He was a friend. 

I had known him for years. 

My rapist. 

My friend.

We had had sex before. 

He kept going when I told him no.

Like most of my male friends, he had infiltrated me. He was the first. He had cut me to the core. He had decided that now was the best time. "I want to **** you so bad." No matter how many times I said no. No matter how many times I joked and told him no. He persisted. Pulled my pants down. Pushed me down. 

I didn't fight back. I blacked out. I blanked out and he kept going. "I want to **** you so bad." "Do you like it when I get to your ***?" "I want to live in your ***". 

I am mortified. His friend is asleep on the couch. I feel worthless. Like when my supervisor sent me dick pics. Like when he touched me inappropriately. Like when my other friend had held me down without consent inserted his fingers while blocking my mouth. 

I go to the bathroom sore. I go to the shower sore. I spend the month sore. Before I realize I was raped. And the chips fall as they may he tells me I shouldn't have dressed the way I did. I shouldn't have shared the bed. I shouldn't have been drunk or teased him this way.

I blocked him knowing he would blame me for his wrong.

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