To rape a mockingbird

So, recently, I have received requests from someone to tell them about being raped. The about me was hard enough, at least I only remember spots here and there. However, I fulfill writing requests, and it would probably be therapeutic to get it out there. I can't really write this as a story. I don't want to sit back, close my eyes, and think about the details, but I remember it vividly. So, I don't need to reach into my memories to write it. So, here is what happened the first time I was raped. I was 14.


He always picked on me, bullied me. I don't know why I was his primary target, and have to wonder, if I didn't exist, would he even be happy? Seemed to me that bullying me was the extent of his life.

I lived close enough to school that I didn't need to take the bus. Good normally, because I could just walk alone, not put up with people. This time though, it turned out, not having the safety of a bus would be worse.

He followed me home, taunting me, teasing me. The first time he had ever done this, had pushed it so far.

I got home, him calling me names, hitting my back, yelling at me. I went inside my house, so upset I went upstairs. Got my dad's hand gun. He was still in my front yard, yelling obscenities at me. I still never really understood why he would continue doing that, but I was so fed up.

I brought the gun downstairs, opened the door, told him to get the hell away from my house. Leave me alone. I guess I pushed him too far. He hit my hand, knocked the gun away, then jumped on it, picking it up, turning it towards me.

I tried to run into my house, tried to close the door behind me, lock it. He kicked it. I hadn't gotten it completely locked yet, and so with the bolt only a little in, not enough to secure it, it bounced open.

He charged me, took the gun and swung it at me. I moved purely by reflex, so I did not take the full blow, but enough. I ended up on the floor, spots swimming before my eyes, brain slow, sluggish.

He jumped on me, yelling at me, ripping at my clothes. I don't even remember what he was saying, just what he was doing.

Couple punches when I tried to stop him. Yelling at him to get out, to leave me alone. Then, no more pants. No more panties. And he was undoing his pants. Pulling his penis out. Forcing my legs open, punch to the stomach knocking the air out of me. I had so much trouble trying to breath. Then he was on top of me, pulling my legs apart. Pushing himself inside me. I hurt. Nothing to lube me, just raw, hateful sex. Not sex for pleasure, but sex for humiliation. For control. To put me in my place. It was over quick. He came, slapped me a couple more times, then did up his pants and left. I was left to cry on my living room floor.

This is the first time I have ever spoken of it, other than to admit I had been raped twice. So, I you guys know what even my family has never known. I was always ashamed. I always felt it was my fault. I went to far. I paid the price. I understand better now, but didn't then, just knew it was all my fault.