Note: This may include some offensive/explicit words.
“This is all up to you,” The overpowering man says, with a knife to my chin. “You can relax and make this easy for yourself or you can fight and make this harder than it already is.”
I am currently stripped down to my boxer short, my bare skin fast welting from belt and knife marks. His name is Alex; a man I had met some weeks back.
Alex tightens his grip around my throat, pushing my head hard against the thin mattress. I whimper silently under his mass, wiggling my body to break free. I feel my skin crawl and my heart pound heavily as I struggle to swallow the bile rising in my throat. My eyes are filled with tears streaming down my face.
“If you don’t do as I say, I’ll cut you into shreds.”
His eyes are zealous with desire and yearning, Alex. He seems comfortable, like something he has done before. Something he considers habitual. His friends are holding my legs still, laughing heartily as they rip off my boxer short.
My naked body is numb, totally motionless. My eyes are aflame with agonizing tears. I want to be strong. I will myself to be, biting harder at my lower lip till I taste blood. I want to create my own pain; take back control of my body. I bore deep into his eyes, willing him to stop. Anger is rising within me from a place of frustration. A place of weakness. My weakness.
They turn me around effortlessly, and Alex rests his naked body firmly against my back, pressing me harder to the bed. He’s so cold, so incredibly cold. I am shaking frantically. I want to scream at them, tell them how wicked they are. I want to scream for help, for someone to hear. But I know that could never happen. My mumbles could never survive beyond these walls.
He slaps hard against my butt cheeks, and then licks the nape of my neck. I feel my belly erupt in disgust, and I shrug to push him off. He slaps me heavily, anger rising to his eyes. He knots my hands tightly in his, and then swiftly thrusts his erect penis into me. My shrill cry envelops the room, and is quickly silenced by a heavy slap across my face. He tells me that if I am to cry, I am to cry silently.
His friends are naked now, stroking their penes and anticipating their turns.
“Don’t be a little bitch. Take it like a man. You know you like it; you know you really enjoy it. You know you want my cock.” His hand pushes my neck hard against the thin bed as he thrusts deeper and faster into me.
The pain is worse than anything I have ever felt in my life; almost like hot blade slashing through my skin. My head is throbbing heavily, my eyes blurring hazily from the pain. I bite unto as much bedspread as my mouth can contain, trying to no avail to channel the pain.
The taller of his friends releases my right leg and walks to face me, his erection dangling in the air.
“Suck that cock,” he charges, pulling my face up as he plunges his penis deep into my mouth, his hands holding my head still.
I twirl and turn and even bite to break free as I choke on his penis and beg God to take my life. My muted cries are lost in my throat. I feel less of a man; less of a person. I feel like a thing. Totally defiled.
Alex’s movement comes to a halt as he moans and groans heavily in satisfaction, pouring his cum into me. His hefty body collapses on me, heaving laughter and breathing in my ears. He feels pleased. A bigger man. A fulfilled man.
He pulls out of me just as swiftly as his initial thrust, sending a sharp pain to my brains. I squeal bitterly in pain, and bite further into the bedspread. I shut my eyes quickly and will myself to focus on the anger and hatred I feel towards them; trying hard not to look at the mixture of blood and semen trailing down his penis.
Intermittently, these three friends take their turns on me as I slowly give into the waking numbness; into oblivion.
“This is an irrelevant case,” I hear the judge say, six weeks after, at the Enugu State High Court. “There is no such thing as Male Rape in our constitution. Counsels, I would not tolerate the disturbance of this prestigious court with such an inapt case,”
The callousness in his voice travels through the big oak door. My case will never make it to the courtroom, I know this for sure. I will never get justice for this crime. My country could never approve of it. This, like every other similar case, would be swept under the carpet like dust. Like always, like every other male rapist out there, Alex and his friends will be acquitted. They will win. They always do. They always will. They will, once again, be given the opportunity to walk freely along the streets without fear looming over their shoulders.
I am beginning to feel sick to my stomach. I never should have agreed to come here. I should have known better. Here I am sitting blankly outside the Judge’s office — where my lawyer is striving hard to get my case to a courtroom — as people walk by with faux concern filtered across their faces. I wonder if they see this person I have become when they look at my face, if they can see ‘defiled’ written across my forehead. I wonder if they can tell my tales just by looking at me with eyes that bear more curiosity than concern. Nobody really wants to know how I feel, they just want to look at my face and draw from it their own versions of truth.
‘What was I doing there in the first place?’ This is a question I have pondered since I awoke in a garbage bin in the middle of the night left for dead. This is the question that keeps me up at night reminiscing my should-haves and should-have-nots.
I think of myself before and now, and I feel a sharp ache of loss. These men have prised open my soul and ripped off something of mine. They have taken my strength and left me weary and terrified by the things and people around me. They have snatched away my life, my sense of being. They have stolen my freedom. Solitude has become where I strive to be, the only place I can sink my roots into without feeling the constant urge to slit my wrist.
The walls around me suddenly feel tighter; I feel them caving in. There’s a loud voice in my head screaming for freedom. I feel my heart throbbing rapidly. I am suddenly claustrophobic. I quickly stand and hurry out through the entrance door, immediately feeling awash as the warm breeze slaps my face.
This, this feeling, it has to go.
There is nothing here to live for, nobody to live for. Talking would be a miracle, one I have never embraced. One I never will. Nobody can possibly understand. Nobody really wants to.
I step out into the busy road, oblivious to the speeding cars. I am willing to embrace this voice inside my head.
There is nothing here to live for. Nobody to live for.
I walk hazily into the highway, accepting what I knew was coming; what I knew I deserved.
Hysterical screeching. Horns. A thud. Chaos.
Slowly I feel myself embracing tranquility. Silence. Peace. My last feelings.
My name was John Doe,
And I was a male-rape victim.
Everyday, somewhere in the world, a boy/man is raped and condemned to solitude and misery by another boy/man, and zero to one of these cases has been successfully handled. Men have been looked upon as the sterner sex, and because of this, they prefer not to talk about the cases when they are exposed to such suffering. Some take drastic measures to suppress this feeling, while some even resort to suicide.
Male and female rape share something: it is not about ‘sex’, but about power and degradation, about violence in which sex is the weapon. It is a desire for conquest and control; revenge and retaliation; and what is called ‘conflict and counteraction’, in which a rapist wants to punish his victim as a way of dealing with confusion about his sexuality. It is an act to externalise his fears in such a way as to be seen as more dominant, more masculine, than he already is in reality.
For most people, Male Rape is not a serious crime that demand legal attention, and until this notion is changed, and a law is implemented, victims would never be able to get justice for the pieces of them stolen by these monsters.