Every woman has fantasies. Many ladies would love in real life for a burly bare-chested Highlander to grab them into his strong arms and rip away their bodice, just like in the romance novels. Other women have darker desires or needs and it wasn't entirely a complete surprise to discover one evening that Megan, a rather casual acquaintance of mine that I had been hoping to get to know better someday, admitted to us rather frankly that she had rape fantasies ... and insisted that most other women had them too!
I didn't actually know Megan all that well, but she'd been an acquaintance for almost nine months or so and a some-time drinking buddy of mine had dated her once a few months ago and pronounced her to be 'freaky' in bed, but not in a good way. Being a would-be southern gentleman, he wouldn't elaborate much more than that, other than to gently suggest that she wasn't quite his cup of tea.
We were all part of a regular 'Mixers at the Museum' group, where the smart set, our group of bright young things in our late 20's and early 30's met every Friday evening at the local science and natural history museum for cocktails. There would be a short lecture, exhibition or film, never more than thirty minutes long, along with a well stocked cash bar. The margueritas, martinis and cosmos weren't cheap, but that was part of the allure too. Keeping the drinks a bit too expensive for most of the usual bar-hopping crowd, not to mention the dress code of 'professional attire' made for a rather select assortment of young but successful singles.
Strictly speaking, it wasn't really a singles 'dating' sort of group, but a great deal of mixing and matching did go on. Instead the mood was usually slightly more serious than that, with probably a majority of the women now evaluating the male stock more with longer terms interests of matrimony, rather than just a weekend fling. Here it was all about showing off ones education or raw intelligence, or some faux facsimile of it, although the ladies did seem to gravitate as always to the taller guys with the more expensive suits who didn't visibly wince after buying another round of drinks.
I was reasonably witty and could act remotely clever on most days and although my suit and tie came from a chain department store, I could fairly safely blend into the natural habitat of my betters and pretty soon I was accepted as one of the guys. None of the ladies had found me irresistible nesting material for their broody matrimonial instincts, but I was on friendly speaking terms now with most of them and when I sidled in to join any existing conversation the topic didn't change or have embarrassing silence or glares ensue.
After several stiff drinks, the conversations could become rather personal and candid. In this particular instance rather late on this Friday night, a group of about a dozen guys and gals were discussing the cultural practice of bride kidnapping, with the original historical duties of the best man being to assist with the capture of the groom's intended and witness her rape, legalizing their marriage by abduction. This in turn lead to some lively debate over whether the bride was really raped or not, the abduction and even her deflowering being an expected cultural event for which she was prepared for, at least somewhat in theory. Some of the women agreed and others didn't.
"Rape is always rape ... and always wrong, even if it is cultural." One woman insisted.
"Only when a woman says 'No'." One of the guys laughed, "Which is often what she says when she really means 'Yes' more times than not."
Now that really opened up a can of worms! Women don't mind being seen as fickle and contrary and utterly reserve the right to use both 'Yes' and 'No' rather interchangeably in many instances. They like being pursued by men and playing very hard to get, but understandably were extremely reluctant to at all admit that perhaps, under some circumstances, they might themselves enjoy being kidnapped and abducted to become someone's bride ... willing or not.
Megan then broke the debate wide open by admitting that she had rape fantasies! She'd had at least three drinks so far that I'd noticed and was noticeably relaxed, if not quite tipsy.
"Look! We all have rape fantasies! Admit it!" She insisted. Her girlfriends all disagreed to some partial extent, although a few of the gals broke off eye contact and began showing an increased interest in their drinks.
"Ok, true," one of the gals admitted, "but rape isn't really about sex anyway ... it's about power and control."
"And surrendering it!" Megan agreed. "Rape isn't usually about fucking some weak powerless woman, it's about taking control over a strong one. The stronger the woman is usually, the more that she secretly inside wants to be controlled, or even broken. She might desire that feeling of vulnerable, of being used and helpless and even might want to be raped, the powerless victim of her attacker! Face it! Genetically women are smaller and weaker than men and for countless generations we were their property, and some women still like things that way!"
Now this was too much! If a man had said anything close to this we would have been physically ejected from the mixer as a Neanderthal barbarian. As it was, most of the other ladies decided that it was time either for a trip to the powder room or that their drinks that needed refreshing. The guys were pretty embarrassed as well and most of them moved on to join other conversations, leaving me alone with Megan, who was now giving me a look of appraisal.
"Art, do you agree with what I said!" She asked me in a rather calculating manner.
"In generalities, yes. I've known several smart and very independent women who enjoyed wearing the pants outside of the bedroom, but preferred there to become the submissive partner. Is that sort of the point you were making?"
"I know women like that too ... intimately. I look at one every morning in the bathroom mirror! We enjoy wielding power at their careers, becoming successful, relishing it even, but we also need the other side too, for balance in their lives. To submit to someone else, even forcefully so ... like violent rape. Some woman need this, yearn for it even ... the more brutally the better! Not sex, but to be dominated, fucked and used!"
The way she had said 'some women' was extremely suggestive and she held my glaze for a long moment before she changed the subject entirely, asking me how my job was going. I'd recently made master carpenter and had even gotten a decent pay raise from my boss, a repair services contracting company. The work was good and I liked handling different sorts of projects and staying busy. I was saving up the extra money now to buy a house, and even buying another round of drinks for the two of us didn't cause my wallet to cringe as much as it used to. Things for me were looking up.
Megan was doing extremely well herself, but she'd come from serious money right from the start and daddy had paid for her expensive private college education from out of his petty cash account. She was a departmental marketing manager for a big oil and gas corporation downtown and worked insane crazy hours, including most weekends, but she rarely ever missed a Friday night with the gang at the museum. She was driven and very smart, and her superior effort at work was going to earn her another promotion very likely later in the year.
She wasn't a classical beauty but she was what some women would call handsome, with strong features. She was short but slim and with short cut pixyish blonde hair. Her legs might have been short, but they always looked good. She always wore stocking and never pantyhose with her little black dresses and relatively high heels for her small sized feet. Her breasts were smallish, B's probably, but adequate, and some evenings if the lights were shining just right upon her dress you could tell that she had firm prominent nipples that her bra couldn't quite fully restrain.
She was extremely intelligent and had more than her share of wittiness but she wasn't a favorite within the mixer group. The other women tended to find her loud and overly talky and more than a little brassy, overly free about speaking out her mind ... such as her rape related comments tonight. She also tended to intimidate the guys, for much the same reasons. Most persons asking her out on a date tended to get shot down rather bluntly. I'd made that mistake once myself the first night that I'd met her!
At ten o'clock, the mixer was over and I walked Megan out to her car, a late model Lexus out in the parking lot. I wasn't expecting a goodbye kiss or even really a hug from her, but instead I was extremely surprised when she paused before getting into her car to make a rather unusual request of me.
"Art, I'm almost scared to go home alone, by myself now. My back door of the condo is sticking badly and the deadbolt sometimes doesn't catch securely. If someone were to lift up on the outside door handle and shake it about, it might probably jar loose. Also the security cameras down the maintenance hallway and in the staircase have been broken for months now! Someone could easily break in this way ... like maybe a rapist. I don't have a gun in the house and if there was an intruder, I'd probably just completely panic and fall to pieces ... and do anything and everything that he told me to do, especially if he had a knife in hands and used it to cut away all of my clothing!"
.... There is more of this story ...