I experienced the third sleepless night. I think. I lay there on the sofa and try to sleep but sleep doesn't come. My thoughts recycle a single scene. Over and over and over. And that's very unlike a dream in which a single thought cannot hold without transforming to something else.
I kept getting different versions of the exact same thing.
The scene is me at the oversized counter in the kidney specialist office. I tell the two on the other side I like their parking lot. I always get a spot right in the front. "See? That's my truck down there."
They tell me they have additional covered parking to the side. The woman sells it. It's very nice. Just built. Easy to use. Direct access and so on.
I say, "I'm scared of covered parking."
The young man, twenty-something, tall and well built, says, "So am I."
The young woman says, "I'm not. It's very convenient. I prefer it. What scares you about it?"
"I could get raped."
The young man, laughing, said, "Yeah. Me too."
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
What in the world is so funny?
This same thing happened before.
A few years ago I answered a knock at the door. A tall blond young man stood there holding a package. He looked like a Viking dressed in a delivery outfit. The man was bigger than the position he held signaled by his clothes. He did not match his clothes. After the exchange I said, "Jeeze, my door was unlocked this whole time. He said, "Hmmmm." I continued. "Someone could have just walked in here and raped me.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
He laughed the whole time he walked away to the elevator. He was still laughing while he waited for the elevator. I could hear all the way down the hall.
What in the world is so funny?
Apparently sixty-five year old men don't get raped. That's what is so funny.
I'm comforted now that I've become rape-proof due to age.
The other half is visualizing the indoor parking lot. Over and over and over. These thoughts do change but they stay on the same subject. That's what makes me think that I'm still awake.
The subject is three companies who put up cameras to monitor the parking lot. The cheesiness of the cameras indicate they are not serious about preventing parking lot rapes.
Now I must confess something horrible.
My psychologist (that I'm imagining) advised me confess this to clear my mind forever. So here goes.
I am a late bloomer. Very late.
In high school some of the boys had already peaked physically; fully muscled, hairy chests, shave every day, the whole maturation bit.
Those guys who peaked in high school look like shit in their thirties. Balding, fat dad bods, the whole aging thing preternaturally early.
I was carded consistently until I turned thirty. Thereafter less often all the way to thirty-five. The photos that I use here for profile pics were taken when I was thirty-eight. To give you an idea.
Here goes.
When I was nineteen I visited friends to hang out at the pool of their apartment. This apartment is a tall building on some cross street at 14th on Capitol Hill, not too far from the capitol.
As I recall it, the place is built on a slope. Duh. So the outdoor pool is at the basement level inside the building. I think. It's a mixed group of people. We're all very young. Except one guy who is about ten years older. I'm guessing.
At the time I was tall but not fully grown. Thin as a rail. Scrawny. Sinewy. Not an ounce of fat. I considered myself strong. I skied, hang glided, moved heavy furniture, lifted heavy drywall, carried heavy buckets, mowed large lawns. Other people used my youth and my strength to get their own things done.
Alcohol was not permitted at the pool. The group decided to go upstairs to mix cocktails. They would return soon. I was not interested so I stayed at the pool.
So did that guy who I didn't know.
Although I was tall, he was taller. He looked like a gym rat. A little bit overly built. My body type is ectomorph, his body type was mesomorph. He was fully developed where I was not. He was muscled. I was not. He was a man. I was a boy.
When the others went upstairs he repositioned next to me and began to converse earnestly.
He was a sweet talker. He seemed very nice. There was nothing odd about him. I enjoyed talking to him. Easy going and pleasant.
No signal about him being a giant perv.
I was on the ground on a towel sunning my back. He was in a lounge chair close to me.
Suddenly he got off his chair and went to the ground next to me. A bit alarmed, I kept talking. He kept responding pleasantly.
Then he flipped over three quarters on top of me and pinned me to the ground. I'm all, "Wtf? Get off of me. Let go of me. Stop doing this."
I tried to break free but he kept checking my movements like a professional wrestler. Every move I made was checked. I flailed, he pinned my flailing. I yelled. He clamped my mouth. I flail my arms he pinned them with his elbows. I struggled with all the might I could muster and he exhausted me easily.
He clamped my mouth with his hand and forced my face into it with his other hand pushing my head, his elbows pinning my scrawny arms.
He owned me.
My neck exhausted. My arms exhausted. My legs exhausted.
His legs were the type that push up five-hundred pound barbells.
Like a cat with a mouse he allowed me to move then checked the movement to constrict it.
Every movement playfully allowed was checked. To exhaustion.
He applied his weight on my chest to control my breathing and make it impossible for me to yell.
He proved that he can have his way with me.
Here is the horrible part.
The guy had an erection.
He rubbed against me to lower the front of his shorts to bring it out.
With his body on my right arm, his right elbow on my neck, his right arm crossed over to hold down my left arm, his knees pinning my legs, his left arm reached down and pulled down the back of my shorts. He put his dick between my butt cheeks and positioned his dick head at my sphincter. I clamped it shut.
He terrified me. He was actually going to f me right there in daylight, right there with friends about to return.
Here's the thing that I learned that day. That is not a well-exercised muscle. You can only tighten your butt for a short period of time. He kept poking my butt proving he can fully enter. He scared the h-e-double bent boners out of me. I was terrified. The more I distressed, the more I resisted, the more I struggled and squirmed then the more turned on he became. His whole thing was dominance.
Within minutes he rolled off of me. Ping. I was gone. I grabbed my pants on the way out and left my shoes and socks and my shirt. I left directly onto the street. Ran across 14th to next block where my car was parked. My pants had my car keys. I scrambled into the car and drove off.
I have the answer to why the chicken crossed the road. To escape the chicken hawk power perv.
Later I called the host of that party and told them what happened. I told them their older friend is a giant dominant perv. He listened sympathetically then said, "He does that."
!
I'm hanging out with the wrong people.
X out that whole group.
Now, my flu-sick fevered dreams made clear to me. That is my nineteen-year old self who pipes up today and says that I could have been raped. That's hilarious to people coming from a sixty-five year old man who is clearly immune to that sort of aggression.
I'm safe.
I can relax.
That's what my dreams gave me.
But I'm still going to use the line because it does get a very strong reaction.
No comments:
Post a Comment