To my rapist, Part 1

And all other people who do not profit from #metoo

The person whom you raped is now called Michelle. I decided to separate her from the rest of my personality so that I can live my life without thinking of you.

Michelle was an ambitious person. She had plans for her life. She had a future. Until you f*cked her up. Well, almost. She is back on her feet (and she has a bunch of likes on Instagram, for the record - check out rheamoutafis if you don't believe me). And she is not backing down. Never. Because this is her story.

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It was April 2017 when you first saw her in the lab. The kind of girl has everything fckable but doesn’t really know how to present it. The waistlong blonde curly hair tied back in a bunch, her voluptuous upper body hidden in a big green jumper with little cats sewed on it, plain black jeans, no makeup, sport shoes. That was Michelle. That was fckable, you probably thought.

You introduced yourself to her. Michelle is that kind of girl who is shy and open-minded at the same time, you thought. Naïve, even. Too focused on physics. No idea how f*ckable she is, you thought.

You were wrong. Michelle knew exactly how f*ckable she was. You are not the only man who goes crazy about her, and you never were. But I am queer (and still figuring it out, to be honest). Saying “no” to cisgender men who wanted sex with me was my choice. I did that for years. Oh, and I have ten years of experience in martial arts in my pocket, just in case you don’t understand my “no” correctly. (And I have used that, too.)

She excited you. She fascinated you. You talked to her on the way to lunch and back. You wanted to f*ck her, badly.

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You liked bars, nightlife, and alcohol at any time of day. Michelle didn’t. You didn’t know how to get furher along with her.
In June 2017 told the research group that she was going to another city over summer. She organized a little farewell evening among colleagues on her last day at work, but it was a Friday evening and you wanted to leave on Thursday to spend the weekend with your girlfriend in yet another town. (Oh yes, you had a girlfriend and you still tried to approach Michelle all the time. I am not judging you for that, that’s up to the reader.)

So, you told her Thursday after lunch that you would like to have a drink with her to say goodbye personally. She agreed. (Man, she was so f*cking naïve, huh? Perfect victim?)

You sat there with your third beer. Michelle didn’t like beer, she sipped on her Ouzo (actually she didn’t do alcohol, but this bar you took her to didn’t sell anything without). You were talking about your future and she talked about hers. You talked about your work and she about hers. You talked about girls and she talked about girls and boys and everything LGBTQIA+ also. She told you that she doesn’t want to have a boyfriend because she doesn’t want to get intimate with men. She told you that when a man tries to kiss her, she might hit him in self-defense.

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You kissed her.

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Part 2 following soon. Stay tuned, follow me and check out my profile if you want :)

[Please, please, please no personal requests for sex, not on this site and nowhere else, I don’t do that (and I hate it when #metoo members like myself get sexually approached because somebody finds it exciting to harass a #metoo member).]