I never meant for any of this to happen. I have been married for five years and have never even come close to cheating on my husband. None of this is my fault and the only reason I'm telling you any of this is that I need to tell someone, need to get it out of my system. I consider myself to be a reasonably intelligent woman, I'm certainly no babe in the woods but I can't deal with this. If writing about this helps me come to terms with it then, so be it.
I suppose I should start by telling you a little about myself. I'm a twenty-nine year old woman, but my friends say I look a lot younger. I'm a marketing rep for a major software company. I've got chestnut brown hair and blue eyes. I wear my hair short in kind of a funky bob. I'm five six and weigh a hundred and nineteen pounds.. I am the mother of a two year old and am proud of my figure, it took a whole lot of hours in the gym to get it back to a size four. Even though I'm thin, I suppose I've got curves. I'm a C cup and my hips seem a little fuller now then before the baby. I guess I am pretty. My husband says I look like that Australian singer, the one that used to be in the soaps, but I don't know about that.
A few months ago I had to go to a trade show in Dallas with some co-workers. We worked like dogs to get our exhibit set up and were on our feet meeting and greeting for two days straight. We decided to treat ourselves to a nice dinner as a reward. We went to the restaurant at our hotel and had a magnificent meal. I had Gulf Shrimp, it was wonderful. The three of us polished off a bottle of Vouvrey with dinner. Jenny suggested we go to the bar for a night cap. It was early so I figured, "Why not?"
Well, I like to chat so one drink turned into three. I was drinking gin and tonic. They didn't seem to be all that strong. I was not drunk but I suppose I was a little buzzed. A tall, handsome guy came over and started talking to us. He introduced himself as Jack and said he was here for the trade show. He was very nice and wound up paying a lot of attention to me.
Alright, I will admit that I enjoyed the attention. I'm a flirt, no question. Hell, I'm normal, what woman wouldn't enjoy talking to a handsome man? Let me state for the record right now, I had NO intention of doing anything more then flirting with him. NOTHING. I love my husband and had no desire to have a 'fling' with anyone.
Well, he bought us all another round and things began to get fuzzy shortly thereafter. All I can think of is he must have put something in my drink, you know, one of those 'date rape' drugs or something. I know that sounds trite, but it had to have been something like that because I went from buzzed to almost blacked out in no time at all. I had a few drinks under my belt, but not enough to send me that far over that quickly. I have since been over and over that night in my mind, and I think I have pieced together what happened.
I cringe when I think of this, but I guess I got pretty giggly and affectionate. Jenny offered to take me back to my room but I insisted on staying. Jack began to get touchy-feely while talking and I guess I reciprocated, touching his arm and hand while talking to him, sitting close, the whole drill. I can remember at one point laughing at something he said while he had his hand rubbing the small of my back. I remember later, loudly announcing to my companions that Jack could escort me back to my room.
The next real memory I have is waking up in my hotel bed, naked. I don't usually sleep in the nude so I knew something was wrong. I was bleary and hung-over, worse then I have ever been. As my head cleared, I remembered the events at the restaurant. Feeling a chill of foreboding, I forced myself to recall more. Almost as if in a dream, I recalled making love to a man other then my husband. I sat up abruptly in the bed and felt a little sore, 'down there'. I touched myself and the stickiness confirmed my worst nightmare.
"Oh my God!" I moaned head in my hands. I remembered his mouth on my neck, on my breasts, on my.... oh God!
My blouse lay in tatters on the floor, the buttons literally ripped off. I remembered him tearing it off me. Oh God, I remembered loving it! I remembered begging him to fuck me! I remember cumming for him, several times! The memories were fuzzy, as I said, dreamlike. I remembered having sex, but no real details, just sensations and flashes of images.
I wept with bitter shame. I remember thinking, "What if I have AIDS?!"
I took hold of myself and calmed down. I would get a test right away. I would not have sex with my husband until I got the results. I would tell him that I was not feeling well if he got affectionate. He need never know and this would NEVER happen again.
I got up and went into the bathroom to shower. There, on the mirror, was a note.
"Thanks for a wonderful evening. Can't wait to see you again."
It was signed, "Love, Jack"
I went hysterical for a few minutes. I tore the note into tiny pieces and flushed it down the toilet. I showered for about an hour. The need to catch my plane was the only thing that got me out, that and the need to escape that hotel room.
I almost lost it when I met my husband at the airport. He sensed something was wrong but I just told him I must have caught something in Dallas. I went to my gyno for an HIV test. The 5 days spent waiting for the result were the longest in my life. I felt as if I had come back to life when the result turned up negative. Over the next few weeks, my life slowly became normal again. I compartmentalized my guilt, forcing myself to understand that it had NOT been consensual and that I had nothing to feel guilty over. It only worked to a degree. Foolishly, I didn't unburden myself to the one person that might help me, my husband.
About two months later, the phone rang at work. I answered it.
"Hello Robin," a familiar voice replied. My stomach flopped over. Any doubt I may have had as to who it was evaporated with, "this is Jack, remember me?"
"You have a lot of nerve calling me," I hissed quietly.
"What are you talking about?" he replied, oh so innocently.
"You know what!" I spat out through clenched teeth, "You drugged me and raped me!"
"Robin!" he replied mock shocked, "That's a very serious accusation. Did you go to the police?"
That rocked me back. That action never even entered my mind. Before I could say anything he continued.
"Of course you didn't, and, if you did now, no one would find a trace of anything in your system. Besides, I think our pictures would put to rest any claim of force you might make."
My heart stopped. "Pictures?" I whispered.
"Check your email," he replied as my computer beeped its announcement that I had mail.
"How do you know my email address?" I asked.
"I know a lot about you, you'd be surprised. Take a look at your message," he replied.
With a shaking hand, I opened my email program. I noted a new message from an outside source. The subject line said 'Scrapbook'. It was blank except for an attachment. I opened the attachment and a very clear photo of me...fucking, for want of a better word, certainly not 'making love'...Jack appeared. Me on top, my favorite position. His penis clearly visible in my pussy, my eyes closed, mouth open in passion. Certainly no sign of force.
