I Was Caught In A Sex Trap

In January 2014 I lost my beloved girlfriend and wife, Elle, of 24 years. Together we built a home, bought one, and raised most of our four children together. When she passed I had two daughters 19 and 18 and two sons 14 and 11. The youngest held it together best of all but the oldest girls and I felt as if our bodies were torn in half and died with her.

Before her death I had many friends, male and female, I hung out with and my wife knew. Some were for dancing, some for working out, and some for both. My wife didn’t go to the gym with me nor out dancing with the group I spent time with. All was well but there was one friend who was involved with both and had been a good friend for almost a year when my wife passed.

About an hour after Elle died, she helped me get through things like keeping my head straight so the kids were fed on time, I went to the store, did laundry and cleaned myself, and with her passing, scheduling therapy. She didn’t do any of those things for me except go to the grocery once or twice but when she mentioned and suggested a to do list, I did them.

She didn’t know my children but met them over the next few weeks as she and others made their rounds and took time to come over and keep me company. I appreciated it and within a couple of weeks they went back to their busy lives but she stayed around and no less than two weeks after Elle’s passing, had me over for coffee where I was to provide the cream.

I had no clue it was going to happen and my grief so deep and dark she put me on her couch, straddled me, took off her clothes and made me her sex toy.

Here I am seven years later writing about this because I feel she emotionally raped me and took something I did not offer or give freely. I was deeply vulnerable having lost my best friend and lover who kept me going twice per week after we reduced from three times per week ten years before after reducing from almost every day the years before that. Elle and I fit in every way and did not miss anything in our fantasy and love making. She ruled in every category. The topic of emotional rape is in one of my other posts on Medium but what I didn’t know at the time is that I had inferred to her somehow that I would be great in the sack and that I wanted this. She had no boyfriends. I had a love for her at this point because she was so good to me before Elle died (clear your dirty mind. Not that.) and even more so with the care after she passed but yet, she didn’t have any love for me like a girlfriend or wife would. She liked me and wanted me to fuck her whenever she wanted.

I had never met anyone like this and after the glow I had of making her cum like a freight train passing at very high speed, I said, “I didn’t know you were in love with me.”

She said, “I’m not. I was just horny. I have to go shopping with my sister. Finish your coffee and I will call you later.”

I have never in 24 years been bounced like that. She somehow knew I had long lovemaking sessions with Elle, that we could go for hours taking care of each other over and over holding each other afterward. I never mentioned it before but in my tears, over the phone or in person I must have poured out everything I missed about her. I cried a lot. The women who cared about me most, at that time, knew that. It was not good.

I walked out the door with a terrible pain in my side like I had done something wrong. I felt used and empty inside. The darkness started as soon as I was home and there was no one to hold me and no one for me to hold. It was painful and took hours to calm down but subsided enough that when she called again, I was right there to bite the hook she cast my way.

She didn’t feel right but over the next four months she would call or I would ask if she was free and wanted to go out. All would end with naked, sweaty sessions where I could not perform (you heard right) but was guided to take care of her in every oral fasion possible and head home.

It is so much fun while you are doing it but after there was never any solace. It was like it became a contest of desperation. “Maybe this time she will love me. Maybe each time we do this will make us closer.”

The one saving grace I mentioned was that I could not use my penis with her and there was terrible pain in my pancreas being with her as well. Aside from getting all weirdly spiritual and witchy like I am, I knew this was Elle talking to me. I learned this soon enough but let me continue.

So here I was about three months into this wanting her love so badly and wanting my penis to work with her that one day, I decided to stop by her house and I caught her by surprise. She was polite and asked, “What are you doing here? You didn’t call.”

“Oh I am sorry, is there someone here?” I asked.

“No but I have plans tonight,” she replied. “Come in. I have 30 minutes.”

She always talked about her family dinners and shopping with her mom and sisters. I didn’t think twice. She was dressed to go out but she seemed to be well dressed all the time.

I came in and told her I had shopped around for some creams that might help with my problem.

Yes, don’t look at me that way. Of course I wanted it to work. Who wouldn’t when you have an Italian Parisian woman doing things to you only a sheep would if you covered yourself in honey. No! I didn’t try that!

Anyway she asked if I wanted something to drink and I asked for ice water. She went off to get it and her phone lights up. She didn’t lock it and I saw a message, “Babe is the coast clear, Can I come over now?”

It was from a guy who she said was from her past. She didn’t mention he was still in her present.

My heart now broke and the pain came back to my side. I wanted to cry but I waited. Somewhere in my memory I could hear Elle saying, “I don’t want you out with her.”

“Shit!” I said and got off the couch. She came back into the room and handed the glass to me. I took a good sip and put it on her table. “Why didn’t you say you had a date?” I asked and continued, “I didn’t know you were dating anyone else.”

“Why wouldn’t I be dating other people?” she asked.

I just looked at her and realized I had been duped into being one of many she had in rotation. I left her house and said, “Enjoy your night.”

I wasn’t testy but I wasn’t honest. “What the fuck did I get into?”

I told my best friend and he said, “How’s the other guy’s cock taste?”

“That’s so fucking gross,” I replied but laughed. It wasn’t funny later on. It was disgusting.

He knew the pain I was in and told me to try and stop.

It took a ton more pain and realization after finding out it wasn’t just the men in rotation but a lot of others who at random were chosen for fun when the regulars were busy or not wanted. She was fucking men and sending them home five to six days per week. I didn’t spy on her but despite her discretion she was well known or heard of. It came together quickly, one very early morning when I confronted her and asked her to explain her actions. I told her, “You could have given me or others some wicked STD. Aren’t you afraid of dying?”

She said, “I pick men carefully who didn’t fuck around and would be loyal for a time.”

“What the fuck?” I asked rhetorically.

She wasn’t outright raping these men or I like you see portrayed on cop shows but playing on something inside of each of them. With me was the grief separation and longing, being used to take what wasn’t hers.

The next day was Sunday and every single one from the moment I started fooling around with her were dark swamps that took hours to get out of and long periods with my sister. She finally said, “You will stop seeing her and talking to her or I wont take your calls anymore.”

I didn’t put together that she was the cause of this intense darkness. I thought it was just basic grief. That was the last straw. Nothing and no one will ever come between her and I. I told the rapist, sorry but not sorry, the friend with benefits, that I could not be with her sexually and we tried friendship for two weeks but every time we met for a drink or a breakfast the pain that came from departing and the sadness that she destroyed our friendship was too much. Finally, one Saturday night she called drunk angry and crying and demanded I come over for naked dancing and orgasms. I know. I am blessed with that kind of attention. Believe me I wanted nothing more but it had to be mutual love not this bullshit. I remembered my sister’s ultimatum. If you know my sister, she means it!

I had the strength now to tell her no and she should call her list of men to take care of her. Apparently this saturday night helped me prove my point. She was desperately needy and had to have the men and sex but wanted but nothing serious with any of them. I chuckled at her and asked, “How does it feel now?”

I hung up but she called back and demanded, “Come over here now!”

I said no and told her to leave me alone. She finally stopped calling after a third time. I checked on the kids and went to bed. The next day was Sunday and I felt only a little of the pain I had before but not much and I was able to smooth the pain over and let my sister know. Now I had the beginning of my healing. She was the only thing keeping me from getting better and now I was taking hold of my emotions.

She did call me around 10 am and said in her baby voice which she used wherever she was confronted with her shitty behavior, “Saa wee!”

She asked if I wanted to go to breakfast but I said no. Now I didn’t even want to be friends with her. Anyone foolish to believe you can go from lovers to friends easily is wrong unless you were as big a cad as she was. I had been the husband tempted over the years and didn’t fuck around. A couple of times it was close with an old friend who was deep in her sadness about her husband.

See this is how I know what happened to me with this woman was emotional rape or just rape. I knew enough to tell that old friend, before my wife’s death, that I couldn’t take easy sex from her and she should not take sex from me because it would destroy our friendship that meant everything in the world to me. I look at women in despair, emotional turmoil the same was as I would see a drunk woman I met at a bar. I was taught to get them home safely or call a cab or help her get an uber but never take anything from a woman in this state unless she was sober and could make a rational decision. I have never defied this rule. Men who have been charged and convicted with rape have broken this. When a drunk woman says yes it is not an invitation to fuck her. Wait until the next day to ask her out on a date.

So I see what was done to me as defying the rule. Sadly it was seven years of not being able to be the man I was who wined, dined, danced and twirled my girlfriends and wife into bed for romantic to feral beastly love-making between consensual adults.

I am afflicted by the same turmoil of rape victims who were willing partners in the fishing net and those taken in a violent act of control. We suffer the same turmoils at the base level. Those who were taken in violence suffer so much for so long, sometimes changing them forever. I know there is a difference. When will I get my groove back. I want to seduce my current wife without the emotions coming on and stopping me, hoping she will make the first move.

In the case of the woman I have been talking about, a party in May 2014 was the last straw for all of us in this group of friends. I blocked the woman and then the three or four that didn’t warn me were confronted. I didn’t know they were complicit until I found out they knew she targeted me, took what she wanted, and did nothing. I was like, “Why the fuck would you let this happen?”

I was a little sad to lose the group but my healing really began.

I was really sad that she wasn’t what she portrayed herself to be. She was intelligent, adventurous, read a lot, and let me read to her. She loved to dance and workout and when we hugged it felt like heaven. Everything about this to me meant maybe this was a future wife. She fit all the notches but in the end, she was a hunter and I was her prey. The statute of limitations for rape in this country should be no less than ten years. I am in a state where it is six years and this is year seven. I don’t want her in prison but a conviction and forced to see a psychotherapist for a few years to teach her this was wrong. She trapped me in a net that I kept getting into until I woke up but the lingering effects are real as well as the psychological damage.

THE END

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