6/22/2007 Rape Fantasy

6/22/2007 Rape Fantasy

My first rape fantasy came after my first love, Christine. After she graduated, I had to accept that I would likely never see her again. Immediately I started having vivid, intense sexual fantasies about her. It was summer time and I had lots of free time. I was depressed and the fantasies brought me down somewhat.

That summer was somewhat surreal. I started going to bed late at night, 3-4AM. I would watch letterman, then I would fantasize. My mind was getting warped from depression and too little sleep. I would go to bed certain that someone was trying to kill me. No fun.

Then it was time for the family vacation. We all went to this place on the beach. I fantasized that I would meet Christine there and we would fall in love. This became a very intense fantasy. But then something else intervened.

The past. Years before, when I was twelve years old and on the same yearly family vacation, there was a girl who stayed in the same complex. She was twelve as well. She was slender with brown skin, brown hair and blue eyes. Stunningly beautiful. I was so in love with her. I would look out my window hoping she would walk by. And I had some hope as well.

My family stayed there for two weeks. The girl, Lisa, was there for the same two. The first week she and her sister hung around with these other two guys who were a floor below me. But those two guys only stayed a week. The next week, Lisa would be seeking new company.

When that week came, it was quickly apparent that Lisa had romance on her mind for that week as well. But not for me. My best friend was also in the complex, and it became obvious very soon that she liked him, not me. That was a blow to me at the time. I had no idea what made one like the other. My friend was a year younger than me. He was an inch shorter. I was stronger, I could run faster. I was smarter. I was a better swimmer. I could draw. Why did she like him? I became sick as a dog, throwing up every hour or so for the rest of the week. It was years before i realized that it was probably psychosomatic.

That story might have a lot to do with my curiosity regarding what makes us attracted to one anther.

Back to Christine. My fantasy was to meet her at the beach and fall in love. Then one night at 3:00AM, I had a waking nightmare. Christine and I meet at the beach, but then she falls in love with my best friend. The first time the thought came into my head, it hurt so much that I tried to drive it out with every thought I could. But it kept coming back. It was inevitable that history repeat itself. If I met Christine, she would like him, not me. I couldn't take that.

But as the thought kept occurring, the pain lessened slightly. And it became more and more erotic. I would picture them having sex with one another and even though I was not part of the fantasy, it would get me very excited. Then the fantasy took on one more turn...

The Rape Fantasy

In my fantasy, Christine and I already know each other. We are at the beach together, and we have been together for a long time. I am Christine's fiance. We have a good relationship and an easy, supportive comfort with one another, no one is expecting what happens next.

I introduce Christine to a group that includes my friend, his parents and another couple that is in the complex. When I get around to my friend, Christine looks at him for the first time. She looks surprised when she sees him. Her eyes widen and she smiles at him like he's a the grand prize she's won. It's unmistakably sexual and I am shocked at the brazenness of it from such an ethical girl. She quickly composes herself. She says hi and shakes his hand. Though she never breaks eye contact. I look around at the others and they don't seem to have noticed. That's hard for me to believe. The rest of the conversation is pleasant, I forget the hurt I felt at the lewd display I saw from the girl I love. Perhaps it's best forgotten.

That night I am tired and turn in early. Christine goes out with the same group I introduced her with. She comes home with him.

As he says goodnight to her, he kisses her. She cannot help but kiss him back. The two share a long, deep, passionate, illicit kiss. He leads her to the empty bathhouse, she complies without thinking. Once inside they kiss again, this time more passionately, almost angrily, and before she even realizes that she's betraying her fiance he has her hand up her shirt. The one thing that takes her out of the moment is his hand going into her pants. Before it reaches it's destination, she pushes him away. She locks eyes with him, not thinking of him anymore but her the love she has betrayed. Still aroused, but now ashamed, she wordlessly tries to hurry past him. But he grabs her by the arm and throws her against the wall, his hand pinning her by her chest. She struggles and starts to cry, but she doesn't scream. His other hand wiggles into her shorts, she intensifies her struggle, but it's no use. She can barely breath with the hand at her chest. When the other hand cups her pussy, her protest mix with unmistakable signs of sexual arousal. Her shoulders rise and her head tilts back, her eyes closed. Her breath heavy and erratic. The signs of protest now reduced to a vague tone in her whine. He penetrates her with his middle finger and rubs her clitoris with his thumb. She hasn't opened her eyes. As he moves inside her, her body settles and she arches her back, her head tilted back even farther. He takes her hand from her chest but she doesn't realize it. The part of her that protested is erased. Her pussy is flooded and she is starting to undulate her whole body with his hand. He sees her skin, white in the moonlight, traced by little drops of sweat and it pleases him. He can smell her arousal on her breathe, she keeps breathing heavy though she doesn't know or care that it fills him with desire for her. Suddenly, she gasps. Her excitement has reached a new level but the sound she makes seems to wake her. She looks him in the eye and then gets a shamed look on her face. The idea that someone might hear her occurred and now she is horrified. She tries to run but he grabs her and throws her to the floor.

As his hands go to work on her again, she protests with a whispered, “No. Please.” even as she begins to groove on his fingers again. He bends over her to breath in her breath again, which is now erratic again. He keeps up the motion relentlessly, and she seems to lose all will to resist. As her undulations become almost violent, her breath heavy and hard, he stops. She settles onto the floor and he begins to caress her pussy again. This time she whines again, but out of longing for the pleasure he was giving her. He whispers to her, “Tell me what you want.” She doesn't respond. She is trying to quiet her mind, but the hand won't let her. “Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you.” He lowers his body onto her and his erection rubs on her thigh. The thought of his dick sends a wave of pleasure through her and finally she whispers to him, “Fuck me”. In an instant he is inside her. When he first enters her, she throws her head back and wraps her legs around him. He starts slowly but soon he is fucking her like mad.

Inside her she is reveling in pleasure. There is part of her mind afraid someone will discover them. But the pleasure of his cock inside her drowns out her protest. He feels very warm to her, hot even. It's a steamy summer night and they are now both sweating profusely, mercilessly erotic. The part of her that keeps imagining someone will walk in sees the scene. They would not know that she protested. It would look like passion. But the thought was lost in the minutes of his constant, ceaseless thrusting. Everything about him assaulted her with pleasure now. His burning cock thrusting into her, filling her with the heat of arousal which seemed to seep deeper inside her every time. Deeper and deeper, more and more pleasure, more desire to be fucked more, and harder. His whole body seemed like a fuck to her. His smooth tanned skin, his long muscles. His sweat tasted sweet and mingling with hers cause the pleasure to deepen. His breath was dark and heavy with arousal and she breathed it into her lungs, the pleasure deepening. Finally she could feel the end coming, nothing in her was left to protest anymore. As the waves of orgasm surged through her, every part of her gave in to him. Her body, her mind, her soul, reveling in more pleasure than she had ever known, completely dominated by his passion. Visual signs of pleasure poured out her body as she ground herself into him, clutching him, pleading him to plunder her more, gratefully receiving the profound thrusts now, and finally then losing all energy and collapsing onto the floor. As he gathers himself to leave, he tells her he's taking her out again tomorrow night, she just nods. But she is going to be there.

That's where the fantasy ends.

My Reaction To the Fantasy...

I was still young enough to become quite troubled over this fantasy. It wasn't just that I had it, I never had a problem with just a fantasy. But the fact that I reacted the way I did. I had never known such powerful arousal. And the confusion made things worse. I started masturbating over this fantasy 3-4 times a day. I was obsessed. And I couldn't deal with it. I didn't want to think of it but it kept popping into my head. I would masturbate for relief but any relief was mild and short lived. It went on like that for weeks. I began to wonder if I would ever think clearly, or be able to do anything in life. I began to wonder if I could ever be happy.

Then I began to analyze it. It couldn't be that I get so much pleasure from this girl's pain. Why would that be? I would go over and over what my thoughts were during masturbation. What was it that gave me so much pleasure?

Then I realized something. The fantasy was purely voyeuristic. I was nowhere in sight. When I was thinking of this situation, was I putting myself in his place or hers? Then I realized it. Sometimes I was thinking of myself as her, not him. The answer was obvious: I was gay.

Looking back, I think it's kind of funny. I mean, being a liberal, even at that age, I found it easier to deal with the idea of being gay than the idea of taking pleasure at a rape fantasy. Over the next few days I vowed not to think of women. I would think of only boys. That was ugly. I still had a few friends back then. When we would hang out, I would try to look at their asses and their penises. I would think of kissing them, but I never felt anything but disgust. Finally I had remembered being slightly turned on by Axel Rose in the “Sweet Child Of Mine” video. They had stopped playing it then and I set the vcr and recorded hours and hours for days and days and finally they played it. I tried to masturbate over it. But it was pathetic. The bulge in those leather pants wasn't enticing to me, it looked small and pathetic like a little bird. I couldn't even pleasure myself over it. So I concluded that I am not gay.

But I do realize that there is a part of me that likes losing the difference between them. When I masturbate over two people having sex, I do put myself in the women's position sometimes. I think some rape fantasies do serve the purpose in men to express a hidden desire to have sex with other men. The women is raped because she expresses the man's reluctance to admit his attraction to men. Then she orgasms when she is raped to express the very passion that the man having the fantasy cannot admit to himself. This is not the beginning and end of why we fantasize about rape, but it is one aspect of it for me, and I bet a lot of guys out there as well.

The real reasons I took such pleasure in the fantasy would remain a mystery. But the analysis took my mind off it for a while. I wasn't obsessed anymore. I wasn't so ashamed as I was. The fantasy lost it's guilt and became an easy pleasure I accessed when I wanted to. But it was always more intense than any other fantasy. I would go to the video store sometimes and rent any movie that said it had a rape in it. But nothing ever really satisfied me. The women never orgasmed.

As time passed, it became clear that this was a pattern with me. Every time I fall in love with a girl, or women, I followed the same script. First I felt the joy of attraction and all I can think is how to talk to her and make her happy. Then it became clear that I was never going to get the courage to talk to her about how I felt. Then I became depressed and hated myself. Then the rape fantasies begin. And it's never me doing the raping. Always the one who she would be more attracted to.

The next part will be specifically about the orgasm and what it means to rape fantasy. Happy dominations to you...