{This an old one, from Rapestories.  Alluded to By VLL, this is pretty much how she read it, waaay back when, and reposted for clarity.  Also, either she only read, or remembered half of it, but here's the whole thing.}

My "True Story" {mF/m Rape}

I guess I didn't have too bad an upbringing. Sure, we had problems, but with 65% of American families qualifying as dysfunctional, I figure mine's about average. I wasn't the greatest kid, so I got kicked out a lot. On the night in question, I can't even remember what it was about.

I headed down towards Put-Put to try and bumb a cigarette, but didn't make it there for a while. At only fifteen, I couldn't just walk in the store, and buy some. Not that I had money, even if I could. They didn't make them easy to steal.

Anyway, I see this lady smoking one, and ask if she had another. She said she'd left them in her room. As it was right out front of a Day's Inn, I didn't think that too odd. I thought my self lucky when she offered to go up, and get one for me. I followed her up, not wanting to let her out of my sight.

She wasn't unattractive. Early thirties, maybe about 5&#8242;8", 150lbs give or take. Her blonde came out of a bottle, but didn't look bad. Nice casual middle class suburban clothes. The room was fairly nice. She showed me to the balcony, though it was a smoking room. It was a Benson, and Hedges Special Light, if that tells you anything about the date. We talked.

First small stuff, I'd never had one of these before, the rounded edges on the pack where cool. She told me she just wanted to walk when I asked her about it. Her husband didn't let her smoke in the house, and now she couldn't stand sleeping in a room with stale smoke or dirty ashtrays in it. I pointed out the tan line on her ring finger.

We finished with the fags, and went back in. She poured herself a Vodka, and offered me one. I figured it wasn't her first for the night, and accepted. She told me about the husband. She'd left him, he'd plowed some teenager in the neighborhood, and she got out.

We talked some more, and drank some more, and smoked some more, then she makes a pass at me. By this time, I'm pretty drunk, but she's pissed. I don't know why I didn't want to do it, but at that point I balked. I hadn't really done much up to that point, experimented as a kid, and made out as a teen. Lied to my friends about more. There was a lot of performance anxiety, I knew it was harder to get it up when I'd been drinking.

She didn't take no for an answer. She wasn't violent, or even particularly rough. I could've easily fought her off, but I decided I just didn't want to hurt her. All my friends talked about how they'd never hit a girl, and I guess I picked up some of that misguided chivalry. I just gave in, and let her.
I basically went numb. I didn't feel numb, but I just lay there, and didn't do anything one way, or the other. She pulled my pants open, her's off, and fucked me. I just sat back and watched, like this was some weird dream, or a show, or something. I tried not to feel anything, not emotionally, just the mechanical action of it. It didn't even feel good.

She didn't have a condom, didn't ask for one. I didn't have one anyway, so it wouldn't have mattered. Rather than putting me in her, she just sat on it, and ground it into my belly. After a wile, I got off, but I don't think she did. That done, she turned around, and fucked my face until she did.

At that point, she just got up, gave me the pack of cigarettes, and went into the shower. I left. I just walked around after that, went to put put, smoked some cigarettes, had a boring night. Didn't tell anyone about what had happened. Untucked my shirt to cover up the wet spot, and ignored it. I was in deep denial, and stayed there. Didn't come out for a couple years afterwards. When I did, I didn't even think about it.

I don't even know if what happened was even rape. I felt raped, but can't really technically call it that. Was it prostitution? I got cigarettes for it. I certainly can't say I got lucky that night. I never bragged to my friends about it, just went through the motions of lying about getting to this base, or home run, whatever.

I can also say that it changed me. I was celibate for a couple years after that, by choice, though I hid it. That's what tells me there was something wrong with it. I found the need to hide it.

On the other hand, a lot of my sexual obsessions came from it. What I call frottribado pressing the vulva against the phallus instead of penetrating, rape fantasy, domineering (In both ways) women, came from that. Before then, I was a fairly typical teenage boy. Now, I'm pushing thirty, bisexual, sadomasochistic in some complex way, and incapable of wearing someone else's collar.

I'm at peace with it though. I realize that I would not be who I am without it. Looking at who I would've been, I see dull unoriginal weakness. That which did not kill me had made me stronger, but only because I learned something from it. It also made me do things I'm not proud of.

I started realizing I was attracted to guys during the whole denial period. I just didn't think about what'd happened. Anyway, I came out as Bi even while I was still celibate. At this time, I was already to the point of passing my sexual fantasy off as experience. Then, I realized that their lies weren't even as interesting as mine.

Well, this redneck jock came up to me, and admitted he was curious. I swore to the strictest confidence, and we got together to try it out. It was a mistake, but I was still pretty young, and naive. It turns out he was a latent with some serious internalized homophobia. To break it down to the good old plain english, he wasn't out to even himself because of social programming against faggots.

Now I don't like that word, it aint much nicer than nigger. Having that pounding through your brain has a tendency to fester into a lesion of self hatred. This is what people like to call "issues".
To make a long story short, I went down on him. It was my first time for that particular act, and once again,it wasn't a good first impression. I guess there are lots of virginities you can loose.

He responded with obscenities. These degenerated to unflattering epithets like faggot, and cocksucker. I wasn't in any position to fight him, so I went to work in the hope of getting it over with. Finally, he got off, and I spat it in his fucking face.

This kind of changed the mood. It was damn near violent before, I could've escaladed it a lot less, and still ended up where we did. Let's just say I was pissed. It turns out, I was pissed enough to over come him, then had the lack of inhibitions to rape him.

Now, I was never a big fan of sodomy. It's the shit thing, mostly, you pretty much have to move on to blood, or vomit to find something less sanitary. Hell, urine is practically sterile compared to it. I much prefer the other end of the intestinal tract.

On the other hand, I was pretty fucking annealed, and there ain't a whole hell of a lot of ways to rape a man. I was in sufficiently sadistic mood to do it the most painful way possible. I also took the opportunity to whisper less than sweet nothings into his ear. I told him what a stupid weak pussy faggot he was, and how if he ever told anyone, they'd all know.

I'm fairly good with words, always have been. Till then I never knew how powerful they could be. A week later, he committed suicide. No note, no goodbyes, just as much of the medicine cabinet contents as he could choke down.
Those where two virginities I'd rather not have lost. I've raped now, and someone died because of it.

Now, I consider myself a bit of an expert on rape. I've seen it from both sides, and I can pick the symptoms out of a lineup. I'm not proud of myself, wouldn't even admit to these things if I thought they could be used against me. Don't ask for proof, you won't get it. I don't even expect you to believe it. I'm a Fiction writer, and admitted pathological liar. Wouldn't be the first time.

It is however as best as I can remember.