Their Body

His body was heavy on me, sweating on my skin, moaning in my ear. The ceiling is white with weird shapes like the ones all old townhouses have. The air coming from the window is blowing at the tapestries on the wall. Has he finished yet? 

I told you NO. I told you I don’t want to. How could you disrespect me like that?

My body is numb but no tears are leaving my eyes. I don’t think, I can’t think when you’re pleasuring yourself with the walls of my vagina. I can’t think when you’re grabbing my hips to support yourself when you’re ejaculating inside me. I can’t think when my mind is clouded with confusion. But I did say no, right? I was saying no. Could you not hear me?

I notice the chest of drawers and the make-up brushes that are sitting on top of it, I have to clean them soon.

“Did you cum?”, you asked breathlessly.


How many times do I have to lie? When will I stop stroking men’s ego? Why don’t they know? 

And the Oscar goes to…

The clock says 23:16 but I feel like I just woke up from a nightmare. Does he know I don’t like having sex with him? He pulls out, his sweat imprinting on my cheap grey bedsheets. I don’t know why I stopped breathing, I thought the heat was suffocating me. 

“Will you come downstairs with me to shower together?”, you enquired while kissing the back of my neck.

I want to say leave. I want you to go leave me alone now so I can discover my tears, the ones your stole from me with my dignity. I want you to stand up, put your trousers on and go home to your mother that hates me because you told her I was expecting your child. I want you to stop speaking, like a TV in the background. I can’t think when I hear your voice piercing through my ears to the side of my brain. You’re giving me a migraine or I just don’t want to hear you. I don’t want to be around you. You will want a second round in the shower. You’ll turn on the shower tap and pour water all over me, lather me with shower gel and then turn me around to face the wall. It is not sexual. How can it be sexual when I do not enjoy it? You use my body to masturbate in it. Again and again.

“Yeah, will come in a bit”.

“Come on don’t be lazy”.

“Jayden I am tired, give me a minute, I will be coming downstairs in a bit”.

“Tired? Why? It’s not like you did all the work?”

Does he know? Do men know? Do they know when they rape women? Or is it their entitled right to access a woman’s body?

I guess I don’t deserve to be tired since I didn’t contribute to your efforts of insulting my body. Shut up. Shut your fucking mouth. Can I go a minute without you trying to pick a fight? Stop messing with my head? Why don’t you ever let me be?

As he goes down the squeaking stairs, I am having flashbacks of every time you picked up a fight. The time you embarrassed me at the supermarket when I asked you to hold the shopping basket. “What do you think you’re doing?”, you said. “You need to fix that attitude because I am not here to do as you say. No, don’t give that face. You can hold the fucking basket yourself. I am not your fucking boyfriend, hold it yourself “.

Or the time you got annoyed at me for sitting on the bed you just made while rolling the zoot you asked me. 

Or the time I tried to do the washing and you had a go at me for not pushing the right buttons on the washing machine because you know better. 

Or the time you said I was too big.

Or when you asked me what happened with Richard, if we had been on a date, if we were serious. You got angry because I was telling you anything until you explained to me why you wanted to know. Why are you asking me about him three years later? Why does it matter?

“Why didn’t you come to shower you nasty little girl?”

“I am just too tired, I feel sleepy. I’ll shower in the morning”.

“Alright, whatever. I’m going to the garden to smoke this one”, you announce while holding a small blunt between your fingers. “Do you want to come?”

“No, I’ll stay where I’m at”.

“Where is your lotion? Can you apply some on my back?”


You open the drawer and grab the palmer’s cocoa butter bottle. There’s barely left any, I need to go to Boots and buy some more. 

“Turn around”, I say reluctantly.

I squeeze the thick lotion out of the bottle into my hands and spread it on your back. You’re asking me to take care of your body but you don’t care about mine. My hands are travel down your back and back up towards your neck. I wish I could grab your thick black hair and slap the shit out of you. 

Why do I allow men who I hate to touch me? Why do I allow them to have access to me? Why do I give them the prerogative of touching my skin and influencing my thoughts? 

I only hate you because I hate myself. I hate myself because you attack my defence mechanisms. Maybe if I loved myself, you wouldn’t hurt me. Maybe if I had boundaries, you wouldn’t have violated them. Again and again.

The numbness of my mind has been replaced by ringing and fast thoughts running around my skull.

“Good night”, you say.

I just wish you could have left the house so I can let my eyes free. 

Free to release the emotions which I don’t have the right words to describe. How would you describe when a man you’ve known for a few years and have been casually having mediocre sex with enters you without wearing a condom, even though you specified you don’t want to have unprotected sex minutes before things got heated and you’re clearly saying no but he is choosing to ignore your protests because he’s already somewhere between your cervix and vulva?

How would you describe the feeling of hating your body because he doesn’t respect it? How would you describe the feeling of being ashamed to be associated with the person that violated every inch of your skin? How would you describe the feeling of being tired, guilty and disgusted at the same time? How would you describe the feeling of being frozen while he’s experiencing one of the most euphoric feelings a human being can experience? How about describing the feeling of observing your body being defiled but you are unable to stop it? Or when your protests go unheard? When you’re deprived of any sensation because he stole them from you?

You stole my pride. You stole my rights. You stole my body. It’s my body. That’s what I thought. Foolish girl. No body belongs to the ones that carry their souls. Bodies have owners. It’s their body. 


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