I am a rapist. I am a rapist, albeit, an introspective one.
I hate being called a rapist actually, even though I have nothing against raping.
There’s also the part where you have me all wrong. I see how it’s easy to think that I do what I do because of an uncontrollable desire to have sex. Being horny, konji and what not. See, I used to think this way too, but I got thinking. Isn’t pleasuring the sexual partner an important part of the sex act? How do we explain the excitement from hearing a partner moan or cunnilingus or fellatio? So, you see, it’s not really about the sex for me.
You also misconstrue, by thinking I’m seduced into it. This used to be my excuse, my way of keeping sane when I wasn’t yet at one with who I am. I’ll tell myself this as I struggled to shut out the replaying screams in my ears. It’s funny how it’s you who make these excuses for me now. But I don’t need them. Those were periods of denial. I have since found myself going after those, dressed thickly like gadgets in a carton. I have beaten them down and cracked them open like the piggy banks they are. I have watched them scatter like eggs fallen from a nest. Hell, I’ve gone after toddlers.
So, why do I do what I do?
It’s the mixture of fear, of helplessness, of anger, of resentment, of the shame. Ah, the shame. You don’t see me, but I stand there and shame my victims alongside you. It’s the blood, but only the blood from bruises, that thrill me. They are my holy grail, these things.
And don’t fool yourself into thinking you would catch me, for I am hidden in plain sight. I am like Jack the reaper, only this time, I’m Jack the ‘raper’, and a fine fact about Jacks, is that we do the lumbering, we never get caught down.
In time, anyway, you would come to see as I see. You always do. I have studied and I have repeatedly seen that a few of you, would always allow a few of us to pressure you into pressuring the larger lot into accepting us. This is your way. This has always been your way, and it will be no different.
Until then, when your deed is done, I would walk amongst you, I will listen to your stories, I will snicker from reliving the testimonies from your support groups. I know you’ll like to think I’m mad and perhaps I am. If I need your help, then I don’t want it. How can I want help from someone I can subdue? So yes, I’m mad, but so are you, for being weak.
In your world, I’m a bad man, a maniac at worst; but in mine, there’s no bigger monster. So, douse yourself in garments, shut yourselves behind doors, I will come for you; I will find you.
I am the wind that no one sees; I am the reflection that everyone trusts.