Hot Slut Wife Stories
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Hot Slut Wife Stories
Fleetwood’s Story: Fame Meant I Had To
© 2021 The When You\'re Ready Project
The first time I was raped I was 16 years old. The night exists for me in a series of flash-bulb images that I can neither piece together nor erase from my memory, despite years of trying. I’m still not sure if it was my fault, even though I know it wasn’t.
I don’t think about it very often anymore, but every few years I revisit the spiral of shame, and guilt.
My last clear memory was stumbling away from the crowd, looking for a place to sleep. I was drunk… really drunk. I was being a typical teenager: acting out, rebelling – trying to distance myself from a goody-two-shoes image. Before that night, I had only been to a couple of parties, most of my wild stories were embellishments. My parents were known for being strict, so I didn’t get invited out very often. I w anted desperately to be part of the cool, older crowd who drank and smoked cigarettes. I was thrilled to be at the party, drinking cans of Coors and tossing them in the back yard of the kid whose parents were out of town. I realized m y ride had left without me, I was feeling sick and disoriented and needed to sleep until I could walk home. I found an empty bed, it was a child’s bedroom, I was going to lie down for just a few minutes.
I’m awake and it’s dark. He is inside me. I feel sick. Who is on top of me? “What are you doing?” He grunts. I try to push him away but my arms are weak. “I don’t want to.” I try to pull my underwear up, they’re around my knees. He pins my arm down. “Please.” “Shhh.” “I’m going to be sick.” “Shhh.” He’s getting angry. There’s a crack in the door and I can see wood paneling in the hallway. He finishes on the child’s bed, next to me. He wasn’t wearing a condom. He gets up and walks out. I want to run away, but I’m ashamed and I don’t want anyone to see me. I cry myself to sleep.
I’ve known my rapist since childhood. He was one of the cool kids at my school, a popular jock who was older than me. The next morning, his friend called me a slut and said “don’t worry, I won’t tell his girlfriend.” His girlfriend found out, and soon everyone had heard what a slut I was. Somehow I was more comfortable with being a slut than with being raped, so I accepted it.
And I never told anyone, until now.
I’m afraid to tell my parents. I’m afraid my step-father will read this, figure out who it was, and confront my rapist. I’m nervous about how he’ll feel when he realizes he inadvertently teased me about the events that happened after that night. I forgave him but I’m afraid he won’t forgive himself.
I’m afraid the people in my home town will call me a liar, and judge my parents. I live 3000 miles away now, but my family will have to deal with the backlash.
I’m afraid for my rapist’s wife and children.
But today I’m facing those fears, as much as I can handle at a time. Today, this blog is the beginning of an idea that may or not become big. It’s still anonymous, but that’s okay. It’s all I’m ready for, just yet.
When you’re ready, and want to share, I’m here. We’ll do this together.
When You're Ready.org is a community for survivors of sexual violence to share their stories.
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Sounds like a fake story. Sorry, pretty cliche.
I think it sounds pretty fake but even though it might not be fake, nobody has to experience that, but my real question is why would you feel ok if people call you a slut. If I were you I wouldn’t like people calling me a slut, etc.
The When You're Ready Project is a community for survivors of sexual violence to share their stories and have their voices heard, finding strength in one another. When you're ready to share your story, we'll be here.
Left my wife who is very pretty sitting at the hotel bar in Vegas for maybe 5 minutes and when I came back, a VERY good looking group of younger guys were standing around with one sitting next to her chatting her up. I laughed it off at first but I got the vibe that she liked it. Anyway, we get up in the room and start to have sex and I get her talking. She confesses that the one sitting gave her his number and had been aggressively hitting on her before I came back. She had told him she was married and he had said so what, ask him if I can take you upstairs. She was shocked by that. We were both pretty hot by then and I was getting off on it. I asked if she thought he was hot. She said yes. I don’t know at all wtf got into me, but I made her call him – actually pushed her to do it – to come to our room. I said just for a drink that I’d like to watch them flirt thinking nothing would happen. She did and he came up. Now, I’m not gay, but this guy was obviously hot and she was obviously totally into him. She was horrified when he knocked on the door and she hid in the bathroom for quite a while. He and I talked a while. He was a funny guy. I apologized to have wasted his time. As he was leaving I convinced my wife to come out and say good night. She did and was so awkward that I laughed. Again, no idea wtf got into me but I pulled her close, started kissing her and just said relax. As we were kissing, I motioned for him to come in. He ran his hands along her and we held get between us as I undressed her and I said let’s treat her to the orgasm of her life. She pulled away a bit and started to protest, but when he stepped forward, grabbed her face and slid his tongue in her mouth, the booze, the guy’s hotness, the moment made everything else kick in. She kissed back and she became someone I didn’t recognize. The three of us ended up in bed and it all happened fast. In fact, I came very fast, so I watched them for quite a while before I could go again and then joined back in. It went on for a very long time. The mix of being so horny, very jealous when she begged him to fuck her harder, the taboo and seeing her cum so hard when he was inside her was like being on the best drug ever. The only moment that I struggled with was when it ended. He was about to cum and so as he tried to pull out, she held onto him and he finished inside her. It was a sudden end and resulted in a bit of inexplicable panic from everyone. She woke up very angry the next morning that we’d done something so stupid, that he hadn’t worn a condom and she said she’d never do anything like it again blah blah blah and she won’t talk about it – never has since. She flushed his number and was angry at me for days for pushing her into it. As for me, I just close my eyes and imagine that first little second when he slid inside her, the first guy in twenty years other than me as far as I know, and the satisfied little wimpier she made. I think of it, the sweet jealousy wells up and I get hard. Sigh
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