The term rape originates from the Latin rapere (supine stem raptum), "to snatch, to grab, to carry off". Rape was from time immemorial one of the principle manner of conquest; the men were killed and the females raped, enslaved, and impregnated, the superior genetic line was carried on. It is a behavior imprinted in the psyche. For men, it is a feeling that it is their right, and for women, being subdued and raped by the superior male is a biological imperative.
I came to understand this after I was raped. I was 19, in college at the time. Coming back from the library, grabbed, pulled off into the shrubbery. He hit me and slapped me, stunned I laid there while he pulled my jeans and panties to my ankles, spread my knees and fucked me. I can remember every detail, from the smell of his breath in my face, to the painful forced penetration. And I remember that when he was done and he was leaving me lying there in the dirt, he said “You aren’t even that pretty.” And he spat on me.
I was really a mess for the next few weeks. There was the trauma of the police gathering evidence for the rape kit, and the beating he gave me, I was in bed for days. Friends were supportive and very full of feminist rage. But though I knew how I should feel, my shameful secret was that when I was raped, I had the biggest orgasm to that point in my life. I couldn’t function, dropped out of school. A woman I knew slightly contacted me and said that she had been raped and she saw this therapist who really “got it”, and that he really helped her. Said she’d never been happier. Desperate and still on my parents insurance, made an appointment.
That woman was right, he really understood. It took only three sessions before I could talk fully and openly about the shame I felt, how demeaned as a person I felt and how it so sexually excited me, almost to an obsession. I learned from him that my experience really wasn’t that uncommon and a natural and evolutionary reaction that all women had. Only years of romantic and feminist conditioning caused me to repress those feelings.
Thus began my journey toward slavery.
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The term rape originates from the Latin rapere (supine stem raptum), "to snatch, to grab, to carry off". Rape was from time immemorial one of the principle manner of conquest; the men were killed and the females raped, enslaved, and impregnated, the superior genetic line was carried on. It is a behavior imprinted in the psyche. For men, it is a feeling that it is their right, and for women, being subdued and raped by the superior male is a biological imperative.
I came to understand this after I was raped. I was 19, in college at the time. Coming back from the library, grabbed, pulled off into the shrubbery. He hit me and slapped me, stunned I laid there while he pulled my jeans and panties to my ankles, spread my knees and fucked me. I can remember every detail, from the smell of his breath in my face, to the painful forced penetration. And I remember that when he was done and he was leaving me lying there in the dirt, he said “You aren’t even that pretty.” And he spat on me.
I was really a mess for the next few weeks. There was the trauma of the police gathering evidence for the rape kit, and the beating he gave me, I was in bed for days. Friends were supportive and very full of feminist rage. But though I knew how I should feel, my shameful secret was that when I was raped, I had the biggest orgasm to that point in my life. I couldn’t function, dropped out of school. A woman I knew slightly contacted me and said that she had been raped and she saw this therapist who really “got it”, and that he really helped her. Said she’d never been happier. Desperate and still on my parents insurance, made an appointment.
That woman was right, he really understood. It took only three sessions before I could talk fully and openly about the shame I felt, how demeaned as a person I felt and how it so sexually excited me, almost to an obsession. I learned from him that my experience really wasn’t that uncommon and a natural and evolutionary reaction that all women had. Only years of romantic and feminist conditioning caused me to repress those feelings.
Thus began my journey toward slavery.