story of a confused lady ... [b]One day, at his apartment before rehearsal, he asked, sincerely, why I wouldn’t have sex with him. I told him, sincerely, that I wasn’t attracted to him in the least. And that was that. But Dave wanted to negotiate. “Do you have to be attracted to me to have sex with me?” he asked, looking down at his guitar. “Well. Yeah,” I said. “That’s usually how that goes.” Dave looked up at me, his face brightening: “How about you just have sex with me as a favor.” “A favor to whom?” I asked. “To me.” I blinked, sincerely not understanding. “You’re asking me for a sexual favor.” “Yes.” “No, Dave.” “Why not?” I bristled. “Because just no, dude. Like, no. Ever. No. Not interested.” Dave put his guitar down and gave me serious puppy-dog eyes. “Give me one good reason why you won’t take pity on me and have sex with me.” “One?” I asked. “Okay. I’m not attracted to you. At all.” “You said that already. Give me another one.” (At this point, my present 41-year-old self is screaming, just get the Bleep out of there! Don’t sit on this motherfucker’s couch discussing this shit! Just say, “No motherfucker, I ain’t fucking you.” And be out!) Instead, I gave him another reason. “Dave, I dated your friend for like two years.” “But Jack hates me anyway.” “No he doesn’t,” I said. “Yes, he does,” said Dave. “Watch.” Dave picked up the phone and called Jack, my ex. “Hey Jack. What’s up. Lauren is here and she said she wouldn’t Bleep me because—” “—Yo get the Bleep off my phone. Fucking bitch-ass.” Jack hung up. Dave smiled at me. “See, I told you. Not an issue.” “I’m on my period,” I said. “You’re lying.” He was right. For the next hour, we practiced. At least five times, I swatted Dave away as he stopped playing and tried to lean in for a kiss or a hug. I never felt endangered. I was just annoyed. I wanted to hurry up and practice my songs so the rest of the band wouldn’t be pissed because I couldn’t hit that low note on the Mary J. Blidge song and we’d have to do that part over and over. Finally, Dave put the guitar down and said we could take a break. He edged closer and closer to me on the couch. Touched my shoulder. Kissed my neck. I didn’t say no. I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say anything. I just sat there and dealt with it. I figured once he saw I’d be as responsive as a corpse, he’d give up. He didn’t. Dave leaned into me until I was on my back on the sofa. He pulled my pants down. He pulled my panties down. I provided zero assistance. (Picture trying to get a denim pantsuit off of a Barbie doll). Dave pulled his own pants down. He pulled his boxers down. He put on a condom, parted my legs with his own, held himself and guided his way inside me. I said nothing. And I didn’t move a single muscle from start to finish. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. I just know I held my breath because his natural odor turned me off. And I stayed rigid because I didn’t want him to think for one second that I was enjoying any part of it. I went blank. I thought we could just “get over with it,” the way a woman might do if her husband or boyfriend was in the mood and she wasn’t. Except he wasn’t my husband, or my boyfriend, at all. Then it was over. He pulled his boxers and pants up. I pulled my underwear and pants up. He kissed me on the cheek. He got the guitar out. He played some chords. I sang Mary J. Blige’s "My Life" while he played. If you look at my life/and see what I see... The question I’ve held on to for 17 years is this: Was I raped?[/b]

Summary

Oma307 yhu lazy o o... this story no long nah .

Couldn't go past 7th line. I'll read the rest after church tomorrow

of course not.

but with a very clever embelishment, you can sue for rape.

u were dia sitting quietly watching him remove ur pant and opened ur legs and u didn't shout and u are asking if its rape.nonsense

CAPITAL NO

Now I fully agree that "knowing is better than learning".
If I had known, I wouldn't have read to learn this poo.