Steph’s story: I just wanted to have fun

Steph’s story: I just wanted to have fun

I was barely 16, and though it wasn’t the first time I experienced harrasment, it was the first time I was raped.

I had a boyfriend. He was my age and he was sweet. He was the nicest guy in the world. He never pressed me to do anything and at one point the desire I felt for him became overwhelming to me. When my story happened, our sexual activity was flowering: we had kissed, we had touched each other above our clothes, we had grinded our bodies together. He was so shy, he never said mean things to me. He was clearly in love with me. And I with him. One day I asked him what did he wanted the most. With my body. He said he would die happy if he saw my breasts.

So I decided to give him a surprise. It was also strange for me, since I grew up in a very religious house. But when I saw him I felt so warm inside and it made me do weird things. Things that at the moment I didn’t consider as dangerous or reckless. But now I do.

Before procceeding with the story, I need to say he wasn’t the man who raped me. But the reason I write this is because I want to express that before that happened I felt like a normal girl. I felt perfect. I felt loved, and pretty and I felt desire and I can look back and now I was so lucky to be in such a beautiful relationship. But then the horror happened. And my life turned to Hell.

We went to the movies and as usual we kissed. We touched ourselves. I let him touch my breasts. I grabbed his hand and slided it under my blouse. I took his other hand and guided him under my skirt. I could feel how he trembled. I felt so wonderful and with so much energy, that when the movie ended we went for a walk. I could only think about how much I wanted him, at that moment. The theater had an underground parking lot. We didn’t had a car but we went there. I had a plan.

I started to kiss him frantically. I sat him on a planter and I immediately sat on top of him, kissing him, surronding his neck with my arms. I felt him get an erection under me and I felt myself get excited. Too excited to notice anything. I whispered in his ear that I loved him. And then I lifted my blouse and my bra and gave him my breasts to kiss. I was moving my hips, feeling him, feeling so good. It felt perfect as he kissed me, cause he was so gentle. And that’s the exact moment it happened.

The security guard of the theater aproached us in silence. We didn’t notice. When he was right next to us he asked us what were we doing. I panicked, my boyfriend freaked out. He demanded us to get up and get against the wall. “I’ll have to call the cops”, he said. My boyfriend said we weren’t doing anything ilegal. “I’ll be the judge of that”, he said, then started to frisk him. After he finished, he went on to me.

He touched me. Everywhere. Not like he did to my boyfriend. He touched my hips and my legs, my waist. “I’m sorry, miss, but women have more hiding places than men”, he said. I remember how he rolled his tongue when saying it, like he was savoring the moment. He then grabed my breasts, both of them with his hands, and with his right hand he went down, and slided his hand between my legs. I froze. As he slided his fingers under my underwear and touched me, I couldn’t move or do anything.

I felt his hot breathe on my nape, humid, as his fingers touched me. It hurt me. He pressed my breast hard. My boyfriend then tried to stop him, asking what he was doing, when all of a sudden the guard knocked him down with a kick. He hit his head and was unconciuos. Then he said “you’re so wet”, “you love this, don’t you fucking slut”. I couldn’t talk, couldn’t move, I only cried, as he lifted my blouse, twited my nipples and shoved two of his dirty fingers inside me. He broke me. I was a virgin. “Oh baby you’re so wet, and so tight”, he said, as he penetrated me all the way. It felt like a red iron killing me from inside.

I then felt his erect penis against my butt. He pressed it hard, while raping me with his fingers. He released my breast for a moment, which I used to lower my blouse, the only thing I could think of at that moment. He then pressed me even harder against the wall, he pulled his penis out and masturbated with one hand while raping me with the other. He swiftly removed my panties. I didn’t even understand how he was capable of such precise and agile movements.

I thought he was going to rape me with his penis, but what happened was worse. He stuck two fingers in my mouth and told me to suck them like the whore I was, then I felt how he lifted me with the fingers he had inside my vagina. He was pressing me hard from inside, using his thumb like a clamp. It hurt so much, even more when he touched the back of my tongue and made me want to vomit. Then something happened and I started to convulse, and as i did he called me a whore. I had an orgasm. The first orgasm a man ever gave me.

I felt his semen, at that moment, falling over my exposed back and buttocks. He had pressed his penis against my butt. He then pulled his fingers off me and I fell to the floor, with my legs trembling. I saw his face, I hadn’t even seen his face for more than a few seconds. He was, at that moment, the ugliest person I ever saw. He was a demon. He sniffed the fingers he had in my vagina, bloody and covered with mucus. “A virgin whore! I should have fucked you all the way!” he said. He then licked his fingers, zipped his pants on and dissapeared.

After that everything is blurry. I’m not sure how we got to my house, when my boyfriend woke up. I only knew that when he did I was crying, I had been crying since it all begun. That man raped me, took my virginity, degraded me, used me, and even then I had an orgasm. I felt so ashamed, like garbage. I felt like I actually was a slut, as he said. Otherwise, why did I came? I didn’t told my bf the whole extent of things. How could I?

To be honest, I didn’t tell it to anyone for years. I just told him that he touched me but then he stopped and left with my underwear. Then everything deteriorated. I didn’t felt comfortable talking about sex, or even kissing my bf. I felt like my body wasn’t mine, like I was living inside a shell and that me, the real me, had drowned inside this shell and I was just a sort of remnant. For years I struggled, became evasive, paranoid and antisocial.

At 19 I was raped again. And it was more brutal and it almost got me killed. But I don’t want to extend on that. Not because it hurts, but because it has always felt like all the things that happened to me started with that security guard and that moment destroyed my whole life. So yes, I was raped again at 19, by two men who strangled me while raping me at the same time. The only thing that saved me was that once again my body experimented an orgasm, which in turn led me to more years of shame. I developed insomnia, I eventually discovered drugs. Wich led me to more rapes.

Until my year 32 I had been raped a total of 19 times. Some while sleeping, passed out after a binge of valium and vodka. I can’t get pregnant because my uterus got destroyed from a forced fisting. I’ve experimented terrible horrors, a terrible life. I tried to kill myself 5 times. But something held me back. Something held me here, to life.

I wanted to share this story now that I’m close to being 40. I wanted to share it because I know how hard it is to survive and live with guilt, with shame, with others blaming us for the things that happened. And despite everything, I can tell you that there is hope out there. You can still be happy. You can still find love. You can still feel alive once more. And one thing that really helps is writing. That’s why I shared this: because I’m a writer now and writing is what kept me alive and what saved me from Hell.

It doesn’t mean it stopped hurting me. Or that I can write about it without experiencing a flashback of sorts. It’s still really hard to gather the courage to recall the voice and face of my rapist, his foul smell, the pain he inflicted on me. It’s painful. When I remember it, and write it, parts of it I live again. But with each time I write it down it becomes less painful, more managable and it gives me the ability to understand that it wasn’t my fault. I was a teenage girl, being wreckless, but innocent. And don’t let anyone ever tell you the opposite. We are innocent. We were raped. We were victims and we survived.

Thank you.

Author

WYR

WYR

When You're Ready.org is a community for survivors of sexual violence to share their stories.

Related