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It was a 5 minutes walk, but it was to change Georgia’s life.
Georgia was doing a graduate degree at the University of Sydney, and lived in a city she loved. She had lived in the UK and New York, but the slower pace of life in Sydney meant that she could live near her University, doing the research she loved. It was a medical research degree, and if it was successful, it would help children avoid diabetes late in life.
Georgia was short and thin and had dark short hair. She also had small breasts. It was the combination which meant that she was overlooked all the time, by potential boyfriends, people at parties, and by lecturers. She didn’t have a boyfriend, indeed she was still a virgin. She had made-out with guys but didn’t want to go all the way. She had too many girlfriends who told stories about the nightmare of a possible abortion. She use to masturbate a lot, but felt guilty, and then stopped. Going to a Catholic Church increased the guilt, and she found that she could get by without doing it.
It was 8.00pm in the medical library, where Georgia was typing at a terminal. This normally got in to the department at 10.00am and worked till 8.00pm. her life was pretty much one of routine and being practical. She saw her parents once a week. She went to Church every Sunday. She didn’t wear make-up because it took up valuable research time, and she kept her hair short so that it took minimal time to prepare. Jeans worn were either black or blue, and tops were either black, soft reds, and a type of squirrel grey. She had one white bra and one black one, and her panties were plain colours, avoiding white ones because they were too difficult to keep white. She mixed all her colours in the wash, as this saved time.
Georgia was attractive, but just didn’t display it. Given her shortness, small tits, and her clothing, it was very easy to over look her.
Georgia was tied from working all day, her shoulder saw from sitting at a computer for too long. She turned off her computer and turned out the lights at the department and closed the door behind her. She was always the last one, but she was also the last one to start work in the mornings.
It was late summer in Sydney, and it was dark. She didn’t like the walk from the whiteness of the department to the dark gloom of the night. There were always talks of sexual assaults on campus, but they never set up enough lighting. There would be security guys around, so this comforted her.
Stepping out of the department, her eyes nothing but black as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the night. It was quite warm, her body heating up as she moved from the air-conditioned building into the warm Sydney night. She was wearing black jeans and a light grey t-shirt, and she liked the feeling of the warmth on her skin. It’s easy to forget that there is a life outside of the department sometimes.
Remembering later, she was surprised that she took only about 10 steps before she was grabbed by the arm. The hand was large and it grabbed her almost as if it was a police officer arresting her. In fact, that is what she first thought. The hand not only grabbed her arm, but pulled her arm up, and this made her shoulder hurt. A voice said ‘be quiet and come with me.’
The man was large, about 190cm tall, about 40, and very large and well built. It was like a cartoon figure of a superhero, because Georgia could only really see his arm, his chest, his face was just so far up in the sky compared to her shortness. He was shaved, his clothes gave the impression of authority, and his voice was commanding. That Georgia was going to be raped really didn’t occur to her. She simply felt that she was in trouble, as if Campus Security were just really cranky with her.
The man marched her alongside the building, to where there was some large rubbish bins, just outside the department kitchen. He stopped forcing her, and he told her to stand still and be quiet.
Along one side of where she stood was the wall of the kitchen, with windows that were dark as no one was there. On the other side there were the bins, standing above the height of both of them, with garbage crowning the top like mountains. Georgia’s back was against the wall, but she knew it was behind her, and in front of her she was trapped by this new figure that was scaring her.
The figure pulled out her t-shirt, and his hands went up and grabbed her breasts. She didn’t struggle or shout or try to escape. She was very, very confused. That she was being sexually assaulted still didn’t make itself known. Why was he doing this? Who is he? Why did he choose me to do this too?
The figure told her to undo her jeans. She felt she had no choice. He was too large, he was in control, he could end up doing anything if she didn’t comply. Georgia didn’t go through the possible things she could have done, her brain wasn’t working. Her mind went to automatic. She just did things she didn’t know she was doing.
Her hands started undoing her buckle, pulling the belt slightly so that the pin came out, and then she undid it. She wasn’t asked, but she knew that he was going to tell her to undo her jeans, undo the zipper, and perhaps pull them down to her knees. Her hand did this, her fingers working on the unthinking instructions of her hands.
As this happened, her mind was thinking of other things. I hope he doesn’t tear my jeans, she thought. I hope there isn’t a mess because I have to go home. I hope that other students don’t find out about it. How long is this going to last.
The figure undid his jeans, which were also black, and he pulled them down. He wasn’t wearing underwear. He had shaved his pubic hair, so that his erect penis seemed even larger than it was. He also has a piercing through the head of his penis, which Georgia later learnt was called a Prince Albert. Apparently it makes intercourse more pleasurable for the man. At the time of her rape, though, she didn’t know about such things and thought it was some sort of injury.
Now that her jeans were down around her knees, he pulled down her panties. This time she was wearing black ones. They were sturdy cotton panties, so they didn’t rip or tear, but moved down her thighs. She didn’t take them down herself, hoping that somehow that wasn’t going to happen. He pushed her fingers inside her, and she looked down and saw the large fingers pushing inside her. She hated that she had little pubic hair, as she had shaved herself a week before. She shaved herself because it was faster than trimming.
The figure did not look at her face, but if he had he would have seen that she was almost crying. She didn’t cry, she was just upset, her gaze often looking away, trying not to be there.
Her mind travelled further. She remembered the time when she was a little girl, when she was half-drugged in a dentist’s chair, with a dentist pulling and yanking to extract a small but difficult truth.
Her mind travelled to her first pelvic exam where that was followed by her feet up in stirrups, because they found abnormal cells. Covered by white sheets, her body was not her body, but the object of a medical investigator’s attention, the walls of her vagina and cervix pushed apart, the hard dull ache as they scraped away suspect cells.
Her vagina now had two of his fingers inside her. He trusted so hard that her back and then her bottom pressed against the wall at her back. He thrust his fingers inside her, so that her whole body moved. Her mind felt the pain of him doing this, but again her attention was only half-present.
As the figure raped her with his fingers, his penis was erect, hard, waiting for entry. Her body was doing something that would shock her.
As he pushed inside her, she became wet. It started out as a roughness, but then the fingers that were penetrating her started glistening in the half-life. She could feel it wet, she could smell herself as well. Immediately after, Georgia hated herself for becoming wet, and hated herself even more as her pelvis started to convulse and became an orgasm. This sometimes happens during rape, but she didn’t know that at the time. It isn’t discussed a lot, presumably because women don’t want to be accused of enjoying it when they have said no.
The rape was not to be straightforward. It could have been over in 3 minutes if he wanted. But he wanted this to last. He told her to get onto her knees at the same time as pushing her down. He grabbed her hair, two hands grabbing two clumps of hair each. He held her head and pushed himself into her mouth. He pushed in a long way, so that the head of his penis assaulted the soft palate, at the beginning of her throat. She gagged sometimes. It went on for so long that her jaw ached. The saliva in her mouth took on a life of its own, dribbling and then running out of her mouth, making her chin feel sticky and disgusting. Some of the dribble ran straight onto her t-shirt, hanging of a breast like some unknown foreign goo.
It was perhaps 2 minutes, or 3 or 5, she couldn’t tell. She was limp, things were being done to her, she was a thing without will or feeling. Still on her knees, the pain was the worse thing of all. She now wanted him to fuck her, to get the thing over, to let him come so that he would just go away.
The figure didn’t end up penetrating Georgia that night. After orally raping her, the figure pulled out and then masturbated himself into her hair. He went to great pains to ensure that all of it was in her hair, wiping his balls and his penis onto it, as if using a washing-up cloth.
For the first time since it started, she made a decision to sit down, rather than remain on her knees. Her jeans were still down her thighs. She just sat their waiting for him to go.
Her main worry was how to get home. How could she walk home with the stain of saliva on her t-shirt. How could she walk home with the dirt on the ground having soiled her jeans? What would people think?
She was disgusted that she was wet, and that she orgasmed while she was being fingered. Sitting on the ground, she was very wet, and realised that she had urinated. The warmth of the urine gave her some comfort, in some weird primitive sense. It was something which she did that the figure couldn’t control. It was like her admitting that he could rape her if he wanted, but there were some things he couldn’t control. She could pee herself if she wanted to, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Georgia looked up, and the figure had already pulled up his jeans. He heard him say to her that it was fantastic and he even thanked her. She wondered what this was about. Like, was this just a big date gone wrong? Did she say something or do something to indicate that she wanted this to happen. Was it, in fact, her fault that this happened?
The figure walked away – didn’t even run away from the scene of the crime. Georgia sat for about a full minute before doing anything. She stood up, which hurt as her knees still hurt, and adjusted her clothing. There was a sore bruise on the inside of her left thigh and had no idea how that occurred.
Georgia was able to walk home – only 5 minutes away – and not have anyone see her. The jeans and top and panties she put into the laundry. She had a shower and put on a bath robe. She brushed her teeth. She got a bottle of wine from the refrigerator and started drinking it quickly.
Arising within her, from nowhere it seems, was a great powerful anger. She started masturbating. Furiously. The bastard, she seemed to think to herself, if I am going to have orgasms then I am going to have them because I want to, and not because you made it happen.
Her vagina was sore and she concentrated on her clitoris, which she does anyway, and brought herself off. She had flashes of what happened go through her mind. These flashes seemed stronger than the original event. Her heart pounded, breathing so rapidly and so shallowly that there was almost not enough air.
Drunk, she recovered from her masturbation session on the sofa, watching television in an almost drunken unconscious state. The movie she was watching flickered in and out of her consciousness. She knee that sleep was close, and just wanted to loose consciousness. The last thing she remembered was the movie on tv was a love story.
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