My Best Friend, the Rapist

It all boils down to consent, doesn’t it? And respect.

She said no but he said yes. This, right there.

Afternoon of Sundries

I knew him, a bright and cheerful bashful fellow; slender limbed, yet short, deep eyes a beautiful chocolate brown fringed with lashes any girl would envy and unruly hair seemingly trying to escape gravity- he was possibly the first man I ever loved.

We talked for hours. We hung out. We were free the first time in our lives- college, oh boy! Watch out! Perfectly like siblings, even though we had opposing views and often argued our points passionately over a beer. We loved revolving sushi bars and loud punk rock.

After a good while of juggling books, classes, schedules and music I introduced him to a lovely girl I had known not as long surely, but someone I thought he could appreciate.

I was of course right, after all I loved him best and I just knew (in that stupid prideful youthful way). They dated a long time. Differences…

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