Here is a heavy post. I came across a website/article following an assigned task to a sub. It really affected me. It deals with rape. I am lucky to never have been a victim of rape. I have in my life had several friends confide in me that they were not so lucky, that they had been raped. And what is scarier is there may be more who have not told me. I always get ill when I see such a scene in a movie or hear such a story. Just a note: the sub I speak of is not a victim of rape, just related to the feelings described.
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So I get this article, a real story, about a rape victim who is in the lifestyle. I have tried to contact the owner of the site unsuccessfully. It seems to be inactive since 2004. But I take the responsibility of reposting her article as I am sure she would want the message to keep getting perpetuated. After all that is why she made her site. So I dedicate this post to Tiana….check out her site Survive.
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RAPE

This is a very personal account of an event that happened recently to me. It is something that I am finding hard to come to terms with still, but am hoping that with continuing encouragement love and support from Master and my friends I will deal with it all in due course. This is one reason why I am writing this, as a public thank you to Master for his patience and understanding. I couldn�t have come this far without Him. Also I want to share it so that anyone else that is going through the same thing now, or has gone through it in the past will read this and not feel as if they are all alone, isolated in their fear and inner torment.

• RAPE – It is something that happens to other people. We read about it in the newspaper, see reports of it on the TV, but once read or seen we move onto the next item of news. We dismiss it, forget about it. Yes, at the time of reading it or seeing it we may think “oh how awful” or “poor thing” but because it isn�t happening to us we can�t even begin to understand how it must affect someone�s else�s life, so it is easier to just dismiss it as just another tragic event. It happens.

• RAPE – You are the victim, the one it has happened to. It envelops your whole world. Your world turns into a living hell. There are no words strong enough to describe the way it makes you feel. You are locked in a nightmare that seems to have little relevance to the outside world. It is your body that has been violated. Your mind that has been tortured. Where do you start to try and explain it to someone who has no real perception of the depth of physical and psychological abuse you have suffered.

• RAPE – What an ugly word. My dictionary defines it as ravishing or violation of a person, taking by force. Technically the law defines it as intercourse where the man has to have ejaculated inside of the woman without her consent. Although there are within the British legal system varying degrees of rape, the one I am referring to is indeed the typical non consentual, forced subjection of a man upon a female for his own pleasure or needs, outside of a relationship.

• RAPE – It happened to me just a mere 8 weeks ago. It is still raw in my mind. I relive it every time I try to sleep, every time something happens to trigger off a memory. They say time is a great healer, but even 8 weeks on I know I have a long way to go till I am healed . I wonder if I will ever heal completely. No doubt the emotional scars will stay with me forever.

RAPE:My Story

I was raped by someone I knew and trusted. Someone I let into my house as a friend. He then proceeded to rape me in a particularly cruel and brutal manner. Taking no heed of my struggling, my cries of “no, please, no”. Not only did he rape me physically, he described in great detail a fantasy he was reliving. This was a very cruel distorted sick image. He had planned what he was going to do, he came prepared.
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After the initial struggle, I tried the only way I knew of dealing with a situation which was out of my control by going out of body. This is an experience I can only describe as where you physically are still there, but mentally you switch off your responses, you become immune to pain, you feel nothing, just a great numbness. You enter a very quiet empty place, a great void. It is a self preservation technique that many who have been in an abusive relationship will recognise. You are vaguely aware of what is happening, but it is like it is happening to someone else, not you.
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I stayed this way for nearly an hour drifting in and out of consciousness, trying to concentrate on other things, watching the clock change minutes, trying to block out the crazed face, the animated voice taking great perverse pleasure in describing minute details of what he was doing to me and why. I even stopped struggling, thinking at least that way he may get it over and done with all the quicker. It�s amazing how long a minute becomes in a situation like that. It stretches into what seems like an eternity.
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Obviously because of the pending rape trial I can�t go into any great details at this stage, not that I think I could share them with anybody right now. I am too raw, it is all too painful. Instead it is locked away inside, bubbling up now and again as a flashback hits me, then once again being suppressed until I know I am ready to tell someone exactly what happened that day.
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After it was finished I lay like a new born baby, curled up half dressed in a foetal position in a state of disbelief and shock. I was shaking, trembling, scared and numb, totally numb. What had I done to make this happen? What had I said to make him behave this way? It must have been my fault, I must have given the wrong signals subconsciously. He knew my past. Maybe I did give out wrong signals. Maybe I am a slut, a tramp a whore like he said, maybe I was just getting what I deserved.
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I lay like that for a while in a state of total disbelief. Questioning myself, trying to make sense of it all. I felt dirty, disgusted, all I wanted to do was to strip my bed, strip my body, burn my clothes and bedding and scrub it all clean.
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I got out of bed and discarded what was left of my clothing and spent the next 30 mins immersed totally in the shower. Washing and scrubbing with disinfectant and a scrubbing brush. All I could smell was him. I needed to wash him out of me, out of my hair, out of my life. That�s when the tears came. The tears mingled with the spray from the shower, trying hard to cleanse my mind and my body. The water was running cold and still I wanted to be there. I didn�t want to get out. I was frozen and shivering, but I wasn�t clean enough.
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I wrapped myself in a towel and stripped the bedding off my bed, throwing it into the bath and using the rest of the bottle of disinfectant on it. Trying desperately to cleanse all the traces of his being there. I was like a woman possessed. I was out of control. I needed to scrub everything where he had been. I was obsessed with removing every trace of him that there may have been. I would clean some of the house and then I would be back in the shower, or immersed up to my neck in the bath. I can�t describe the intense need to clean myself. I was totally irrational. I was in and out of the bath or shower weeping uncontrollably every hour or so. I couldn�t settle, if I couldn�t bathe I was washing my hands. My skin was rough and sore from the constant scrubbing, and still I couldn�t stop.
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It was like I was in some kind of nightmare. Trapped in a body and mind I had no control of, in a giant bubble. I was aware of what was going on around me, but I was not part of it. I was on automatic pilot. I couldn�t let myself think of what had happened. I was scared that if I did it would be true, and it couldn�t be true, it wasn�t possible. He was my friend, friends didn�t do things like this. I felt dreadfully ashamed and guilty that this had happened to me. That in some way it was all my fault. I had let it happen to me.
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As day turned to night I was vaguely aware of a need to feel safe. My house no longer held the comfort and security it had once done. Some awful event had taken place there. It had been my sanctuary, a place I had chosen to move to with my children to escape such feelings of being unsafe, abused. Yet here I was again trapped in a place I couldn�t settle in. How did I know he wasn�t going to come back? It was possible that he had had a key cut, and was able to easily enter while I was asleep. Or, he could just break a window and enter and finish off what he had started. I couldn�t let myself fall asleep, just in case. I put chairs against the doors, making it difficult to enter. I couldn�t use my bed. It was where he had carried out the rape. I couldn�t bring myself to even go into my bedroom, let alone sleep in my bed.
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I brought down sleeping bags and quilts and we made a bed in front of the fire, snuggled together, but sleep wouldn�t come. I was so scared of closing my eyes . I didn�t want it all to come back. I had blocked it all out. If I didn�t think about it it hadn�t happened. Every little noise startled me. I heard everything. I was convinced he was lurking outside just waiting for me to drift off to sleep. I needed to shower again. I hadn�t showered for at least 2 hours. I felt unclean, dirty. I could smell him on me. I needed to be rid of him. So again I showered.
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The long night was spent drifting and then startling back to wakefulness as I felt myself letting go. I was frightened that my tortured mind was playing tricks on me. I could hear his voice saying the same things over and over in my head. When I closed my eyes I could see his face leering down at me, a crazed wild expression on his face. I could feel the pressure of his hands, feel my body writhing under him trying to escape, my head lashing from side to side as I shouted “No No No”, but no one could hear me, my voice wouldn�t come. The voice was trapped inside of my head, unable to escape, unable to make any one hear. I would break out of the dream; wake sweating, shaking, sobbing, rocking my arms wrapped around myself desperately longing for comfort that I couldn�t find. Peace that I so desperately needed. I felt I was going crazy, trapped between reality and hell, not knowing what was real any more. Asking myself continuously “what did I do to make this happen to me?”
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Day followed night. Tuesday morning came and went in a blur. Everyone left for school or work apart from my eldest son, who stayed home to look after me. I checked my mail and when I saw his name pop up into my mail box I started to shake uncontrollably. This was the man who the day before had raped me, and yet here he was today mailing me as if nothing had happened. I took a deep breath and started to read what he had written. I couldn�t believe it, this wasn�t happening, it wasn�t real. Not only had he turned my whole world upside own the day before but here he was threatening me. He was giving me ultimatums. He would he said go to the police and reveal certain events from my past life which involved not only me, but my entire family.
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I wanted to scream. A voice inside of my head was shouting and screaming. It was me. I was the one who was sobbing hysterically. I was the one who wanted to kill this man. I was the one who was wishing myself dead. My stomach was churning. I was seized with fear panic and horror. How could he do this to me? Why was he doing it? I thought I was going crazy. I wanted to run, to hide, to wake up and see that it was all some terrible mistake. It wasn�t real. It couldn�t be real. What had I done that I deserved this? I must be an awful person, someone really bad and disgusting to have had this done to me. It must have all been my fault, something I had done, or said to lead him on in some way. I just wanted someone to wave a magic wand and make it all better.
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A friend arrived. She held me tight, comforted me, made me see that this was his way of trying to get me to do what he wanted. He was scared. Scared I would report this to the police. The actions of a guilty man. I felt numb, empty, cold and unreal. The day must have passed in a daze becuase I can�t remeber much else about it. Other than the ritual cleaning, washing at every opportunity. Constant showers and baths, but still feeling dirty.
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More e-mails followed. He thought he was so clever. He thought he knew which emotional buttons to push. More threats, more blackmail. Accusations about my private life. All these ideas where conceived in his own deranged mind. He had built me a life that didn�t exist outside of his own jealous imagination. He admitted he had abused me but that it was ”all part of the game.” That my strugglings and constant head shaking and no�s meant that I was playing along with him, making it more real.
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He knew my fears about my BDSM way of life being public knowledge. He knew it was something I had kept fairly private, becuase that�s how I wanted it to be. He knew that I would be worried about standing up trying to explain to people in a law court that already have pre-conceived ideas as soon as they hear BDSM, from the way it is portrayed by the media.
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He was wrong.

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Lady Evyl
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