I don't know why I'm writing this down. If it ever comes out what I've done, this story will probably turn up as evidence. Maybe some of the things I explain here sound like excuses. Maybe I'm even hoping they are excuses. I'm not stupid enough to think the law would consider them ameliorating.
I don't consider myself a rapist. In the strictest sense of the word, I am. That is to say that anyone who commits a rape at any time in their life is a rapist. It's like the old joke. Build a thousand bridges, they don't call you "Joe the Bridge Builder," Raise three strong boys, they don't call you "Joe the Father," but you fuck one sheep...
Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that I didn't go into Ellen's room with rape in my heart. I was trying to see her naked and maybe you don't see the difference, but it's a pretty big one.
It was early Saturday morning, a few hours after midnight, when I decided I'd had enough fun for one night. After a full day of soul-grinding work, I'd gone to Sully's, a neighborhood bar popular with college kids. In fact, I've been going there since I was a freshman at Boston U. When I graduated, I kept my apartment. It made sense to keep my neighborhood bar.
I'd started out spending too much money pouring drinks down my own throat and ended up spending even more pouring them into a girl named Tina. I know that Tina had every right to pump me for drinks all night, then leave with some frat boy, but she'd certainly given me the impression that the night could end far differently.
So, I was drunk and angry and horny as hell when I got home. If any of the three hadn't been true, I probably wouldn't have done what I did.
I was fumbling for my own keys when I spotted Ellen's. They were stuck in the keyhole of the door to her apartment, just hanging there like she'd gotten halfway into unlocking the door, then changed her mind. I was reaching for them before I even really thought about it. At the time, I was thinking that I should knock on the door and let her know they were there so nobody broke in.
I got as far as the door when I realized she might not appreciate a knock. It was three AM or so. Besides that, Ellen had been at Sully's earlier that night, sitting with a table full of friends and surrounded by dozens of hopeful young men. I'm pretty sure Ellen has never paid for a drink in her life. She's blonde and pale and has tits like a movie star. For a while, she was dating one of the Red Sox. After that, it was some older rich guy who used to park his shiny, red penis extension in my spot once it was established that I didn't have a car.
So, it occurred to me that she might have company. Maybe the idea of interrupting whoever was getting lucky with her had some appeal, but I decided to be a little more discreet. I checked the doorknob and found that the door wasn't locked.
So, I let myself in. The living room light was off and I'd never been in Ellen's apartment. We're neighbors, but we'd never been close. At first, I fumbled around, looking for somewhere to place the keys and leave. Then, I remembered how my own keys worked. You can't lock the door without them. It's nice because it means there's no way to lock your keys in the apartment when you're on the outside. I could leave the keys, but I would be leaving Ellen's door unlocked.
As I looked around for some solution, I spotted Ellen's couch in the middle of the room. And, I spotted Ellen. She was alone, asleep, and half-naked.
By "half-naked," I mean that she had gotten her little, black dress off of one shoulder and taken off one boot. What really drew my attention was the breast.
I'd always thought Emily's breasts were amazing, but I'd never had the opportunity to see them in their natural state. A lot of women's tits look really good when they're dressed up, but less appealing once support is taken away. Emily's tits aren't like that. They're beautiful covered up and even more beautiful naked. That night, the one breast was so pale in the moonlight that it looked like some classical, alabaster statue.
Considering what came later, I know it's hard to believe, but I really did start out trying to cover her up. My thought was that she'd hate me if she knew I'd seen her naked. I put the keys on the side table. Then, I leaned down and tried to slide the strap of her dress back onto her shoulder.
I don't think I ever tried to pull a dress up over a breast before. I certainly never tried it with one so big. It turns out that it's not so easy as you'd think. As I tried, Ellen shifted and made a sound like she was about to wake up.
That's when I made the big mistake. I panicked and tried to shove the tit back into the dress. That's how she woke up with me looming over her, one hand on her breast.
For a second, we froze, our eyes locked. I may have smiled. If I did, it was a nervous smile. Whatever I did, Ellen decided that her correct course of action was to scream. She opened her mouth to do so. I slapped my free hand over it. Theoretically, both hands were free, but the one wrapped around her breast didn't seem to want to let go.
She screamed into my hand and started to kick. I tried to calm her down and explain. She was having none of it. I tried to pin her down and make her listen. She was having none of it. She wasn't as strong as I thought she would be and she was really just flailing drunkenly, so I thought I could control the situation.
I'd barely finished that thought before she kicked the side of my knee, making my leg collapse. As I was falling, she bit my hand.
I heard the sharp intake of breath that would bring another scream and the wrath of the police down on me. I reached to cover her mouth again, but my hand was still stinging from her bite. At the last moment, I wrapped my hand around her throat instead. She twisted away. I hit the ground and pulled her down on top of me.
At that point, I was in pain, but I wasn't angry. It wasn't until her knee connected with my inner thigh that I really started to get mad. I'm not sure exactly what I was mad about. It was all kind of mixed up. Part of it was that I was just trying to help and getting beaten up for my trouble. Part of it was my frustration at women like Ellen and Tina who get everything for free because they're beautiful. Part of it was probably left over anger from the woman who'd berated me on the phone for twenty minutes because I wouldn't help her defraud my employer. Either way, I took it out on Ellen. I squeezed her throat and rolled over so that I was straddling her.
She grabbed one of my pinkies and twisted. I let out a yelp and let go.
"Rape!" she tried to scream, but there was no breath behind it. She took a ragged breath. I grabbed for her, but pulled back remembering the bite and the pinkie I suspected was broken. By that point, I was in a full-blown panic. I did the only thing I could think of.
I punched her.
I swear that I'm not in the habit of hitting women. Before that night, I hadn't punched anyone since the playground. I caught her square in the eye anyway. Her head slammed back against the carpet.
She let go of me and put her hands up in front of her face, "No. Please, don't." She still had no breath to speak above a whisper. "Don't hit me again."
I lowered my fist and opened my mouth to try to explain, but she was already reaching down and sliding her dress up, "Please."
Later, I would come up with a lot of reasons why I did what I did. Mostly, it came down to this: I was probably going to jail for raping Ellen. There was no way a judge would believe what had actually happened. If I was going to spend years paying for this night, I wasn't doing it without actually getting some sex out of it.