Whenever they talk about it, they say I was raped. But I don’t agree. When I tell them that, they say I’m in denial.
The truth is that there was no physical coercion; no clothes were torn off. In fact, he never touched me.
And also, he was a gentleman. I guess that was the problem. He conducted himself with the utmost propriety. It wasn’t that he was trying to be deceitful, that’s really how he was.
We met in a most ordinary manner – at a bus stop. I’m not sure what was different about him. I turned and he was there. Thus began our whirlwind romance.
The hilarious thing was how everybody loved him. He was sweet. The kind who loves your mother and plays with your younger siblings. And he was a looker.
I’m lying on the floor, bleeding. He is sitting in a chair and smiling at me.
“That’s not enough blood”.
I insist he is not satanic. He merely makes me do to myself what he should have done to me.
I have taken myself on countless dates and had sex with myself too. But what turns him on is to watch me bleed; from my nose, ears, lips, everywhere, even from my vagina. And he never touched me, I did it all by myself.
Having sex with yourself is not so hard, the really tough part is making sure you bleed while you are at it. I learnt real fast. He made sure of that.
Do I have to mention that I loved him and that he treated me like no one else ever had?
It was hard the first time, I didn’t understand it or him. It took some getting used to. One time I bled so fast, I passed out. When I woke up, he was standing over me, smiling. He never touched me; ever.
To please him, I bled.
He bought me supplements, blood tonics, any drug that helped produce blood platelets. I bled from places I never thought possible. Every time we saw, I bled.
We never went out together. He would give me money to take myself on a date and call me all through. Then I would go back to his apartment and bleed. I never saw so much blood come from one person. He just sat in that chair, smiling, urging me on. And then after a while, he would orgasm.
On the said day, there was a deep gash running all the way up my right thigh to my pelvis and the pool of blood was everywhere beneath me. But he didn’t think I had bled enough. I will not say that I had an epiphany. Or that I suddenly saw him for what they say he was – a perverted psychopath. But I knew without doubt that if I desired to live past that evening, I had to get out of his house.
I was so scared.
I hurriedly put on my clothes which were quickly soaked with my blood and ran home. Dad took me to the hospital. That’s when they saw the other scars and old wounds. In a moment of weakness, I told the truth. It was the last time I saw him.
So you see, he didn’t rape me.
Every once in a while, I catch myself holding a sharp object and pining to draw some blood.