He had become a guard in order to get some control back into his life. And now it was happening all over again. He was losing control.
He had been guarding a secure location, and then she had come along… He knew that he was immune. After he was raped by a blonde girl when he was naive child, he thought he’d never want that. He was gay.
But this woman, this succubus, had forced herself upon him anyway, and he felt his body responding to hers, somehow, like she set him on fire. He was reduced to a pile on the floor, subdued, and she had gotten past him…
And it haunted him, because now he didn’t know what he was. For twenty two years, he had known he was gay, but now he wasn’t so sure.
“Rape,” said his therapist, “sometimes does that. Even if you’re unwilling, your body can respond. It doesn’t always mean there’s attraction.”
Is that what this was? Had he been raped again? He didn’t remember it going that far, didn’t remember much at all.
Couldn’t he ever escape this fate? Was history still doomed to repeat itself? Hadn’t he done enough?