Am I Too Late To Get Raped?

The violent erotic fantasy of a desperate middle aged woman.

Call it a kink if you like, call it madness if you’re so inclined, but I call it an erotic fantasy that’s stubbornly refusing to come true for me, despite my all my best efforts. If you want to know what it is read on, if you don’t, piss off with my best wishes that you find what you’re looking for elsewhere.

To those blessed saints who’ve elected to stay with me, hi 👋. You can call me Susan. I’m forty five years old with two adult children and a husband, all of whom flew the nest about two years ago. To look at? Well, my complexion’s good for my age, I must say. I have to wear glasses or everything’s a blur, I naturally have salt and pepper coloured hair but you can’t tell because I’ve bleached it platinum white. I’m five foot four in height and to be honest, a bit on the chubby side. Warm, soft and cuddly is how I’d best describe me. I still have a bosom many a skinny girl would gladly die for and my sexual organs appear to be working just fine, thank you very much! But for how much longer? The dreaded menopause can’t now be all that far off, so I want to make best use of what I’ve got while I’ve still got it.

I had to sell our home once I’d lost my husband’s income to a younger floozy with much smaller tits than mine: (go figure!) The kids fled shortly afterwards. I now live alone with my memories and fantasies. I’ve tried online dating, and through it have met guys of a similar age to myself who’ve treated me like perfect gentlemen, but then so did my husband before he betrayed me and scarpered. Now though, I want something more, something different, something I’ve never had before. For a while I couldn’t figure out what that certain something was, but thank God for the Interweb and it’s lovely porn.

After years of having to watch family entertainment, I’m now free to broaden my cultural horizons and after skimming over quazillions of images of conventional sex, I’ve hit on those lovely fantasy rape sites and witnessed beautiful, struggling females of all ages being ravished by forceful, virile studs. It’s all pretend of course but that doesn’t matter. I’ve found such scenes a complete turn on. My vagina’s hasn’t felt so wet in years. For a while, I was content to daydream of being sexually attacked to give extra pleasure to my masturbating. I’ve even simulated rape situations by being ultra aggressive with my dildo and giving my tits and arse a good slap and mauling whilst viewing so-called rape scenes on my laptop.

But it’s not the real thing, is it! What does it really feel like to have your body stolen from you and forcefully used for a strange man’s carnal pleasure? Is this really a fate worse then death? Personally, I can’t think of a fate worse than death and so by comparison, getting fucked seems quite a pleasant alternative really. Being taken, that’s a phrase I like. To feel powerful hands grasping you, turning you, controlling you, forcing you down, feeling you up, alien knees and hands forcing your legs apart, the feel and sound of clothing being torn apart and the knowledge that this wild eyed savage is positively exploding with lust for your feminine flesh. Then the filling, stretching, thrusting, pulsing presence a man’s living penis invading you. The sweating, panting urgency of his fucking. His low rhythmic grunts followed by a sigh as all his pent up sexually tension is released in ejaculation. A different kind of wet invades your most intimate place; you are forever anointed internally with his essence that your body and mind will absorb and never be rid if

I know most woman are appalled by such a prospect and pray that their worst fears will never come true for them. But, apparently, I’m not like most women. I actually want to be raped. I want to feel both the fear and the most excellent thrill of it. To become truly alive through putting my very life at risk. Oh yes, I’m not blind to the dangers in what I’m desiring: pregnancy, sexually transmitted disease….and what if those powerful hands wrapped themselves around my throat and started to squeeze? Would dying at the height of orgasm be such a terrible fate as opposed to slowly and painfully falling apart on old age?

So now, I’m no longer content with mere imaginings, I want more. Of late, I’ve started taking chances. Dressed more provocatively, shown a little more thigh, loitering in areas that most sensible, respectable women would never dare frwquent. So far, I’ve merely been mistaken for a prostitute and….. well, why not? It’s money for nothing really, but that’s not what I’m really after.

So come one you red blooded rapists, where the fuck are you? There’s easy meat here, just waiting and dying for you to strike. I won’t scream; I may struggle and writhed a little but certainly not enough to be considered a viable defence of my honour. I have no honour, I’m lonely, desparate and gagging for it! Yes, I know that logically speaking, it’s impossible to rape a consenting woman, but it’s the feel of the crime I’m after. The experience. I’ll be in the park later this afternoon, hanging around those rather disreputable public toilets at the far end where only pervs go. If you fancy dragging me in and humping me in a puddle of piss and shit, fill your boots. Who knows, it might even prove to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

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