I received an email from a reader after posting “Getting Mine” wanting to know if I was, again, open to taking Reader Request for stories.

I replied no. “Getting Mine” was a fluke which happened to coincide with a reader request. If he wanted to submit a storyline or elements then that was fine and I may be able to work it into a story.

His reply was somewhat odd but then again I like odd people. He wanted to know why I don’t write rape based stories consensual or other.

My answer: I was raped when I was younger.

Okay, before you all Dr. Phil on me, understand that I took responsibility for my sexuality years ago. I decided to strip my attacker of his ‘rights’ to my body and emotional well-being. Under my control, I’ve risen above the pain and reclaimed my body and my sexuality as my own. It’s a liberating feeling, you should try it sometime.

I was sixteen when I was raped by my best friend’s older brother, we’ll call him Fred. It happened as BF slept in the twin size bed beside me. We were separated by a small nightstand, my bed being closest to the room.

I’ve always been a hard sleeper so when I awoke to Fred sucking one of my breasts I was in shock! We’d been raised as siblings. My then boyfriend was his first cousin and best friend. I was frozen with fear; he didn’t know I was awake, I didn’t move.

Here are the things that went through my head at that point in chronological order:
- I looked at the clock sitting on the dresser and thought “Damn, I missed Apollo.”
- How the hell am I going to it out of this?
- Johnny is going to kill him.
- I can’t believe this is about to happen.

People can say what they would’ve done in my position but unless you’re there, in the moment, you can’t predict your reaction. I’ve always been a bit gutsy when it comes to kisking the male butt (I have older brothers) however in that moment I froze. Absolutely froze. To this day I can’t understand why I didn’t scream immediately. Why did I lay there frozen? Why did it take him attempting to touch my ‘goose’ (my former nickname for my cooter) before I pushed him away?

I did or at least I attempted to push him away. Fred big, Tracy small.

In a moment of clarity I started fighting. He pulled me off the bed like a rag doll so my BF wouldn’t see what he was doing to me as there would be a bed shielding the attack from her view should she wake up. He covered my mouth very hard, slammed my head against the floor, disrobed me from the waist down (mind you, I’m clawing like a cat on speed and crying), pulled out his peter and tried to force it inside of me (no more crying, but I lot more clawing).

I couldn’t scream. My BF was cutting logs. My family was sound asleep across the street. Johnny, who played high school baseball, was at an away game. I was alone and helpless with a lunatic and his semi-hard peter (more clawing).

He kept trying to enter me—in the process he was bruising my inner thigh and goose. I recall feeling something I can only describe as sashimi. His peter was the texture of sashimi. I thought “gross!” (super sonic clawing).

He barely, if at all, got his head in and he came. His sashimi peter came on me. Before he stood, he gave the typical rapist warning, “Don’t tell anyone or I’ll hurt you.”

This, he didn’t need to say. I was numb. I lay there looking up at the ceiling, numb. The next morning I went home like nothing was wrong, showered and went to work. We were home schooled because we lived between three countries at the time…I say this just in case you’re wondering why I wasn’t going to school.

At the time I worked in Johnny’s mom's, Denise, hair salon. Remember, Denise is also Fred’s aunt. Anyway, the clients were gone so I told her what happened. Characteristic of Denise, she sat me down and talked about pregnancy and the smell of cum just in case I didn’t already know (I didn’t, I was a virgin). After our chat she called her husband who came flying home from work, and every parent she knew.

When Fred’s mother arrived she called the police and had them collect her son from school. From what I was told they handcuffed him right then and there. She cried her eyes out not for her son, but for me. She’d been molested and raped when she was younger. Fred knew the crap she’d been through and it was unfathomable, in her mind, that he would commit such a horrible crime against me of all people. How could she raise a son who would do such a thing to anyone much less a family member? She cried and cried.

She cried for me because I couldn’t…I didn’t…I don’t. Thanks to my mom, who's a shrink, I had the mental foundation already in place to cope with the aftermath of the attack. Trust me, I'm good.

He confessed to everything. He didn’t lie nor did he defend himself. I find it strange that I can’t remember the punishment he received. I do remember leaving for Germany shortly thereafter. I remember my brothers, their friends and Johnny and since then Greg kicking Fred’s ass. I remember my BF’s guilt for not saving me. And I remember the cum conversation with Denise because she said it smelt a little like bleach and years later when I smelled it I thought “Um, it does smell a little like bleach.”

But I don’t remember his punishment.

Years later he apologized. He still apologizes. He and his wife have two children and I often wonder if he ever told her about what happened.

Doubt it. He’s still arrogant and can’t stand people looking down on him. But we know.

So, long story short, this is why I don’t write rape based stories. There are plenty of other authors who do. I hope rape based fans enjoy their work because you'll never see me pen them.


Wow! This is the longest blog post ever.