Meanwhile, I am enjoying shutting you guys off with the disabled comments. I do not mean to be a stuck up bitch, oh hell no darling, but it saves me the goddamn trouble of having to explain why this post comes in two installations.
|Picture from the Hannington blog|
Rape, to somebody with the shining morals and virtues of, say, a lump of charcoal is nothing more than getting sodomized without your explicit permission. That, there, is the size of the matter, the long and short of it, the gist and measure of this raping business. Oftentimes, the same libertine (or victim) may admit to liking the carnal trespassing altogether. Most especially when he has surrendered to him being un-rape-able (oh yeah, look at me now).
My lover raped me this morning. I don't think he was as drunk as I guessed he was on account of he had the necessary strength to pin me down and then fuck me in the ass until he came. Ejaculation takes some time, most especially when the body is paralyzed with alcohol. But he went at it until he succeeded in his invasive mission. It took him about seven minutes, tops.
We were drinking eight hours earlier that evening; we went through a box of the local brandy. A box of the local brandy is loaded with twelve one-liter bottles laced with 32% alcohol each. Potent, sure, but we were killing it with a thousand friends; it was four in the morning before anyone noticed. Before anyone Sober noticed. Our population of alcoholics was reduced to six. And this count included my lover, whose head was already in a 20 degree angle towards his next shot of fire water.
We were home thirty minutes later.
(Part Two is next week. I'm tired of long posts.)