Editor’s Note: I’ve been hosting posts from SwirlingFire for about 6 weeks now and not since that first introduction have I added words around what she’s written. When I saw the draft of this post I knew I would have to add something.
Reading it brought out all sorts of emotions in me that I rather assumed I was inured to in the written word. That told me that this post requires a major WARNING.
It is one of the bravest pieces of writing I have ever come across. More forceful because it’s not a blow by blow account. I encourage people to read this, especially males who resort to “Not All Men” to absolve themselves and ignore the uncomfortable truths.
- Sexual Assault
- Physical Assault
- Verbal Assault
- Red Mist
Scent of Fear
“Was there ever a time you were scared of me ?” he asked
“no Daddy.” Was my reply. It was true. It wasn’t one time. There were three very distinct occasions. Twice the first time he took me to his home.
The first time:
I was in a rural area. No network signal. No Wi-Fi. No way of phoning a taxi for the train station to get me as far away from him as possible. I was trapped. He had already encouraged me to make my “safe Phone calls / contacts”. I emailed a friend with his specific identity, where he lived etc from the ladies toilet in the pub with their strong WiFi signal. This is when I made my safe voice calls and texts
It was after the safe calls when everything changed. I was frozen to the spot.
I couldn’t run away.
So I had to make the decision.
How can I best get through the time with him with the least amount of physical injury ?
He’d already screamed and shouted at me when I was startled at his hand being shoved up my skirt and plunging his rough fingers deeply inside me.
I didn’t object to the act itself – just the timing that caught me off guard. I was told he would clearly outline how the time together would be. Certainly not a minute by minute agenda. Simply a range of what I was likely to experience. It wouldn’t matter if the acts didn’t occur in a certain or particular order, if at all, just some form of expectations.
I’d been devoid of consensual male touch for many years.
Startled, I lightly touched his hand and caressed his arm, asking him to slow down. He took it as blanket refusal and rejection. It was neither of my intentions. It was a mis-communication not a flat NO. My first time in intimate company with a man .. he even knew why I’d been single for some time. He’d even asked earlier if my last contact with a man had been an assault. He appeared to care. Up to and including everything to the moment I was about to enter. All methods of communication had been kind, funny, flirty, deep and meaningful life experiences. My daft humour defences, my total naivete of anything kink related. We really had covered highs and lows of life and lovers.
The touch on his hand, the scent of my fear in his nostrils. His angry arousal to my reaction appeared to be the catalyst that unleashed his red wild eyes, flushed face and throbbing neck veins setting his temper free – especially for me. He screamed at me “if you’re going to cry rape then there’s no point in any of this! I’ll turn round and take you back to the train station and leave you there!”
I was rigid with fear.
I didn’t cry. I was shocked.
After years of abstinence from dating – here I was – back into the fiery pit of Hell.
I’d found yet another abusive man ! I’d confided my concerns of a casual encounter and was assured CONSENT AND RESPECT are so very important to him. He is quite militant on social media regarding boundaries. Consent. Respect. Two way communication.
He tricked me. It only applied to other women. He showed that he didn’t care.
He just proved he did not have any respect for me.
I felt as though, yet again, I was a stupid fool. My arrangement with him was fatally flawed. I had no backup plan to escape.
I was his prey.
He toyed with my beliefs and boundaries.
He didn’t care.
He never would.
@Swirlingfire, 3 November 2018