Then He Called Me a Hoe by @_ClvraRose
I won’t go into context of how two people may end up in this situation, it’s not important and plus it varies. I’ll just delve straight into the moment.
Girls, I’m sure a lot if you have been here before.
Guys, I’m sure a lot of you will be triggered.
“Stop!” she sighed while dodging his kisses and moving his hand as he tried to wiggle them into her jeans. They had repeated this play at least five times within the last ten minutes. Maybe her no wasn’t adamant enough? Again, she rehearsed her giggled sigh as she brushed him off and rolled over to the edge of the bed, “Stoppppp it uhhh.”
It was beyond her as to why he couldn’t just keep his hands to himself.
“So man can’t you touch you nah?” he whined, playing on emotional guilt, “I ain’t tryna do nothing. Moving like man’s a rapist. Allow it”.
Somehow he managed to make her feel guilty for not wanting to be touched. After a while she gave up rejecting his neck kisses and reluctantly allowed his hands to wander. Every touch felt like ice. As he was busy slobbering away and staining every part of her body with his kisses, she had to hold back tears. This is not what she wanted. “But if this was not what I wanted, I shouldn’t have come” she thought, trying to reason and convince herself that it was her fault. Funny that, because as he climbed on top of her and proceeded to fumble with the buttons on her jeans, she recalled how many times she forewarned him that sex was not on the cards before they met up.
“What are you doing?” She blurted. Her body froze as his fingers slipped into her vagina. Too busy consumed by her thoughts and battling things over in her mind, she hadn’t even realised his hands had travelled so far down south. Too late.
She let him continue for a minute, body frozen, eyes closed wishing herself far away. Suddenly, she felt the urge to shove him off. He sulked. He genuinely looked wounded and confused. Why was he confused? Just when it seemed like he was ready to call it quits, throw the towel in and finally leave her alone, he hits her with, “I’ll just finger you and that’s it. Then I’ll leave you alone, I promise.” Fingering isn’t so bad right, she can let him get away with that? Right???
Again, she decided to lose herself in her thoughts. She wondered how he couldn’t read her body language- how could he not tell that she really wasn’t into it? Did he really think he if he was persistent he’d ‘change her mind’ and ‘turn her on’? So many thoughts ran through her head. “I just want him to leave me alone.” her thoughts recycled, “I just want it to be over and done with”. Every time his boner dig into her pelvis she felt a chilling shiver ripe with disgust shoot straight up her spine.
By the time he started pulling down his trousers and stretching her knickers to the side, she had little energy to stop what was about to happen. She simply crossed her legs. He argued her pussy was wet and therefore turned on. She repeated that she didn’t want to have sex. He sulked. She felt bad. She felt obliged. He won. As she “voluntarily” opened up her legs to him, as she gave her body to him, her soul blackened. This was not what she wanted. Regardless of her consent, this is not what she wanted. She hated herself. She wished she was strong enough to say no, walk out of the room and go home. Why didn’t she?
His persistence and nagging and touching and slobbering and entitlement and touching and nagging and touching and touching and slobbering… it worked. Not in the way he thought it worked however. She was not turned on, she was not willing. Instead her consent was coerced, it was cold, it was reluctant. Was he to know she was not playing coy to ‘free it up’ and that she really meant every “stop” no matter how playful her tone sounded now that she let him inside her? After all, if she really didn’t want it, she would’ve kept saying no and not allowed him to do anything- he used no physical force. Right? Right????
Her arms rigid by her side, her eyes firmly shut and her stomach in knots, as he pleasured himself. She couldn’t help but hope that since she let him hit, he would wife her, at least that would be a positive. He asked her questions, she didn’t respond. He folded her in different positions, she passively obeyed. At least he was enjoying himself. She wasn’t. How could he possibly enjoy having sex with someone who visibly wasn’t actively enjoying it? She couldn’t wait for it all to be over. Hopefully after he finished, they could go back to normal and actually chill together like she intended.
He rolled off her. Then fell asleep. She tried to cuddle, he pushed her away. Lucky him, she couldn’t manage to sleep, she felt horrid. So she laid there on her back, still as can be, staring at the ceiling and finally allowing the tears to fall and crash on the pillow case. Eventually, he woke up, kissed her forehead and ordered food. Relief, everything was okay. They watched movies and ate, he was normal and chatty and she prayed he didn’t notice her awkward demeanour towards him. She liked him. Despite what had just happened, she did like him.
On her way home, she smiled as messaged her girl’s group chat telling them about how nice he was and skipped out the obvious negative details.
As she left, he quickly sent a voice message to his group chat and proceeded to tell his friends how he fucked her on the first link. Jokingly arguing with his friends as they collectively branded her a hoe, not knowing how their boy had to beg and plead and hassle for the beat.
Why did she find herself aggressively scrubbing her skin in the shower, trying to get the touch of him off her, the water pouring masking her tears? She liked him. Yet, there she was disgusted with herself for allowing him to have sex with her. She was conflicted. She felt dirty. She felt like nothing.
“But I consented” she reminded herself, “so I have no business crying and complaining.” In many ways some people would agree with her. So she stepped out the shower, took a deep breath, wiped away the tears and smiled at her sad reflection in the mirror. Checked her phone to see if he had replied to her last message. Opened message. No reply.
She didn’t know then that she’d find herself checking her phone consistently only to see those same two blue ticks staring back at her, taunting her, laughing at her.
[DISCLAIMER: I am NOT calling men who do this rapists, I want you to decide. I just want to give you insight into the implications of your actions. I want you to understand how borderline creepy it can be. I need you to understand]
STORY BY: CLVRAROSE
SOURCE: ClvraRose’s Blog