My confession as a new rapist

Every few months, I make the trip from my small town to stay with my aunt and uncle in Saskatoon. Ive changed names and some details for obvious reasons I'm 16 BTW. They live over on the west side, near the river, but away from the university area. This visit felt different from the moment I arrived. It wasn't just the city lights or the energy, it was this fire inside me that wouldn't go out.

For days, I'd been walking around with this constant pressure building up inside me. It was like every girl I saw on the street or in the mall set off this explosive reaction in my body. My hands would get shaky, my face would flush hot, and my jeans would suddenly feel too tight. I'd spend hours in the shower at my aunt's place, trying to relieve this tension that kept building and building, but it never went away completely. It just kept coming back stronger.

By the third night, I was literally in pain. I couldn't sleep, couldn't think straight. The sheets felt like sandpaper against my skin, and every time I closed my eyes, images would flash through my mind, girls from school, girls from the mall, girls I'd never even seen before. I was grinding against the mattress, my body aching with this desperate need that was becoming unbearable.

Around 2 PM, I couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm going for a walk," I announced to no one in particular, my voice flat. My mom gave me a weak, hopeful smile from the kitchen. "The river is lovely, Ethan." Lovely. I hated that word. I needed out before I suffocated.

The heat of the sidewalk hit me as I escaped the house. I popped in my earbuds, letting some meaningless noise fill the void in my head, and started walking with no direction, just away. I ambled towards the Broadway Bridge, the river below a sluggish, brown ribbon. And then I saw her.

She was perched on a bench near the Mendel Art Gallery, a sketchbook open on her lap. At first, she was just a splash of colour, yellow dress, dark hair, against the monotonous green of the park. But then she tilted her head back, a laugh bubbling out of her, unselfconscious and pure. The sound cut through my music like a shard of glass. She had this wild, untamable mass of dark curls, and a constellation of freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose. The simple yellow sundress she wore looked like it was woven from sunlight.

I didn't make a conscious decision to follow her. It was instinctual, primal. She packed up her things, slipped on a pair of worn canvas sneakers, and started walking east along the riverbank. My body moved on its own, falling into step a hundred feet behind her. A safe distance, I told myself, a lie I almost believed.

I watched as she paused, captivated by a street musician playing a mournful tune on a harmonica.

She crossed the street, her movements fluid and graceful, and ducked into a used bookstore, the sign above the door faded and peeling. My chance. This was the scene from the movie. This was where the hero makes his move. But the fantasy was already curdling in my gut. Talking was for other people, for guys who weren't me. Talking was uncertain. Talking was a risk.

She emerged a few minutes later, empty, handed, and continued her walk. But her path changed. She veered away from the main promenade, towards a denser thicket of trees that bordered the river. The paved path gave way to a dirt trail, barely visible, snaking into the shadows. My blood ran hot. This was it. This was a hidden place.

I covered the distance between us in three silent, predatory steps. The crunch of a twig under my boot was the only warning. She started to turn, a question forming on her lovely face, her eyes widening in confusion. It was the last human expression she would make.

I lunged. One hand clamped over her mouth, swallowing her gasp, while the other seized her arm, spinning her around and slamming her back against the rough bark of an old cottonwood tree. The impact knocked the breath out of her in a whoosh. Her sketchbook tumbled from her nerveless fingers, landing face-down in the mud. The look that replaced her confusion was pure, unadulterated terror. Her eyes, wide and pleading, locked onto mine.

The fear in her eyes was intoxicating, a drug I hadn't known I was craving. It extinguished that fire inside me, replacing it with something colder, more controlled. The desperate, painful need that had been torturing me for days transformed into a sharp, crystalline clarity.

"Please," she managed to whimper against my palm, her voice muffled and pathetic. The word was meaningless to me. Just a sound, like the wind rustling the leaves overhead.

I shifted my weight, pinning her more firmly against the tree with my body. My free hand moved from her arm to her throat, my fingers wrapping around the delicate column of her neck. I wasn't squeezing hard enough to choke her, not yet. Just enough to make a point. Just enough to feel her frantic pulse hammering against my thumb, a tiny bird trapped in a cage of bone.

"Don't make a sound," I whispered, my lips brushing against her ear. She flinched at the contact, a violent shudder wracking her body. "Nod if you understand."

Tears began to well in her eyes, spilling over and tracing clean paths through the constellation of freckles on her cheeks. After a moment that stretched into eternity, she gave a short, jerky nod.

I loosened my grip on her mouth slightly, just enough to let her breathe, but maintained my hold on her throat. "Good girl," I murmured, and the shame that should have accompanied those words never came. Instead, there was only a profound sense of rightness, of finally having what I needed.

The yellow sundress had ridden up slightly during our struggle, revealing a patch of pale skin on her thigh. My eyes were drawn to it, to the smooth expanse of flesh that seemed to glow even in the dappled shadows of the woods. The pressure in my jeans returned, but this time it wasn't painful. It was purposeful.

"I've been watching you," I admitted, my voice low and steady. "You're so alive. So... bright." I let my thumb stroke the side of her neck, feeling her rapid pulse. "Do you have any idea what that does to someone like me?"

She shook her head slightly, her eyes never leaving mine. The terror was still there, but now it was mixed with something else. Confusion. Resignation. The understanding that this was happening, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

I released her mouth completely, trusting the pressure on her throat to keep her compliant. "What's your name?" I asked.

"Danni," she breathed, the name barely audible.

"Danni," I repeated, testing the sound of it. It felt good in my mouth. Something else that was now mine. I leaned in closer, my face just inches from hers. "You're not going to scream, are you, danni ?"

Another shake of her head, more definite this time.

"Good," I said, and finally, I let my hand slide from her throat down to the collar of her sundress, my fingers hooking into the thin fabric. "Because we have so much to do, and I'd hate for anyone to interrupt us."

My fingers twisted in the light fabric of her sundress. The cheap cotton gave way with a sickening sound, a loud, definitive rip that echoed through the quiet woods. The sound was a punctuation mark, the end of one life and the beginning of another. Her sundress, once a thing of sunlight and whimsy, was now a ruined rag hanging from her shoulders.

She let out a choked sob, a wounded animal sound that was immediately silenced as I shoved her harder against the tree, the rough bark scraping her now-exposed back. The bra she wore was simple, white, a flimsy barrier I dispatched with the same impatient force. The clasp snapped and I tore it from her, tossing it into the undergrowth like trash. Her breasts were small, pale, capped with tight, rosy nipples that contracted in the cool air and stark fear.

"Please, God, please don't," she begged, her voice a thin, reedy thing. Her hands came up, trying to cover herself, a gesture of modesty so absurdly out of place it was almost comical.

I slapped them away. "Don't," I snarled, my voice a low growl. "You don't get to hide." I took a step back, not out of mercy, but to admire my work. To look at her, really look at her. My gaze raked over her exposed torso, the smooth skin of her stomach, the way her ribs showed when she gasped for breath. The sight of her, half-naked and terrified in the dappled forest light, was a masterpiece. It was the image that had been burning behind my eyes for days, finally made real.

My own body was a tight coil of need. The fire was back, but it wasn't a painful pressure anymore. It was a roaring blaze, a furnace of pure, predatory intent. I grabbed the waistband of her dress, the part that was still intact, and pulled. The fabric tore the rest of the way down, catching for a moment on her hips before I gave a final, sharp yank. It pooled around her ankles, leaving her in only a pair of plain white cotton panties.

I knelt before her, my face level with her stomach. I could smell her fear, a sharp, metallic scent that mingled with the earthy smell of the damp ground and the river nearby. Her skin was trembling under my gaze. I hooked my fingers into the elastic of her panties and slowly, deliberately, began to pull them down. I wanted her to feel it. I wanted her to experience every second of this violation.

The panties slid down her thighs, over her knees, and joined the ruined dress at her feet. She was completely naked now, vulnerable and exposed. I stood up, my shadow falling over her, eclipsing the light. This was it. The moment of complete surrender. The desperate ache inside me was gone, replaced by a cold, hard certainty. This was what I was meant to do. This was who I was.

My hands went to my own belt. The buckle jingled softly, a metallic counterpoint to her ragged breathing. Her eyes were squeezed shut, tears tracking silently through the dirt on her cheeks. She wasn't fighting anymore. She wasn't begging. She was just waiting. And I was ready to give her what she was waiting for.

I fumbled with my belt, the buckle jingling with an urgency that matched the thrumming in my veins. The button on my jeans popped open, and I shoved them down just enough, freeing myself. The cool air did nothing to soothe the burning heat of my erection. It stood out from my body, thick and hard, a testament to the absolute power I held in this moment.

There was no preamble. No gentleness. I grabbed her thighs, my fingers digging into her soft flesh, and lifted her. Her legs were limp, unresisting as I wrapped them around my waist. Her back scraped against the rough bark of the cottonwood as I positioned her, my hands gripping her ass to hold her in place. She was dead weight, a beautiful, broken doll I was about to use.

I looked at her face one last time. Her eyes were still squeezed shut, her lips parted in a silent, endless scream. The sight of her absolute terror, her complete surrender, was the most erotic thing I had ever seen.

Then I drove into her.

There was resistance. A tight, hot friction that made me grunt with the effort. A sharp, high-pitched cry was torn from her throat, a sound of pure agony that was music to my ears. I didn't stop. I pushed deeper, forcing my way inside her until I was buried to the hilt. The feeling was indescribable. A hot, wet, clenching grip that enveloped me, her body's unwilling betrayal the final confirmation of my conquest.

I started to move. Hard, brutal thrusts that slammed her back against the tree again and again. Each impact knocked a grunt or a whimper out of her. I wasn't making love. I wasn't even having sex. I was erasing her. I was taking this bright, beautiful thing and I was extinguishing it, using my body as the weapon. The desperate need that had tortured me for days was being purged in a violent, primal flood. Every thrust was a punishment for the fire she had ignited in me. Every cry was a payment for the sleepless nights.

Her head lolled to the side, her dark curls sticking to the sweat and tears on her face. Her body moved with mine, not in rhythm, but in the limp, boneless way of a thing that is being broken. I could feel her starting to bleed, a slick, hot warmth that only made the friction easier, made my thrusts deeper, more punishing.

The world narrowed to this one brutal act. The sound of our bodies colliding, the scent of blood and fear and sex, the sight of her naked form being battered against the tree. The pressure inside me built to an unbearable peak, a white-hot nova of sensation that consumed everything. With one final, violent thrust, I buried myself as deep as I could go and exploded inside her, a long, shuddering release that felt like it was tearing my soul out through my cock.

I held her there for a long moment, my body still pinning hers to the tree, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The fire was gone. The pressure was gone. There was only a profound, hollowed-out emptiness and the bone-deep satisfaction of a need finally, violently met. I let go of her legs, and she crumpled to the ground at my feet, a heap of pale, dirty flesh, like a discarded doll.

The emptiness that followed the explosion was vast and ringing. I leaned against the tree for a moment, my chest heaving, the sound of my own harsh breathing loud in the sudden silence. Below me, Danni was a motionless heap, a tangle of pale limbs and dark hair on the forest floor. The yellow of her ruined dress was a splash of vulgar color against the mud and dead leaves.

A thought, cold and precise, cut through the haze. I couldn't let this be the only time. This feeling, this absolute power, this clarity... it was a drug, and I had just had my first taste. I knew, with a certainty that chilled me more than the river breeze, that I would need it again. I would need her again.

My phone was in my pocket. I pulled it out, my fingers surprisingly steady as I thumbed it awake. The camera app opened. I stood over her, framing the shot. Her face was turned to the side, streaked with dirt and tears, one cheek pressed into the damp earth. Her eyes were closed. She looked like a fallen angel, broken and beautiful. The flash went off, a blinding strobe that captured her ruin in perfect, high-definition detail. I took another from a different angle, and a third, a close-up of her face, capturing the freckles across her nose that had first caught my eye. These weren't just pictures. They were proof. They were trophies.

My gaze fell to the small canvas purse that had fallen off her shoulder when I first grabbed her. It lay a few feet away, its contents spilled across the ground, a tube of lip balm, a crumpled receipt, and a small leather wallet. I knelt, my knees sinking into the mud, and picked up the wallet. It was cheap and worn, the corners frayed.

I flipped it open. There she was, smiling. A school photo, probably from last year. She looked younger, happier, her hair a little shorter, a confident smile on her face that didn't quite reach her eyes. It was a picture of a stranger. The Danni in my wallet was already gone. Behind her photo was her student ID from Bethlehem high school. Danni Chen. The name felt formal, official, a piece of data I could now own. There was an address in Nutana, a student number. A whole life, neatly contained in a little rectangle of plastic, now mine to do with as I pleased.

I took a picture of it as so i could find her on the next visit. The wallet and the rest of her purse's contents I tossed back onto the ground. They were irrelevant. I had what I needed.

I looked down at her one last time. She hadn't moved. A small pool of blood was forming on the ground between her legs, stark and dark against the pale skin of her thighs. The sight didn't bother me. It was just a detail. An outcome.

I pulled up my jeans, buckled my belt, and took a deep, steadying breath. The air was cool and smelled of pine and damp earth. The fire inside me was gone, replaced by a cold, hard core of purpose. I turned and walked away without a backward glance, leaving her there in the shadows of the trees, a secret I would carry with me until the next time.