My first wife was raped when she was 14. Four years later, I met her. The wake of the aftermath was evident in many ways. She recounted the event to me many times over our marriage, and it went something like this.
She skipped school that day in Connecticut and instead went to hang out at a public park where she met a Senior who had skipped, too. They had nothing to do, and he offered her some weed, and they got high. On this school day, the park was quite desolate, and they were quite high. I guess he garnered some courage, so he overpowered her to the ground, pulled her jeans down, and stuck his cock in her pussy. At the time, it didn’t seem to register. She was out of it, and she lost her virginity, but this wasn’t all. When he was ready, he flipped her over face down and fucked her in the ass until he came. I am not sure how it didn’t bother her at the time, but she just walked it off—a victim, I suppose of low self-esteem lowered by this act of violence.
She didn’t report it; she didn’t tell a soul. As it happened, the perpetrator went around telling his friends and anybody who would listen about his encounter, eventually this making its way back to the school’s administration. She was called into the school psychologist’s office where she was confronted. Essentially, she said the story was true, but that it was no big deal. In the eyes of the law, it was a big deal. Push came to shove and this guy got seven years hard time.
Her parents were totally unsupportive and asked how she could have been to cold as to ruin this young man’s life. They were totally unsupportive. Eventually, they comitted her to a psych hospital—where she remained until she turned 18. Then she signed herself out. I met her a couple months later—totally unawares.
That is really the end of that story. Our sex life was fairly typical to my other sexual escapades—though toward the end she started going off on a tangent of wanting double penetration and BDSM relationships with other men.
before we were married, she mentioned that she had been raped, but he didn’t really give me any detail, and I didn’t pry. I first got the whole story—at least as I know it—, was the day she asked me to fuck her in the ass. This seemed to be out of the middle of nowhere, so I asked her if she had ever done it before. The conversation went something like this:
Me: “Have you ever done this before?”
Her: ” Yes.”
Me: “Did you enjoy it?”
Me: “You never brought this up before. Why not?”
Her: “You know the guy who raped me in highschool. He did it.”
Me: “I thought you said you liked it.”
Her: “I did.”
Me: “You liked it?”
Her: “Yes. I didn’t mind. I’d like you to do it. Have you ever done it?”
Me: “Yes. How did you manage with out any lubrication? I’d have though it would hurt.”
Me: “OK. Let’s go for it”
That was it. For us, I did it the way I know how—slowly and with lots of lubrication. From that day on we had anal sex a couple times a month. She usually asked for it every couple of weeks, except when she was pregnant.
We have been divorced for over ten years now, and I have pretty much lost touch with her. Having a daughter in common, I still hear about her through the grapevine. She is now a devout Evangelical Christian. I wonder if she still takes in in the ass?