When I was raped at 24, I was wearing my old Kickers blue boots - the same that I was wearing ten years earlier while still at school; a pair of blue jeans - wide, as I like my jeans; and my father’s, obviously oversized, Mac.
I was raped in a late, rainy afternoon. Coming out of work I was sober.
The rapist was an acquaintance I fell upon in the street in the bad weather, who invited me to his for a coffee until the rain stops. His flat being literally across the street from the spot we accidentally met.
“Why are you doing this? You are a handsome man, I am sure many women would like to have sex with you willingly”, I asked while in “the negotiation state”, after having received fiew blows, delusionally thinking that I could appeal to his reason. “Because if they are willing, I think they are whores and I don’t enjoy it”.
No idea what underwear I was wearing.
The times that I have been sexually in each country I lived in, except for this one (may be because I am in my obvious rape perfect age) but France included, are more than I care to count. The assaults always took place during the day time, in busy public spaces and by men that I never met before, nor texted, nor had their names or numbers. And on each of these occasions I was wearing casual, sexappeal-free ensambles.
And while I did effectively had periods in my life when I liked to dress in particularly sexy outfits and wear particularly high heels - I have never been attacked or treated disrespectfully while in MY HUNTING TIMES AND LOOKS.
In my experience, every time “I was wronged” was when I was sober in mind and looks, daily and with some choroses on my mind.
This rape perfect age - as Our Lady of Inspirations and Confeti calls it - which is mine, is also the perfect age to realize thigs I have been in denile for through whole of my life. Else to speak, it took only two Lady of Inspirations and Confeti’s articles - one on the universality and globalism of expecting a child, and one on the universality and globalism of women’s rape - to realize that despite being married twice, divorced twice, being pregnant thrice and gave birth once, I was, and continue to be - with pleasure - in denile of my womanhood. It’s not that I think that I am a man. I just don’t think of myself as being a woman. Just as I don’t think of myself as being Bulgarian, or Iraqi.
All my deniles, I believe, are very comprehensible. I think everybody could easily imagine why somebody wouldn’t want to think of themselves as of being an Iraqi - it’s just so difficult, isn’t it? And it gets more and more difficult each year. Being a Bulgarian also gets progressively difficult. The same concerns being a woman... I just found out.
I think about myself as of Desert Fox, even though a close friend likes to tell the story of how on a party many years ago somebody, a man, has said to me “How can you do that? You are a woman!”- my friend doesn’t remember what I was doing to provoke such a question, nor who the man was - what she does remember is my answer “I am not a woman. I am a wolf!`` Yes, I am… In a massive, long lasting denial of my womanhood.
On a very different note but still in the rape range: now my face is being raped - by EU-Regulations-Free cosmetic products! For unfortunately they are already here. They are here, and despite the orange lamps signaling in my head at the sight of the pretty, yet unmarked with contains boxes of facial and body overseas products, I still bought them (from two big and renowned retailers chains) - out of the same curiosity that killed the cat.
Both products, one from English speaking land further west, and one from English speaking land south-east - turned out to be unusable because of massive amounts of alcohol in the content. The night cream, in addition to all the alluring chia-seed butter, coconut-butter and avocado oil - mentioned on the box- also contains three, unmentioned, types of “good” alcohol, about which I only found out after going online to search for the content of the product. Here the ballsy producer, who have put a bouquet of alcohols in a woman’s facial product, did not simply satisfy to list them, but felt obliged to preach too: “All alcohol in our products is “good” as it helps stabilize the natural oils. The only “bad” alcohol you touched, was this one more Margharita you had last night”.... Yes, this is exactly what I need; an alcoholic, sobriety -preaching beauthy product. Nevermind that my Sober-October started midst September.
But I knew the alcohol content was there before reading it online because after spreading the night cream on my face I: At first, couldn’t fall asleep because of the long lasting and slowly evolving smell of alcohol unconvincingly covered with fragrance; then kept waking through the night scratching my face. The body product, despite being produced on another continent, was as bad as the facial.
After one use only - both dried my skin dead. In the meantime, my favourites, lovely smelling and generously moisturizing Greek Kores body lotions, which I used to by in Debenhams few months back, are nowhere to be found.
Too spoiled for too long a time by women friendly, EU regulated products; in a few months time, in their absence, I think I might switch to aftershaves.
2 October 2019