Diary of a Black Courtesan

Lets Play ❣️

Sexual assault does something to a girl.

Especially when you have been roofied and gang raped. Having twenty plus men abusing and battering your body really fucks you up.
The bruises on your body fade but the mental part never really goes away.

I've had friends who were raped and I knew what was happening to me.
I could feel the onset of trauma and I just refused, I refused to go there. I could feel my body shutting down after the assault.
I still denied to myself that it happened, I was still in shock. I didn't want to believe it. It was easy to not believe because the memories were so hazy, foggy and distant, due to the roofie.

All I knew was I didn't want to lose myself, my sexuality, my power and my essence - so I decided to take my power back.
Through a man.

Matthew.
He was the opposite of the blue blood, privileged fraternity of rich white brats who had invited me over to their mansion and had their way with me.

He was blue collar, lower middle class, rode a Harley and he had rough hands, but I liked them.
He was a real take no shit sort of prick, sarcastic and mean as shit, but with a heart of gold and a cute smile.

Shaking, I made the phone call to tell him, what happened.
He sprung to my defense, he wanted to take a gun, go to their frat and blow all of their brains out individually. I was touched.
It was sweet but stupid mouth service - he didn't have the money, power or the leverage to really stop them.  Mommy & Daddy would bail them out.
It would be an instant jail ticket.

However he did have one power they didn't, he could erase their awful memories in my bruised body. 
So I did the unthinkable.
I know what your thinking. What kind of rape victim asks to have sex after getting raped, much less gang raped ?
Strange. I know.

All I can tell you is that I was acting on instinct. Something told me in my soul that it was true.
What could remove the trauma of such a violently heinous act ? An act of love.

I asked him to make love to me, to worship my body.
He agreed.
We made love under the stars in his back yard. He was incredibly gentle and tender with me, a notion that felt almost foreign to my traumatized body, which was still sore and deeply bruised. He moved inside of me, & there was a moment when I started crying and asked him to stop, a word that had not been honored before.
He stopped and listened and I relished that moment. I drank it in. It soothed the violation that had been beaten into my body and I visibly felt my body relax.
Just to have him respect my space and body? I relished it and new life flowed into me, with every slow stroke. My body needed to be reminded of this.

Granted the whole thing was horribly slow and awkward because my body was still battered from the assault but he poured his love into my body.  I don't even think I came but this was an intense bonding moment. Which solidified our friendship forever.
He's one of the few men in my life I can say I trust.

I should have saw a therapist after the blood bath but my memory of the night was really clouded.
I managed to convince myself it didn't happen and I blocked the whole thing from my memory. 
It was easy to do too, because they roofied me. Half the night was fuzzy.
It was all a vague memory in my mind, even the bloody bathtub until one of those rich idiots had a change of heart and sent me a message on Facebook begging for forgiveness.

My heart stopped cold when I read that message and that's when the flashbacks came.
The scents, sights and smells.
Their bodies pressed up against mine, the way I screamed no and how no one listened, as I went in and out of consciousness.
Them taking my lifeless body and throwing me in a bathtub and bathing me to wash off the evidence.

It ALL came back.
Slowly.
Painfully.
It was almost worse than the rape itself because I had to relieve the trauma all over again.
Anything could trigger me.

I decided to shutdown my Facebook. I would never talk to any of them again.
I wanted to run away from the problem. Pretend it never happened.
My mental health was shot to shit and to make matters worse, I got into a car accident where six people died.
It destroyed me.
I lost the only job I had because I was too scared to drive, due to crippling ptsd.

My mom noticing my sudden decline in mental health decided I was a failure and kicked me out. 
Homeless, with no job and only a couple bucks to my name, I started stripping.