The Poisoned Ink Well

Thursday, October 31, 2002


Two hours of oral sex versus 15 years or more of nightmares. I got raped a long time ago. It was a stupid situation. My friend and I were set up. She was lucky enough to pass out and they wanted someone awake and alert for their fun.

I was 15 and I can still replay it in my head. Four grown men did this to me. I can still feel the fear and taste the bile in my throat and I can still see the knife. I can’t remember what the men looked like but I could identify that knife to this day. It wasn’t penetration, it was forced oral sex.

When I remember the incident or something brings it to my attention, I ritualistically vow to myself that it will never happen again. This time I’ll kill them. I’ll injure them. They will loose an appendage. I tell myself that I am old and mean and the next one better watch out.

Wait a minute. I’m not violent. I don’t hurt people. Why should I feel like this, this was 20 years ago, and I still think about it. Tears still come to my eyes and I don’t trust men and I don’t trust myself.

They could have killed me.

Years later a bunch of tornadoes swept through the town where this attack took place and people died and I remember thinking and praying, “Dear God, please let these men be in the path of those storms.” and then I stopped myself and felt guilty, guilty at wanting justice so bad that I could watch a weather report and pray, I mean really pray, that one of their houses was one of the ones destroyed and hoping beyond all hope that they died and that they suffered.

The tornadoes were a wake up call for me 15 years later and I still can’t come to terms with something that happened when I was 15 and stupid and young and dumb and I hate myself. I hate myself for putting myself in a situation like that. They were strangers, my friend and I were drinking and we were going to get high with them at the time. I guess we deserved it and we didn’t report it. My friend didn’t wake up till after the assault and they didn’t bother her, I guess they wanted someone who was aware of the fun they were having.

I still feel revulsion, I still feel violated, I still feel responsible, I still feel hurt and sad.

It lasted less than two hours, 20 years ago and I still can’t get the taste out of my mouth, I still can feel the knife at my throat, and it never ends, never.

I got lifetime of feeling like this .

They got nothing.