Raping to know

Her parents showed a mixture of surprise and disgust. Their eyes burned with an overwhelming desire to know whether or not she was still a virgin, whether or not I had fucked their 'baby.'

I contacted her parents after I threw her in the pool without recognizing the depth. She caught her fall with her right foot and sprained her ankle. I drove her to an urgent care clinic where they submitted her foot to x-ray, wrapped it in cloth, and gave her a small quantity of pain medicine. She was young enough to be covered under her parent's health insurance, so I let them know what happened.

When her parents arrived, her eyes welled up and she stretched her arms out to receive their parental guardianship. Smart girl. I sat in the chair, kept my distance, and prepared for their rage. The father didn't swing. The mother did. I took my glasses off and let her hit me. The father grabbed her, and then grabbed me by the throat. I kept my cool. He wasn't choking me. I didn't give them a story. There was no need. I'd let the girl's story be the official one. I live alone. I'm an adult. I don't mind one bit how her parents think of me. The girl is the one who will have to live for at least another 5 years under their rule. I didn't envy her position. Since she was their 'baby' I knew she had an advantage and ability to set their mind at ease.

Still the parents insisted on knowing whether or not we had had sex. This was our first clandestine date. We checked into a hotel room in her town. We brought our swimming suits and took advantage of the hotel's recreational options. It was a hot day, and we had the pool almost exclusively to ourselves. I made the mistake of goofing around in the pool with her, and didn't pay attention to the depth when I tossed her in. I made a mistake, and I felt sorry for hurting her. I did what I could to redress this mistake. She told them we had not done anything. She was telling the truth. Her parents, her mother especially, was suspicious. Her father wanted to leave the story at her word, but he yielded to his wife's demands. The father scooped his daughter into her arms and took her behind a closed door as a nurse came in with a rape kit tucked under her arm.

A rape kit consists of a light, a speculum, rubber gloves, and some treated swabs. The swabs are to grab any residual semen in the vaginal cavity--a procedural formality, that place where medical practice and police evidence gathering meet. This was a state-standard rape kit. The speculum, light, and rubber gloves are where the medical practitioner looks for signs of vaginal trauma, signs of the fleshy friction of sex, and, in this case, the ripped hymen.

The nurse had never done one of these exploratory exercises. The police were on their way--also a formality. I sat in a room, alone, behind a locked door. I looked at an informational poster showing a cross section of the human body to highlight the digestive system. The nurse in her clumsy first attempt at collecting evidence in the parents' legal case against me, busted the girl's hymen. She didn't recognize it, and unintentionally grabbed it with her index finger.

Fitting.

I'm sure this hurt the girl. The first time always does. It's a combination of trauma and pleasure, of strange feelings and an attempt to reconcile them with previous experiences. I understood the feelings. I'm a veteran so to speak. She was green. I was prepared to go slow or not go at all. I didn't really care whether or not we did have sex. I could appreciate her presence and having an effect on her emotions by words alone. That was more exhilarating than the hydraulic pumping action of insemination--a mere formality of procreation. I was biding my time, preparing her for this moment; I was prepared to enjoy it just as much as her. Keeping my selfish motives in check would ripen the fruit of our first time, and I was patient, infinitely patient. I like the responsibility. I like building trust on a foundation of strangeness and suspicion. I like building confidence on a foundation of anxiety.

I shattered all of this when I tossed her into the shallow end of the pool. That's fine by me. She can have her childhood back. I don't want it. I sat in the locked room, staring at the exposed insides of this reference body highlighting the digestive system. It spoke truth by its presence. The girl's parents required her to sit quietly as the nurse examined her for signs of sexual activity. The nurse probed her anus, destroying a little bit of her innocence and pride. Her parents greedily watched, perhaps mildly aroused by their vantage point. They were aroused by being company to their daughter's body being rendered into evidence. Her daughter's body spoke a truth filtered through medical procedure they could trust. Instead of punishing her, spanking her, grounding her, they submitted her to a vivisection, a live autopsy of her sexual life. She couldn't keep that secret from her parents. They reveled in this moment of truth taking.

I sat in the locked room, felt a mild pressure on my bladder, and pondered that my body was also not my own. Incarceration was imminent, a formality. I was preparing myself. I was ready to keep quiet. The girl was humiliated by her parents and the fumbling medical examination by the green-stick nurse. Her body was all the evidence they needed. I didn't need to speak. My logos would not match her corpus. It's her body; she can have it back from me. Unfortunate for her that she had to submit to her parent's state-sponsored exploration of her body for knowledge, for evidence. That was her punishment. She lost her virginity to a nurse fumbling for facts. I was careful and considerate. I didn't want her facts, just her time. And I was more than happy to share with her the benefit of my time, my experience, my knowledge. I had no interest in forcing more from her than she wanted to offer. That's hardly a gift. I'm just not interested in domination. That's hardly a case in my defense. I'll remain mute. I'll let my body speak in its presence alone. I'm quite selfish and self-interested. I don't want my story to mix with hers or with the medical examination's body of evidence.