight anymore. Most times it means that you can�t bear the guilt and shame of having your own words ignored.

And sometimes, even when the mind doesn�t want it, even when you don�t want the physical activity, the body will betray you. This specific thing happens more often with males than females, as the male will often get hard just because of the physical stimulation, regardless as to whether he really wants it. But it happens with females too. Sometimes the body will produce the lubrication and indicators of arousal whether the female wants it to or not.

That specific part did not happen to me. My body didn�t �betray� me. My mind did. I didn�t want the contact at all. I didn�t want that kind of attention. But I wanted to be treasured and I wanted to be taken out. And I wanted to be pampered. And the only way Jonny would do that, is if I �put out�.

I suppose one of the reasons I was so... impressed, with Charles, and so completely off kilter, is because he treated me with respect. He was kind. He listened to me. He would open doors for me. He was polite and considerate and showed me the attention I wanted as a basic human being. And not once, not even once, did he ever do anything which could be even remotely considered an �advance�.

When I really think about it... out of everyone I�ve known in my life, out of all my friends, all my companions, all the people I�ve spent time with face to face, who weren�t family... He is the first person to ever treat me with respect, give me attention and treat me as if I were worthy of attention, without expecting something in return.

That really and truly impresses me more than most anything else. I remember sitting at the restaurant with both Charles and his sister. Charles excused himself for a moment and I took the check, intending to pay it. His sister looked at me and asked me what I was doing. *chuckles*

I said I was paying the bill. She said the man always pays when you�re on a date. I looked at her, confused. Charles and I weren�t on a date, we were friends. She said it didn�t matter, the man always pays. I hadn�t ever, ever, ever thought about that before.

*laughs quietly*

Of course, my dating experience has always been extremely limited. I can count the number of men I�ve dated on one hand. And have more than one finger left over. *chuckles*

Anyway, there were many times when Charles and I went out to eat during the two weeks I was out there. Sometimes he paid, sometimes I did. But he treated me the exact way I always wanted to be treated while out with a male. He was respectful. He listened to the things I said. He spoke and gave his opinions. And there was never even a hint of pay back.

I could very well have embarrassed him with how often I told him how impressed I was with him. *rolls her eyes* I�m sure I sounded like some love-starved teeny-bopper or something, but I was just very pleasantly surprised with how.... With the fact that he was a complete and total gentleman. And he�s still a gentleman. And we�re still friends. And he is special and set apart in my mind because he was, and always will be, the first to treat me exactly the way I want to be treated by a male.

Suffice it to say, I finally have experienced what it is to be respected and honored just because I am a human being. What Charles did, inadvertently, was give me a taste of what it was to be a �normal� human being. To have social contact with a member of the opposite sex with no sexual tension. Just two people spending time together without the time being reduced to sexual tension within the first ten minutes.

It took me 30 years, folks, but I finally had my first date. Granted, it took place after my marriage, but I�ve always been a little strange as far as time is concerned. Seriously though. When we�re kids, we�re supposed to have those first dates where you spend the time talking to each other, where he opens the doors and you both get to practice those social skills: conversation, dancing, being polite, opening doors, showing interest in his conversation, drawing forth points from discussions.

I finally had that, the platonic date. Granted, about 14 or so years after the fact, but still... it�s all good.

I want to write more on this, but I�ve been working on it for quite a while so far and I just need to take a break from this dumping my brain right onto the screen. *chuckles*

I want to mention here that the rape story isn�t done yet. There�s a little more. The asterisk up there a ways back is to indicate that there�s more to the story. That time may have been the last physical time I was raped, but the story keeps going... there is a conclusion. So, be watching this diary in the next few days, I�ll be posting the rest of the story soon.

And, most importantly, thank you for reading. The fact that someone else is seeing these words, that someone else is reading my past gives me a reason to have gone through it. If just one person receives something they didn�t have before, then it was worth it.

So, thank you. Thank you very much.