2 November 2003

So, here I am again... finally back here, writing in my diary! It would have been a long time even if I hadn't gone homeless for a while (more on that later). I guess I just didn't have anything to write about. Now, though, I have a lot. Maybe too much for right now (I'm wired and exhausted).

I just re-read (skimmed mostly) all my other entries here. Wow, what a year! But I sort off wish I'd had this diary for a lot longer. It's so easy to forget things after they happen, you know? For instance, when I re-read my first entry from March 12th... wow. I had completely forgotten about "Max". That was screwed up... and the two blowjobs in one night? I hadn't forgotten about that, I guess, but I hadn't thought much about it, either.

Alright, I better get back to the now!

When last I wrote in here, I had gone celibate. That is, I was abstaining from sex. Yeah, that didn't work out. Sometime in late-August, just before I went kinda homeless (more later), I finally broke. The details aren't that interesting, or you know I'd write them in here. Suffice to say I finally did it with one of my "friends-with-benefits" guys. Him and I have had sex a lot of times, since we met a couple years ago, and nothing ever got serious, thankfully. This time was no different. Basically we were hanging out with a couple friends at a bar, where I was worrying about my living situation. He walked me home. I invited him up because, well, I was lonely. The place was nothing but boxes at that point, because I was pretty much all packed up (as were my roommates... a couple had actually moved already). Anyway he came up, and I broke almost 100 days of celibacy with him on the mattress on the floor. The sex was really, really, really good, too, by the way.

And that's why I decided "fuck celibacy!". You know? Sex is wonderful. I don't even care if I really am addicted to it-- I think I'm pretty safe with it. I've never been knocked up, I don't have any STD's, I use condoms, all that! It's not hurting my life. In fact, it helps me deal with my life.

Okay, there are exceptions.

Alright, I kinda got ahead of myself. Let me explain really quick the living situation. Sometime in early August (late July?) my roommates and I found out that our landlord wasn't going to let us renew the least on the house we were renting. Basically he wanted to renovate it and then rent it again at a higher rate (one we couldn't afford anyway). So I had 30 days, basically, to find a new place to live.

At first I was going to move out with a good friend of mine, but she ended up deciding (practically at the last minute) that she didn't really want a roommate. So I was fucked. But then I found this cheapass place through a friend of mine where you could rent rooms by the month. Having no real choice, that's what I did.

It was awful. That's where I lived the first week in September. My room was small, and the house was like, cramped full of people. We all shared the bathrooms and kitchen, and all I had to myself was this really small bedroom on the third floor (which, btw, had once been an attic... you can imagine how even at my height, the ceiling was low). SUCKED!!!

I was miserable at this time. But before the first week there was even out, I met a boy!

Let's call him... I dunno, "Frank". I met him at a concert (my friend's band was playing in this little bar near my new "home"). Frank and I immediately hit it off. We started dating, and after only a couple days he invited me to live at his place. I know it was sudden, and I probably shouldn't have agreed, but I really hated where I was. As for him, I think he was lonely because he had this big two-bedroom apartment he'd lived in by himself for like, two years or so. Plus, he said he was "in love" with me already (scary). And finally, I think he just got sick of me whining about my place! So anyway I moved in, the Monday before September 11--- three days after what would become my last update to this site for nearly two months.

Things went great for a few days. And then, of course, I fucked all that up.

On September 11, I went out to a bar with a friend of mine because I didn't have to work the next day. Frank was working, though, so he couldn't come. I wish he had, because I fucked everything up.

I don't know why, but it was just one of those nights where I wanted to dress really provocatively. I wore this short summer dress, a light yellow color, and kept my hair in these stupid little pig-tail things. It's hard to describe, but it's my "lazy sexy hairdo". If you saw it you'd understand.

At the bar, I was playing pool with one guy I knew (he'd invited me to the bar) and three guys I didn't. Of course, they flirted with me, since I was the only girl there. And I was just... I don't know, almost manic. Maybe it was the booze. But I flirted back, sometimes egregiously. Even when I hadn't had a live-in boyfriend, I hadn't been so fucking flirtatious in years. Every little comment became lewd in a way... you know how those conversations go.

Well, long story short, one of the cuter guys there (who had been buying me drinks) started to get all over me. And I let him. He felt me up, even, right in front of his friends as we sat at our table (they pretended not to notice). Finally, he asked if I wanted to "get some fresh air". I said, "Sure." Because I'm dumb.

We went outside, and found his car. Once inside we just began making out. I didn't get naked, but I did end up giving him a blowjob (remember, too: I didn't even know this guy). It was one of those "thrills" I get sometimes, and just have to act on, you know? When he finished cumming, we went back inside the bar, and I began to regret what I'd done.

I went to the bathroom, and when I came back to the table I noticed my friend wasn't there. By this time I'd decided I needed to go home-- I was feeling drunk, and somewhat remorseful, too. But the guy I'd just blown didn't want to drive me home. One of his friends, another stranger, said he would, though. I should have called a cab, obviously.

The entire ride to new home was basically me brushing off his attempts to "get fresh". He kept reaching over and rubbing my thigh, that sort of thing. When we got to the apartment building (remember, I'd only spent two nights there at this point) he parked the car and tried kissing me.

I pushed him away, and he said (seriously, this is pretty much what he said): "What the hell's your problem? You'll suck off (so-and-so) but not me?"

Ahh! What a jerk! I was so pissed, and drunk, and I tried to get out of the car but he wouldn't let me.

So, you know, you can guess what happened. He forcefully held me against my seat as he pulled my panties down to my ankles, and then began to finger me. He kept saying things like, "Oh, you're getting wet" even though I wasn't. What I was doing was sobbing and telling him to stop, that sort of thing. I knew what he was going to do, but I really, really didn't want it.

When he crawled on top of me, though, I went into "safe mode". That's where I just go numb all over, you know? My mind drifts off, I stop thinking about what's going on, and just sort of zone-out. So when he fucked me, I hardly felt it. I didn't react at all. I just laid underneath him on the passenger seat as he pushed his thing in and out of me. It was dry, it was rough, and if I hadn't been in safe-mode it would have hurt a hell of a lot.

When he came (didn't take long) he finally let me go. I just laid there for a moment. The asshole was grinning like some sort of Casanova, and told me to have a good night.

When I got inside the apartment I had a drink and laid down on Frank's couch. I didn't do anything at all until I heard the door opening as my new boyfriend returned from work. Then I began to cry.

I told him what happened, leaving out the part about the blowjob. He insisted we call the cops, and bring me to a hospital. I finally agreed, and my night was basically spent doing a rape-kit, being tested, given the morning-after pill, etc.

For the next few days, Frank was really, really sweet. He wanted to kill the guy who'd done it, but the cops got him first. And I felt so guilty this entire time, not because of the rape (which wasn't my choice, obviously) but because of the BJ I'd given (which was).

Well, two weeks later Frank found out about the BJ because, well, those things come out during a rape investigation. He was more hurt than angry, I think. Either way, he told me to move out.

While I looked for a new place to live again I stayed with several friends. Laura, my friend Matt, etc. It was during this time that I dropped all my classes for the semester because, well, I just couldn't handle it.

And then, finally, I found a new place. It's a nice little apartment on the second floor of this converted house, and it rocks! Yes, I have roommates, but not like before-- I have my own bathroom, bedroom, and living area. I have my own privacy! It rules. I just moved in last week, and I'm SO loving it.

As for the computer-- I have a new one, too! Well, not new, but new to me. I actually got hooked up with it through Frank, when we were (briefly) together. It was pretty much given to me by him, though I've since sent him a couple hundred dollars for it because, well... you know.

And now I have an internet connection, too, and I'm all hooked up!

You're probably wondering what happened to the asshole who raped me. Like I said, he was arrested. A blood test or something proves it was him who did it to me, but he denies it was rape, so it's going to trial on Tuesday. I haven't really paid much attention to all that... I think he's out on bond or something right now. But the thing is, I do have to go to the trial because I might be called to testify (the prosecutor guy did a deposition with me and everything already).

Here's the thing about the rape, though, the reason I'm not a total basket case over it. I've been raped before, you know? More than a couple of times. I've even gone to trial over it once before, when I was younger. The fact of the matter is, what happened was my fault. I made a bunch of stupid decisions that culminated in some jerk I didn't even know fucking me. You know the old stereotype "she was asking for it"? Well, I was, pretty much.

Sigh... I'm not making excuses for the guy. I'm just saying that if I'd been smarter, it wouldn't have happened.

Oh, my one friend who was there that night, but left while I was blowing the other guy in the car? Yeah, he and I aren't friends anymore. He has sided with the guy who raped me. Jerk.

Okay, that's enough for now, I guess. I'll write more soon, I promise. There are other things to talk about, but this has taken a lot of time. Bye!

*Note: As you know, what I write in this diary is true. I don't make things up. When I say I had sex with a guy, I really did-- when I say I was raped, it really happened. But you also know that I have to change names, locations, and even dates sometimes in order to ensure my anonymity. I do this so that even if someone who knew me read this diary, they couldn't be 100% sure it was me (e.g. "Well, Shannon did blow two guys, I know... but it wasn't at a party, and I'm pretty sure she did it at the same time, not separately... it couldn't be her."). The anonymity I have on this site is what makes it so I can do it-- what makes me able to be so honest on here about my thoughts, feelings, guilts, etc. I lie no more on here, in fact, than I do to people in real life who don't know anything about my "darker" side.

For this entry, though, I really had to change a lot, for obvious reasons. What I described is basically what happened. However, I also had to make up some of the circumstances involved in order to keep this thing private. Understand?

I try to be as honest as I can when I write in here. Today I had to really stretch that honesty. But trust me, even if some details are fictional, the "meat" of the entry is 100% accurate. I'm sorry for not being able to be more truthful!