My life changed in the blink of an eye at 3:30am Halloween morning. Well, more accurately, my life stopped dead in its tracks that morning. My eyes flew open. I was suddenly wide awake in my bed as I gradually came to realize that I was not alone in my apartment. I restlessly searched the darkness for any clue as to who it was, but they kept expertly to the shadows for the time being. Something felt off. My eyes chased the silhouette of my late night visitor, desperate to figure out who was in my apartment. I couldn't glimpse their face at all. Suddenly, I could see a face in the bright moonlight. Stunned, I went slack. It's all okay, I told myself. It's only her. Yet I had no luck convincing myself of that. I couldn't shake the ominous feeling, especially as her eyes traced my body and I couldn't read her gaze. "You look so lovely like this," she cooed to me. "I always knew you would, Reno. So pretty with your scarlet hair splayed beneath you." As she approached my bed, I tried to move away. Something was definitely wrong. She would never say that to me. She knew I had no interest in women. "Now, now, love," she cooed out once more. "Stay still," she instructed, stroking my hair. Too stunned to move, I did as she instructed. How could this be her? She'd never shown any interest in me this way, because Gaia knew I would have discouraged it. Her hand crept lower, then fisted in the blankets that covered me and lowered them slowly, teasingly. "Every inch of you is perfect," she crooned out, her hand ghosting over my skin. Holy hell. How was I to get out of this mess? A man like me crying attempted rape would be utterly laughable. No one would believe me, not even the man I trusted to believe me no matter what. I couldn't shove her away or hurt her: equally, she could press the same charge, and no one would trust me over her. Her hand wrapped around my bare cock and I hissed. Her hands were rough and weapon-calloused and I hated the way they felt on me. "This part of you… beyond perfection," she whispered as she used her hand to coax me to arousal. "So beautiful." I tried to fight by body's reaction to her hand: after all, it was a woman's hand and women had never stirred any interest in me. Yet all of my protests and reasons to suppress to not respond to the situation ultimately did little good: my body's betrayal was inevitable and I found myself hard in her hand. Nothing in my life had ever shamed me more than that, and in that moment, I couldn't come up with anything that would shame me more in this life time. Without further ado, she artlessly climbed on top of me, straddling me and guiding my hardened member into her wet heat. Here my mind and I protested in unison. "No!" I protested, trying to move away. She slapped me across the face with more force than I ever thought her capable of. Yet she calmed instantly after her outburst. "Now, love. You'll love it," she cooed out. It was as if it all suddenly processed in from the outer-reaches of my mind and my senses. I was being raped. By a woman. Not just any woman: her. I'd called her friend, trusted her, even given her the key to my apartment at one point. And she was raping me. The realization sent me into a panic. I did my best to yank her off do me, roll her off of me, buck and toss her off of me… anyway I could imagine getting her off of me or that I thought for even the briefest instant might dislodge her. Yet she hung on for dear life, taking it all in stride like it was part of the act for her. I was almost physically ill when I felt her inner wall clench tightly around me, her body working hard to illicit a response from mine. I wanted to weep when she wrapped her hand around my cock, the tip still inside her, and worked the aroused flesh until my orgasm was inevitable. Yet I still clung to some sort of odd hope that someone might save me. So when I came, the word on my lips was not her name, as she might have wished. It was the name of the one man I still hoped would save me, the one man I knew I could trust no matter what. "Tseng!" I cried out, my soul screaming out for him to save me. All that little unconscious defiance earned me was another harsh slap across the face. Once more, a preternatural calm followed her violent outburst. "Thank you, lover. That was wonderful. Everything I'd dreamed and more," she told me. She was lucky I didn't get ill then and there. Then she leaned forward and kissed my lips, like we were some sort of lovers, before climbing off of me as though nothing had happened. As if she hadn't just used my own body against me. As though she hadn't just raped me. I felt totally conquered, like all of my power had been taken from me in a single instant. Laying back in my bed just like that, I heard her leave my apartment. Hesitantly, I sat up. I could still feel her on me. It was disgusting. I had to wash it off of me. I stumbled out of my bed and into the bathroom. My stomach turned and I vomited all over the floor, but I didn't care. Instead of dealing with it, I stepped over it and into the shower. After turning the water on as hot as I could get it, I collapsed on the shower floor. Why couldn't I move? Why didn't anyone save me?