The Time I Was Almost Murdered as a SB
**WARNING** This might be triggering for some people!!! **WARNING**
So while I’m sitting here with a little free time, I’m going to attempt to write out a description of the time I put myself in a very dangerous situation and really still to this day feel in my heart of hearts if I hadn’t escaped I would have been killed.
I think it’s really responsible to post the good as well as the bad parts of this lifestyle; this story is obviously filed under the bad.
I was still new to the sugar bowl, relatively anyway, and seeing this man named Hank. He seemed nice enough. He was a little quiet and a little shy, the sex was boring to say the least, but he was self made and seemed like he liked me or at least found me charming. The allowance was basically nonexistent but he’d drop me some cash here and there; he always said he didn’t want to treat me like a “hooker” which was annoying but I was naive then.
We had been talking for a few weeks and had seen each other a few times when he asked me to go out of town with him. He had a cabin and the pictures of the surrounding area were gorgeous. I was going stir crazy in the city and thought a weekend surrounded by nature would be a great idea.
I didn’t tell anyone where I was really going. I didn’t want anyone to catch on to the fact that I was a SB and so I lied to my friends and family about where I’d actually be spending my weekend, something I’ll never do again.
We hit a terrible storm on the way up to the cabin, and it slowed us down so much we decided to grab a motel (a cheap, sleazy motel) room for the night. We went to a nearby store and got some sodas, a couple snacks, and while we were in town Hank said we should get some liquor. I’d never seen him pick up a drink before, he always declined wine and beer even, but I wasn’t worried.
When we got back he immediately started drinking, and that’s when things took a turn. His demeanor changed dramatically. I was a little tipsy myself and in a flirty move, but he was different. He was looking at me with completely different eyes and I could feel this inescapable tension in the room.
I asked him what was wrong and he brushed me off. I decided to try to make him feel better with sex, I thought it might help. I came up behind him and instead of reacting nicely he shook me off and called me a whore, which stung. Things got worse quickly. We ended up in an argument, a mostly one sided screaming match from him, and then he hit me. He slapped me so hard across the face I almost fell over. He grabbed my wrists and pinned me on the bed and proceeded to rape me. I didn’t think of it as rape for a while after that, it was but it took me quite a while to process that and accept it. I don’t really like to talk about it, and I kind of block it out now.
After that Hank decided he wanted to get some dinner. He was drinking still, and becoming colder and colder. As we were getting ready to walk out I grabbed my purse, which had my phone in it, but he told me to leave it. I was afraid of angering him more, so I set my bag back down. He rummaged through his suitcase and pulled out a gun which made me so nauseous I almost threw up right there. He said he couldn’t be too careful as he put it on the holster in his pants. I knew before that he had a concealed carry but I also knew that he was threatening me with it.
I didn’t think we’d actually go to the restaurant; I thought my life was over, but when we pulled up I was so relieved I almost cried. I did cry, actually, but the pouring rain outside masked it somewhat, otherwise he would have been more angry.
When we walked into the lobby, he told me not to make a scene “or else”. I nodded. He muttered something about me being a “worthless tramp” under his breath. He hated me, that much I knew. I didn’t know if it was the alcohol or if he’d always hated me.
My mother once told us, as kids, that if somebody ever tried to kidnap us to never go with them. Even if they were holding a gun to you, don’t let them get you alone. She said if you’re in public, they might kill you. If they have you alone, they’ll definitely kill you. When we sat down and Hank said we should just drive up to the cabin instead of staying the night, I realized if I left the restaurant with him he might kill me. I felt it deep in my gut that if I left the restaurant with him, I would be signing my own execution orders.
I was afraid though. I was afraid of causing a scene. I wanted to do it quietly. Of course, we were already making quite a scene. Hank was all over me, touching me in appropriately, while the tears quietly fell down my face. Our waiter looked beyond alarmed. The manager even came over at one point and asked if everything was ok; Hank said it was and I nodded along silently, trying to make sure the manager saw the desperation in my eyes.
I was trying to think of a way to get their attention. The restaurant was deserted except for us; they were close to closing when we walked in, so I knew somehow I’d have to get the waiter’s attention. I thought about trying to mouth “help me” but Hank was watching me like a hawk.
I ordered chicken and mashed potatoes with lots of extra gravy. I love that meal; if I had to pick a last meal from that little restaurant’s menu, I figured that was it. I was desperately trying to think of a plan when our food arrived. My food was a little cold, especially the mashed potatoes and gravy. I couldn’t eat; I sat there pushing my food around back and forth, and as I drug my fork tongs through the gravy I realized something: the gravy was so thick, and cold enough that the impressions I made in it stayed.
Hank snapped at me, telling me to eat my food not play with it. “Well I would, but these potatoes are cold!” He told me they were fine and I told him to try them, he agreed they were cold. He yelled at the waiter to come get them.
Quickly, with the tongs of my fork, I wrote “HELP ME” in the pool of gravy. “Her food is cold,” Hank told him.
“Yes, especially the gravy. the gravy is super cold,” I told him, praying he’d understand. He looked nonplussed and my hopes felt dashed.
Then, I saw the manager walking toward us, He gave me a quick smile, and it felt like my heart leaped out of my chest. “I’m so sorry about the food ma’am, but I just want you to know that we have the situation under control.”
A few minutes later, the manger came back and told Hank there had been an issue with his card; the stupid drunk didn’t even realize he hadn’t given them his card. The police were there, and I had literally never felt so grateful in my entire life as I crumpled into a sobbing mess.
In the end, Hank never faced repercussions for raping me. The police didn’t care and weren’t on my side; to my fellow SWs, they won’t be on your side either, more than likely. Law and Order: SVU is a great show, but most cops don’t care about SWs. But I’m alive; that is something I’m terribly grateful for.
I don’t really have a moral of the story except to be careful, and like my mother taught me: don’t ever allow them to get you alone.
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