#beenrapedneverreported

This post may not be public long.

This year the anniversary of my rape went by relatively smoothly compared to the last few years, which often saw me spiral into a dark place. The further I get from what happened the better I’m *usually* able to handle the fallout. Don’t mistake “handling it” with forgetting or being ok. I’ll never really be ok with what happened to me but I’m trying. Everyday I’m trying to make myself a little more whole.

And then the world exploded with triggering posts, articles, etc…all about JG (I refused to write out his name lest this get picked up in a search for him, BDSM and people’s opinions). Also this is about my visceral reaction to the overwhelming discussion around this situation, which is beyond triggering for me and so many others. And all of this has made me reflect on what happened to me in a way I’ve never really articulated to myself before.

When I was raped, I lost a lot. One thing I never spoke about was losing my ability to participate in BDSM.

In my short time exploring and playing I’d experienced a few different dominants and not once did I experience abuse. Not once did I ever fear for my bodily safety. Not once was I ever worried I would be damaged by these men, my play partners, lovers, friends.

One partner would slap my face and immediately choke me – causing an orgasm. Another put me over his knee and spanked me so hard and long that sitting was uncomfortable for a week. Daddy used a heavy flogger and thudded on me until I was so blissed out, I couldn’t speak. Bruises, teeth-marks, and pink skin were pleasant reminders after my playmates left. Those were things I loved. Things that brought me peace, excitement, and pleasure.

My rapist knew about some of my experiences. We’d met years ago on Lavalife in the “intimate encounters” section. We chatted, cybered if you will, off and on for years. Timing was never right and something about him (his lack of ability to spell and distance if I’m honest) made me reluctant to want to take it further. In one of my more desperate times, I caved when he asked me to go out. I didn’t intend to sleep with him the first night..but he was cute and I wanted to. I figured that would be it but he called again and texted and wanted to see me. I was flattered. We went on a real date. He came back to my place again but this time – I wasn’t in the mood. He kept asking about things I’d done sexually, with whom, he wanted to see the toys I owned. I didn’t want any part of this but he was taller than I was and pure muscle. I kept talking, hinting I had an early day the next day…it didn’t matter.

When he spanked me it felt horrible. It hurt. It scared me. When he pinned me down by my wrists I struggled until my shoulders screamed in pain. I was terrified. These are actions and experiences I’d had numerous times before and they aroused me but not this time. This was happening against my will. In the morning he woke and restrained me to my bed and I literally feared for my life. This is abuse. Violation. Rape.

In all my encounters in BDSM, I was never scared like that. I knew that it would never be out of control. I knew that I was safe but I enjoyed being hurt. I enjoyed letting my partner consensually hurt me for their pleasure as well. Sure there was always the fear that came before trying something new – I liken it to the adrenaline rush you feel before a rollercoster drops. You kinda want to scare yourself but you agreed to getting on the ride.

People who conflate BDSM and abuse have no idea what they are talking about. You may not like it. You may not view it as empowering – it was for me. I got to explore my sexuality and my desires in a way I’d never been able to do previously. There is freedom in surrendering to someone mentally and physically.

As I write these words I feel the longing…

I was raped and I lost my ability to trust completely.

Days after it happened Daddy and I took a trip to Niagara Falls together. I was physically a mess. Barely able to eat. Constantly in the washroom. And worst of all, this man I loved could not hold me. I was almost repulsed by his embrace because my body was broken. My spirit was broken. My trust was broken.

We never played again – I couldn’t, and our relationship changed.

I’ve tried to engage other partners but I can’t bring myself to go beyond hair pulling, the occasional nibble or a light spanking. I’ve lost a whole part of my sexuality and I don’t know if I will ever get it back.

So yes, I belong to the large group of those who have #beenrapedneverreported because who would believe that I didn’t want to be raped after hearing the types of play I’d indulged in? The “he said, she said” would never have gone my way.

This post is just one more piece of therapy I go through in the hopes that one day, I might get my life back.

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Finding My Way Back

Trigger warning

After I was raped I had a really hard time even being touched. I spent the night with Daddy the following week and every time he came near me I shut down. Even hand-holding was hard for me. I felt uncomfortable in my own skin. It was like my own body wasn’t mine anymore. Being violated had taken it from me.

As time passed my emotions began to thaw. I started to feel disgusted with my body. Disgusted with what had happened to me. I felt dirty. I felt damaged. I felt undesirable. I felt sexless.

I built walls real and imagined around my body. I couldn’t stand to see myself naked. To touch myself. I didn’t want anyone else to either.

A month after I was raped, as I was lying in my bed where it happened, I decided I wanted my sex back. I wanted that part of me that he’d damaged back. So for the first time in a month, I masturbated. Inserting my Pure Wand broke something in my mind and I started to cry. I was uncomfortable but I didn’t stop. I wept silently while I worked my way towards an orgasm. After I came, I began to cry in earnest. An ugly, draining cry that lasted over an hour. I exhausted myself and I fell asleep.

I can’t explain why I felt compelled to push myself, I just know that I don’t want what happened to me to keep me from moving forward and trying to get back to a place where I can be completely intimate with someone again.

It was like the pendulum sung from sexless to hypersexual. I am still struggling with how to handle my sexuality because it’s almost like I might be acting out at the moment as opposed to actually having tapped into my sex drive. I’m trying to convince myself I’m ok by performing the way I should sexually.

But I digress…

I got in contact with the Ex-Boyfriend because I knew he was a safe option. I knew if we talked about it beforehand and I told him what had happened previously that maybe, I could have sex. I trusted him. I knew if I had to push him away or stop him, he wouldn’t get upset or internalize it. There was enough time and distance between us for that to be possible.

When he messaged me to say he was on his way, I almost threw up. I felt sick and scared and I thought I was fucking nuts in the moment. He came over and I was in my favourite jammies (such a sex-kitten I am). He unzipped his coat, like he always used to do then I hugged him and he wrapped me up in it. Without fail, I had the response I have every time I see him, which is, “damn he smells good!”. So I was beginning to feel an odd mixture of arousal and nausea – interesting and not at all compatible feelings. We took things incredibly slow. Finally we were naked and there was really only one thing left to do at that point. I almost called the whole thing off in that moment. Yes, I wanted him but I was terrified I was going to freak out or start bawling or throw up. My face betrays my every thought so he asked me if I still wanted to have sex and I said yes.

This might sound cliché but in some ways it felt like having sex again for the first time. I was emotional but not crying. So many thoughts were running through my head that even now I can’t make sense of them. He held me and cradled me and whispered softly in my ear. He waited patiently for me to come around, to relax, to let go, to enjoy being together intimately again. He kissed me and held me and touched me in such an incredibly caring and gentle way – it was astonishing really. After everything we’ve been through together there is still a tremendous amount of love there.

I did come around. I did start to enjoy it. To let go. To not feel afraid. I had two delicious orgasms in varying positions and then he put me on my hands and knees…all of the sudden the fear and anxiety came flooding back. I crawled away from him, crying and curling into a ball. He tried to touch me and I pulled away. He pulled me in and held me, again whispering. This time he was apologizing. I cut him off. My outburst wasn’t his fault. I had a flashback. Being in that position triggered me in a way I hadn’t experienced since my rape.

He held me close for a while. We talked, got caught up on our lives and eventually, I decided to give it one more try. I know physically he wanted to but I could sense his hesitation after what had happened. I urged him on.

Finally, when we were both sated, we laid there not saying much but I realised how safe I felt again with someone in my bed. How I could have sex again and not feel violated or dirty or used.

I won’t be inviting anyone new to my bed in the near future but I know that if and when the time is right, I could.

Almost Normal

That sums up how Daddy and I spent last weekend. It’s kind of ironic really because our relationship truly is anything but normal.

We’ve been conspiring about this weekend for months – a full 48 hours alone together. Think of all the play and beatings and sex and bitings we could we could get in. We teased and tormented each other. We fantasized and created elaborate plans. Oh they were/are delicious. Daddy taunted me over and over again about never leaving my apartment while we were together. He enjoyed messing with my mind. I’m beginning to think there are moments when he views my mind as his personal playground – in the days and weeks leading up to our weekend together he knowingly began to push all those buttons and revelled in my reactions.

I tidied, showered, prepped and promptly fell asleep for a nap. It was actually Daddy’s arrival that woke me – oops! Well there went my plan to dress up in pretty lingerie to seduce him. Instead he got a sleepy-headed little spoon yawning as she answered the door. Hawt, right? Thankfully, Daddy doesn’t fuss about such things (I do but he talks sense into me about being silly).

Right away I was hugged and kissed and hugged some more. There is something comforting about the way Daddy hugs me, the way he smells and tastes. It’s as though all my senses know I will be well taken care of and loved and it changes me somehow. Now the change isn’t immediate but over our time together, I soften, and as he likes to say, I get all mooshy. I was definitely all mooshy during our weekend together (but so was he – shhh don’t tell anyone I said that I don’t want to ruin his Domly cred).

Yes, there was sex and hand jobs and thudding me with the new flogger – that will be its own post – but it was all a tiny part of what happened between us this weekend.

Most of our time was spent talking. About his job, my job, my friends, his friends, my struggles, his struggles, us, my new dating life, the new guy I’m dating and on and on…We talked over beer and fries with gravy and stuffing, over cheeses and baguette, over quiche and caesar salad, over the pasta he made us and muffins and coffee. We talked while we walked and held hands in the mall, while we were in Build-a-Bear, while we strolled along Lake Ontario. And when we weren’t talking we were snuggled in silence with each other or just watching movies. We just were with each other.

I could breathe.

And the scariest thing we did together all weekend was to go for a ride on his motorcycle. You see, I was terrified to get on it. More terrified than any paddle or flogger or other implement of torture Daddy brought with him. He had promised not to push me but he really wished I’d join him for a ride. So I agreed. The morning after a thudding I’m more amenable to almost anything. I had my wits about me when I made the decision to strap the helmet on and hop on the back. In the first few moments, I thought about begging him to stop but by the time we’d made the second turn I calmed significantly. In no time I was lovin’ it. Really. All the fear I’d had was gone. I knew that he would do absolutely everything he could to keep me safe and whole. In short, I began to trust him with my life. When we were taking the winding scenic route home I closed my eyes and just revelled in the feeling of vibrations and the wind and my hands around Daddy’s waist. It was exhilarating.

On Monday morning Daddy’s crackberry started buzzing early. He had work to deal with before he got into work. There was something about watching him handle things that I find incredibly sexy. So I sipped my latte, ate my muffin, played on my phone and watched him out of the corner of my eye. I know he was watching me to see if I was ok. To make sure after all our play and heart to hearts that I wasn’t in pieces, that he had brought me back and made me whole.

I was fine. I’d been loved and cherished and allowed to be me neuroses and all.

Then came the hard part, Daddy had to go. We’ve said goodbye before but this time, this time hurt on a new level. After gathering his stuff we walked to his bike. I watched him get ready to ride off without saying too much. I was already feeling choked up. With our final hug and kiss I spun around and walked off. I couldn’t look back. I couldn’t watch him leave me – it was too hard. I even picked up the pace so I wouldn’t hear him drive off. I wanted no part in seeing him leave me even though I know he will be back to me at some point. Saying goodbye and letting him go was harder than I ever imagined it could be. I think we both try to temper our feelings for each other, understanding the limitations of our relationship but I love him more and more.

Our weekend was nothing like the way we planned it – it was better, it was almost normal.

Begin at the beginning…

I have been hiding this relationship for many, many reasons but mostly because I needed to know it’s real before I let prying eyes and judgmental mouths near it.

You see I have a Daddy but like most things in life there are complications around our relationship that I won’t discuss in detail.

I should back up and mention how we met, it was through my old, now defunct blog. He sent me an email one day, he started commenting on my ramblings and it took off from there. We got to know each other pretty well through lengthy emails and chats, talking about everything and our relationship evolved into a mentor/mentee situation. But I was bratty and tested him constantly, I didn’t respond to him as a mentee should so after a particularly rough patch for us, he said we would remain friends but that our mentorship had to end – after all, I didn’t really need it. At first this made me feel lost and confused but true to his word we’ve remained friends.

Over a year after we started communicating we had breakfast together. And it was like our words come to life over french toast and fruit. It was slightly awkward to know someone the way we knew each other and to be meeting for the first time. It was an interesting conversation to say the least. I blushed, rolled my eyes, laughed and eventually felt more at ease, which doesn’t always happen when I meet someone new.

Our lives puttered along. We maintained our friendship while doing our own things.

Yes, there have been moments where he’s hit on me and I would blush a million shades of red. Yes, there was even a time or two where a line was crossed and it became too intense for me but I always pulled back. I didn’t want to complicate his situation or mine and I was of the firm belief that my heart only held room for one person at a time.

Time marched on and I had a few experiences last summer that caused me to reevaluate my perspective on monogamy and my understanding of how I can or might want to maintain various relationships at once. How various relationships can provide me with different elements that I need to grow, to feel nurtured and to feel loved.

This relationship with my Daddy doesn’t make me love The (Ex) Boyfriend any less or any differently. Actually, Daddy has supported me through my trials and tribulations with him only wanting me to be happy. Even cheering on our dates and hook-ups. In the same way that I support him in his other relationships. We talk about me dating (maybe sometime in the future), my desires to have the things in life that he already has. We are in many ways compartmentalizing what “we” are from the rest of our lives even though it’s never entirely separate.

Though outwardly, I’m not sure we could be any more different, we are in many ways made of similar character and mind. It’s amusing to me how much this freaks him out. You see, I have had the advantage of knowing we’re similar for a long time, it’s only recently I’ve begun to reveal to him and to make him understand just how much it’s true. There is a level of understanding that exists between us that neither of us have experienced before. We’re wired similarly. Often one of us will express something and the other will have thought/felt/acted the same way. Or lately, though we are apart we are thinking the same thing and one of us will email just as the other goes to mention it. Once is a coincidence but repeatedly? On varying random topics? Synchronicity.

April 1st we were bantering back and forth, teasing and talking around things. Basically, it was each of us saying, “no, you go first”, until finally I typed, “agree”. And with that little word our relationship changed. We stepped out of simply being friends and added to our dynamic. He is my Daddy and I am his little girl (though he has other nicknames for me but that’s another post). I am, well we are, still trying to figure out our dynamic but it is one that is incredibly comfortable and loving.

I have always felt he occupied a very fatherly space in my life, offering guidance and support but I didn’t immediately assume he would be my Daddy. Truthfully, I thought that before we’d discussed it that he’d think it was silly. So when I proposed that I call him Daddy, I thought he’d laugh. Actually he was overjoyed! And from there, we’ve fallen quite nicely into our Daddy/little girl dynamic. It’s a soft, gentle domination coupled with a quiet, easy submission that renders me impossibly small at times. Don’t misunderstand, he has used, beaten, bitten and choked me but I am also kissed, held, stroked, caressed, spoiled and loved.

The two of us are positively mushy for each other. I bring out the Daddy in him and he brings out the little girl in me.