at least,

He wants me. He comes for me at midnight, forcing open my apartment door. I lounge half-submerged, naked in my bath, fretting for my life. Appalled that he’s identified me as tonight’s woman. I slide like an eelpout over the rim of my steamy-hot bath onto the torn linoleum floor, wrap a frayed towel round my torso, and enter the bedroom. The man in the slit-eyed balaclava confronts me. He’s carrying a taser. Fearing the worst, I rifle thru my chest of drawers with my free hand. My identity card, wallet, party membership card, passport, live in the third drawer. I hand them to my leader. He flicks pages, shakes his head dismissively, then hands them back.

He tells me he wants to fuck me - on all fours. Tells me how to squat. I don’t understand. Tells me he is going on a little joy ride, him, inside me. Tells me I should consider myself lucky. Tells me he wants me to wear a plain dress, just a dab of lipstick, while we fuck.

He turns his back on me while I dry my hair, put on a dress. I have a white, silk, crepe de chine dress. I keep it for special occasions, party balls, celebrations, a pair of diamond earrings, wavy brown hair worn short, alluring eyes. When I’m dressed, I squat on the bed posing for him, my bare left arm resting on the soft pillow, my right hand rubbing my wrist, nervous, apprehensive,

‘Well,’ I ask, ‘How do I look? Will I do? For you?’

He doesn’t answer, walks up, forces me to squat on my haunches, reaches inside his back jean pocket, pulls out a coarse linen cloth. I squat, perfectly still, for him as he wraps the blindfold round my head, tying it securely, its knot pressed into my hair. He takes hold of my arms, pins them to my back, pulls up my dress, fondles my breasts, penetrates me from behind, fucks me. There is silence in the bedroom. Silence on my bed. Silence in court. At least, I’m still alive. I feel warm, sultry, spring-night air caress my skin, my bare breasts, a zephyr blown thru an open window. His fingers dig deep into my midriff. My head is pushed down forcing me to pant. He slides in and out of me. His hard legs press open my soft inner thighs. We fuck in silence, half an hour at least, at a steady speed. He slows, withdraws. I am dragged off the bed, thrown on the carpet, face down plush pile muffling my mouth. He tells me to wait. A door opens in front of me. My captor lets go of my arms, leaves me alone.

I sense a presence, someone else in the room. It’s him, I know it is. I try to stay calm, to retain my self-control, clasping my sweaty hands behind my back, for seconds, minutes, I can’t tell,

‘Are you clean?’ he asks, his voice deep, powerful.

I tell him I bathed. Tell him I tested negative. Tell him I have no transmittable diseases. Tell him I just had sex with another man. Stop playing games, lie on my back, tell him to fuck me, at least.