“Touch it, just really quick…” he said while his death grip around my wrist tightened simultaneously trying with all his might to get my hand near his expose penis. The whole time I just kept repeating in my head, “Why is this happening… how am I going to get out of this one?”
You go into a state of panic and desperation yet handicapped by confusion. They always warn you about the mysterious dark stranger lurking behind a corner waiting to pounce on you, but never about the awkward Columbian kid who worked on a school project with you and followed up the stairs.
The worse part is he has a girl friend he lives with, way to throw you off.
So there you are, immobile by this crazed beast that’s in heat and ready to swallow you whole if you let go of the frail grip you have of resistance. The more you move and push and pull and pry the tighter his grip becomes. Eyeballs filled with frantic yearning. You can’t believe you caused this sensation in anyone. He is sick you tell yourself, sick and your distress turns into disgust and anger.
He grabs you close and starts to kiss your neck, it feels like razors cutting through your flesh. You feel his attempt to make it soft and gentle as if that could possible turn your resistance into compliance. You mind is racing at alarming speeds for an escape. You don’t want to give in and give up and allow your flesh to be used to quench a polluted thirst.
A door opens upstairs in the stair way. Time fractures itself into a billion tiny moments and you happened to capsize his grip and run as fast as you can as far away as you can in a frantic state. Away and safe.