Losing My Anal Virginity!

*Possible trigger warning: themes of rape and sexual assault*

The man who took my anal virginity was my rapist.

He was a man who drugged me then pushed himself on me; into me.

He violated every single one of my orifices; mouth, ass, pussy.

And when he was done, he finished up by shooting his cum all over my face.

At which point he pulled his jeans on and 'kindly' offered me a tissue to clean up my cum-covered face.

Throughout this whole ordeal I had felt disconnected. It felt as though I was floating outside my body; watching everything going on as if it weren't really happening to me. Inside my head I was screaming "no" and "stop" but my mouth wouldn't, or couldn't, form the words. The drugs had done their job and silenced me; allowing this man to rape me as he wanted.

As soon as the drugs wore off I pulled my clothes on and high-tailed it out of there as quick as possible. So fast, in fact, that I left my DVD in his TV. By that point, I no longer cared about anything else, I just wanted to get home and shower all the dirtiness off my body.

I never spoke about the rape. I returned home to find my mum had gone out, mercifully, and jumped straight in the shower where I scrubbed my skin raw with boiling hot water and a loofah. I donned my pajamas and curled up in bed and attempted to forget about it in sleep.

I lived in constant fear of seeing him again. Whether he lived in denial that what he had done to me was against my will or whether he just didn't care, he sent me text messages at various times of night asking to hook up. I knew he knew where I lived and I was anxious all the time that he would come to the house. Thankfully, he never did, and a few long weeks later, when our house began to subside, my family and I moved to a different part of town, and I began to feel safer, at least.

In the years since the rape took place I have opened up about it to a handful of boyfriends and close friends; people I trusted. I still haven't told my family, though. I think I'm protecting them from something I know would hurt them to hear. Some people say I talk about the ordeal too casually, but I have to distance myself from the memories to even begin to talk about what happened.

The biggest part of me still believes it was my fault; that in going to his house without knowing anything about him and then not leaving when I saw the cocaine-using flatmates, I deserved it. But a smaller part of me knows that whilst I acted a little naive, I did not deserve what he did to me. No one deserves that.

I thought the rape was the worst thing that would, or could happen to me. At least in that year, anyway. But, unfortunately, I turned out to be very wrong. Worse was yet to come...