Soul Rape.

His eyes.

They seemed to rape my soul.

Penetrating deeply, uncovering my deepest secrets.

And yet, slowly taking each one away from me.

Without my consent.

When he spoke, I forgot my words.

When he walked towards me, I forgot how to use my legs.

"I want to fuck you senseless and I want you to cum all over my face."

I gasped. How horrifically explicit were his words. How disturbing.

And yet, how utterly arousing.

I was a good, church-going girl.

And yet, my innocence completely shed itself at that moment.

That's when I knew both who I was and wasn't.

I awoke. I felt enlightened. I was born-again.

But not in a religious sense at all.

From then on, he was my god.

And that is what I called him, during sex.

"God, oh God!" I would scream, but I meant it literally as his name.

His holy goddamn name.

Sex that was both painful and psychotically pleasurable.

I didn't love him. I never loved him. He didn't love me.

I loved the feeling of being exposed and degraded.

Not rape, no. I wanted it. He raped me not sexually, only soulishly.

I woke up each morning, forgetting who I was.

I felt drugged. And he was my drug.

I was empty of myself.

But instead of feeling depressed, I felt exhilarated.

I could fill myself with anything I wanted to.

I could be anything I wanted.

Until dusk. Until night.

When he'd empty me of myself again.

And again, and again.