Fear of women
by Chameleon

My email address: ThinkTruth@Hotmail.com

I had come to the stage were all I wanted to do was to retreat from the world and try to gather my thoughts. When you've experienced a real depression, you understand how often that term is misused. It's like a system shutdown. Nothing works. Just taking the bus to another location seems like an impossible task. The slightest disturbances fill you with anxiety, food has no taste, and you practically stop eating. I lost twenty pounds in one week.

Some see mental illness as an expression of weakness, but I differ. People refuses to see the distinction between weakness and vulnerability. Weakness is to choose the wrong path when you can choose otherwise. If your vulnerability is overrun, you're out of options. Every effort will just make you sink deeper down. Weakness is related to will, vulnerability is how much your system can handle.

Well, anyway, the depression was over but the confusion remained, and my money wouldn't last long if I didn't find a cheaper place to stay. I had worked as a research assistant at the Institute of Occupational Medicine until 3 months ago, and if I were careful, I could make the money I had saved up last until they again, if I were lucky, needed my help in January. This was in October, and my highly developed skills in burning bridges had left me with no one I could ask for help. -"He is strongest who stands alone", Ibsen wrote, and if that is the case, I must have been the strongest person in existence back then.

It was at this time that I read an ad in the paper about a small room for rent in a house about ten miles from the city. The rent was ridiculously low, but there was no bus connection, and I had no drivers licence, far less a car. Not that it mattered. I had no place to go anyway, so if I could only find a way to get out there in the first place, my problems seemed to be solved.

I called, and a woman, Marianne, who sounded like she was in her thirties, picked up the phone. I explained the situation to her, and she immediately offered to pick me up, with my stuff, the next time she was in the city. She had a van big enough for the purpose, and said she was just glad that someone finally wanted to rent the room. I was overwhelmed by her forthcoming nature and really felt I had hit the jackpot by calling her.

Two days later she came. I stood outside the building of my apartment and waited for her with all my things packed in boxes, and remember distinctively her black van parking by the sidewalk, before the door opened to reveal a woman whose appearance caused me to stumble backwards. She was enormous! I am six feet tall, and she stood almost a head taller than me. She had her half long brown straight hair in a ponytail, and wore blue overalls and a white T-shirt. Her shoulders were broad as well as her hips, and her arms and feet could have made a woodcutter envious. I later learned that she suffered (if that is the right way to put it) from a genetic irregularity that caused an disproportionately large part of the proteins in the food she ate to be transformed into muscles. She had never lifted a weight in her life.

Her breasts matched the rest of her body, and as I stood in front of her, they looked like two warheads of divine beauty aiming for my face. A feeling of general weakness came over me, and I had a problem deciding where to put my eyes.

She ignored my reaction and gave me a smile that radiated with friendliness and caring-instincts.

-"Would you like me to help you?"

-"Yes, thank you."

I tried to contribute the best I could, but when we were done, she had practically accomplished the task by herself.

-"How old are you?", she asked as she started the engine.

-"28 ... And you?"

-"36"

I kept looking at my own arms and compared them with hers as we drove. Since my weight loss I was probably around 160 pounds, and my limbs looked ridiculously thin next to hers. I felt embarrassed and an inferiority complex started to rise up in me.

-"So, you're unemployed?", she asked with her usual friendly voice.

-"Yes, I'm in between jobs as they say."

-"Well, are you?"

-"No"

She laughed.

-"So how have you planned to spend your time?"

-"By reflecting and writing stories and poems. And by reading."

-"Are you a writer?"

-"An unpublished writer."

-"What's the difference?", she asked and raised her shoulders.

-"I make no money."

-"Yeah ... The best writers usually don't."

I was stunned by her supportive nature. God, I loved her. ... But I could also

sense her high self-esteem, and I started to get more and more anxious about doing or saying something that would lessen her impression of me. This was a little irrational. It is the people with an incurable inferiority complex you should be aware of, not the strong and confident. The genuinely weak, those who have once and for all denied their inadequacies to themselves, will always look for a way to bring other people down. And if they succeed, they despise them. The strong might use their strength to overpower you, but they always know what they want to achieve, and never put you in a double binding.

When I'm nervous, the best thing to do is to shut up, and we sat in silence for a while until she took a turn in to a badly trodden wooden road.

-"You're in for a bumpy ride."

And, as if to prove her point, she just kept up the speed and almost sent my pounding heart up my throat. It lasted for ten gruesome minutes, and only my male pride had stopped me from begging her to slow down. Finally we arrived at a lonely, big house, originally built in the eighteenth century.

We took a box each of my stuff, and she guided me up to the addict where my future shelter was. It was a cosy, small room, with wooden planks on the floor, and one window. The furniture consisted of a bed, a chair, a closet, and a desk with a modern office chair.

-"I hope you can adjust to this. I know it's a little small."

-"I'll be fine."

My things were brought into the room in no time, and soon I was decorating the walls with posters of my favourite painters.

-"Bosch and Brueghel.", she commented as she brought in a tiny shelf for my books.

I was impressed.

-"Yes, my favourite painters."

-"They're a little morbid, don't you think?"

-"Yes, women tend to think so.", I said and finally felt masculine again.

-"Women?", she asked with a smile.

I nodded with an unintentionally coy look.

-"Well, good thing I have a proper man here. I've been missing that.", she said as she left the room.

After unpacking, I started to put my books into the shelf, but soon felt that I was hungry, and came to realise that I had nothing to eat whatsoever. After walking down the wooden stairs, I found Marianne in the kitchen making pancakes.

-"Where is the local store?"

-"There is none. I can shop for you next time I'm in town, or you can come with me."

-"Thank you, but I have no food."

She smiled.

-"No problem. You can eat of mine until that. I didn't plan on eating all these pancakes by myself."

I started to wonder whether she was for real. She seemed more like an all-good heavenly creature that God had allowed me to meet to make up for all the distress he had put me through. Even though I'm really predisposed to believe in all-good people, given my character structure's lack of acceptance of the connection between good and evil, a part of me had turned cynical and stopped expecting what I had previously, so many times, hoped for in vain.

As we sat and ate at the table, she asked:

-"So, what books do you read?"

-"Ibsen, Dostojevskij, Boccaccio ... "

-"Have you read more than one book by Boccaccio?", she interposed.

-"No", and came to think that I hadn't finished that one either.

-"Me neither. It's like Cervantes. Only one book is still regarded as universally interesting. Maybe that will be true for Ibsen and Dostojevskij too in a few hundred years. Only one of their books will still be widely read. "The Idiot" by Dostojevskij for example.

-"Not Ibsen."

-"No?"

-"No", I said and shook my head.

-"Do you think "A Doll House" will be read two hundred years from now?"

-"No, not in the west. Maybe in a patriarchal culture."

-"So you don't think the west will be patriarchal in two hundred years?"

-"Hardly"

-"Matriarchal then?"

-"Possibly. I don't know. Maybe we'll be equals."

She nodded, but not as a sign of agreement.

-"I don't think men and women can be equals. Sexuality is in the way."

-"What do you mean?"

-"In relation to a man I believe I have three choices. I can be his daughter, his sister, or his mother. If I want passion I have to choose the first or the last. There is no animal attraction between couples that treat each other as siblings."

I didn't quite know how to get around that argument.

-"Can't we swap?"

-"Swap?"

-"Yes"

-"The one will always be stronger than the other, and what that may seem changeable in the beginning of a relationship, will be carved into stone later."

-"Ok", I answered not knowing what to say.

The discussion was ended and I started to study her as discretely as I could. She put strawberry jam on the pancakes before she rolled them together and ate them with her fingers. She had turned the face towards the widow, and her eyes seemed to be fixed at a large oak tree outside that looked like it had stood there for eternity. Her face was slightly masculine, with a strong chin, but her eyes told very clearly that they belonged to a woman. The flickering movement of a woman's eyes says that she uses her whole brain when she thinks, and doesn't consolidate to just one part of it, as men tend to do unless we're confused. That is also why a woman's look expresses confusion to the observant man, but he is dead wrong.

-"Do you think I should cut it down?", she asked.

-"No!", I burst out, disturbed by the mere thought.

-"I agree. It looks good. But if there is a very strong wind, it could fall over the house."

-"But if it has stood for so long, why would it fall down now?"

-"Climates change. Who knows what will happen."

After eating I went upstairs again and decided to finish the book I claimed to have read. Boccaccio wrote about the black plague in the most clear-sighted way. He described how it shook up the society, weakened the power of the authorities, and caused the most beautiful and prominent women to appear naked in front of total strangers if they were just willing to take care of them, after their whole family had either died or fled. Sexual morality was forever changed.

-Hmm ... maybe that was the start of the Renaissance, I thought to myself. The human race seems to need a catastrophe of dimensions to get its arse in gear.

I read for half an hour before I decided to take a break. I'm a very slow reader, and often reads each sentence several times to be sure I've understood it correctly. No, I'm not dyslectic, I just don't want to miss out of the hidden meanings the author might have put in there. It's a perfect way to read Ibsen, but nonetheless quite so energy demanding, and I can't usually keep it up for more than an hour or so.

I had a laptop, and sat down by the desk to try to write a poem. It didn't work, and I moved to the bed where I lied down on my back while looking at the ceiling. There was not much to see, and I stood up to look for other opportunities. Ah, I could sort the books by alphabetic order! So I did, and managed with that to escape ten more minutes of boredom.

I'm usually much better in killing time, simply because I reflect so much. But there was restlessness inside of me, and as I again lied down on my bed to try to think, I started to realise what it was about. There was a vague worry inside of me that I couldn't quite identify, but I knew it had something to do with Marianne. After the initial shock, I thought I had come to terms with her, partly because of her friendliness. But now the images of this giantess returned, and a spooky feeling emerged from somewhere far down deep in my mind. She was the sweetest human being in the universe, and I could not possibly believe that I was afraid of her, but something wasn't right.

I decided to let it rest, but a short time later a thought suddenly popped up in my mind. All the time since I was a child I've had fantasies about being raped by a girl, and later by a woman. For six years I had been writing stories about it, and for some reason, although I'm a person that is constantly changing, this fantasy prevailed as if it was part of the mere definition of who I was. I suddenly realised that my sub-conscience had hooked her up with these fantasies, and as I started to picture a rape- scene with her forcibly having her way with me, an erection occurred in my pants as if nothing more arousing in this world could be thought of.

I immediately sat down by the laptop and started to write a story about it, the whole time with a log in my underwear. The story was badly written, but was enough to arouse me even further, and it all ended as a wet stain on my sheets.

The truth was, however, that as we had been in the same room, I had not felt the slightest attraction to her. She was too big, and a part of me, despite her massive lady bumps, saw her as asexual. Her altruistic friendliness sort of confirmed that, and to imagine her as an actual female rapist was impossible if I just applied a little reality testing.

Time went by, and after a few hours of sporadic reading and reflecting, I started to get hungry again, and went downstairs.

As I entered the kitchen I found her still sitting there, reading a newspaper.

-"Oh, hi.", she said as she took off her reading glasses. "Are you hungry again?"

-"Yes."

-"Just help yourself. The pancakes are in the fridge."

-"Is it OK if I make myself a couple of sandwiches?"

-"By all means! Eat what you want.", she said and returned to her paper.

I sat down with her to eat and thought about how ridiculous my fantasies had been. She still wore the same clothes, and I got the feeling that she had no desire to present herself in a sexual way. Not to me, at least.

She looked up.

-"Is the room ok?"

-"Yes", I answered and nodded.

-"It isn't too small?"

-"It is a little small. But at that price, what could I expect?"

She nodded.

-"Don't be shy if you need a little space. There is a living room upstairs that I hardly ever use. So if you for example want to sit there to read ... "

-"As long as you don't make any mess.", she added.

-"Thank you."

-"Oh, today I bought several lobsters because a friend of mine said that she'd visit me. But she just called to cancel. Would you like to eat them with me tonight? If not, I'll have to throw away half of them. They won't last until tomorrow."

-"I'd love that.

Lobster, an extra room, shopping service ... What more could this woman possibly offer?

As I walked out the door I suddenly came to think of the dishes, and went back

to clean my plate.

-"I'll do it. I'll clean up this kitchen a little later."

Back in my room I tried again to write a poem, and came up with the following:

I managed to read some more in the book, reflected a bit over different matters while lying on the bed, and played Tetris on the computer until I heard a knock on the door.

As I opened, my eyes almost fell out of my head. She wore a red, strapless long dress with a profound cleavage. The skin on her arms and shoulders looked silk smooth, not to mention her breasts that seemed to be of heavenly design. I almost lost my breath, and as I stood there with my mouth half open, she said in her usual friendly way:

-"Would you like to come downstairs? The food is ready."

As I walked behind her, my thoughts started to wander. The wooden stairs complained under her enormous weight, and gave me the impression that I was a pussycat in comparison. I realised that she probably could have killed me in seconds if she wanted to. But she didn't seem to want to. I relaxed a little bit. It was a little strange. I would not have felt that way if it were a big man who walked in front of me, as long as he had the same friendly nature as she. It was the mere fact that she was a woman, as if there in every woman are forces that usually remains unleashed because of their physical inferiority.

The calmness didn't last long, and soon the anxiety started to rise up in me again. Why had she put on that dress? My thought went to the story I had written, and images started again to pop up in my mind, more forcibly this time. Images of her raping me. But now it wasn't a wet dream, now it was a nightmare. I saw her face with a hideous grin as she lied on top of me and fucked me in contempt with her hand around my throat in a chokehold. My clothes were torn apart and it was obvious that her primary goal was to destroy me for rejecting her. Would that be the reaction if I rejected her? My body felt drained of force. Did she plan to seduce me? And if she did, would I have to let her for the sake of my own survival? I felt trapped and afraid, and a heat wave flowed through my body, almost like a fever.

I remembered Janet. The young student I broke up with about a year ago. We had lived together in her apartment, and in the beginning it had been all nice and well. But she turned out to be a control-freak, constantly nagging about the right way to do the household, what food I should eat and what clothes I should wear. Eventually I broke up with her and packed my bags to get the hell out of there. It was then that I had the bizarre experience of her physically blocking my path and actually denying me to leave.

-"Not until we've talked it through.", she said with a firm voice.

It was a futile attempt since she didn't have much to back it up with, so I simply pushed her aside and left. I couldn't have done that with Marianne.

We went into the living room where everything was put on the table. With a feminine movement I hadn't noticed with her before, she sat down on her side of the table. She looked at me as I stretched to get myself a lobster.

-"What's wrong? You look pale."

-"Nothing.", I said with a nervous voice without looking at her.

She became confused.

-"Are you sick?"

-"No"

She looked at me bewildered for a few seconds before she stood up and walked up to me. That made my heart pound harder and I felt a twitch in my body as she lay her hand on my forehead. I had to concentrate all my energy not to stare at her breasts, and my erection, which until then only had been suggested, turned into full effect. From her point of view, there she stood bent over me, she could easily spot my reaction.

-"Are you horny?", she asked surprised.

-"I'm sorry.", was all I managed to say.

-"I'm 36 years old. I only take it as a compliment.", she said and returned to her chair.

We ate in silence, and I couldn't interpret whether she liked or disliked what that had happened. Her facial expression indicated that she couldn't care less, but I had a hard time believing that she was totally indifferent. Despite of my fear, I didn't like the thought that she might not view me as a proper man. In that moment, my ego was more important than my safety.

-"Would you like me to put a carpet on your floor? In can get a little cold in wintertime.", she said after finishing her meal.

-"Yes, thank you."

-"I'll do it right now."

She took out a red carpet out from a closet in the hall, and went upstairs. I was left with a feeling of insecurity and confusion, and wondered what on earth went on in her mind.

After ten minutes, she had still not returned, so I decided to kill some time by looking through her music collection. She seemed to be very fond of Beethoven, and I found all his nine symphonies in numerical order. My favourite is the sixth, and I put it on before I sat down on the couch. It put me in a very good mood, and my emotions flowed pleasurable with the music. I closed my eyes and thought that the world couldn't be that bad since there was room for people like the composer of this music. As it reached its climax, I heard a sound, and saw Marianne enter the room. The vision of her, accompanied by the erupted storm of the symphony, shook up fear in me, but it soon eased off to its steady state of underlying anxiety.

Her face had gotten a reddish colour, and I guessed it had taken some effort to place the carpet under the furniture. She gave me a strange look, and sat down in a chair that was placed in front of the couch.

-"You like Beethoven?", she asked.

-"Very much."

-"Is it ok if I turn it off?"

-"Yes"

She switched of the stereo, and sat back down in her chair. There was a tension in the room that I didn't understand.

-"Shall we talk about your reaction?"

I immediately got nervous.

-"I don't know.", I answered after a few seconds.

-"I think we should ... You see, I've been alone for 8 years, so having a man in the house is quite a change. Especially if he wants to sleep with me."

She spoke in a serious and self-confident tone of voice, and looked directly at me. My body felt like turning into jelly, and my eyes started to wander in all directions.

-"You don't know what to say?", she asked after half a minute of silence.

-"No"

-"Then let me talk... My experience with men is very bad. I don't know why, but I seem to be one of those women that men takes advantage of before they leave her. Maybe its because I'm a good person. All good people in this world has experienced being abused ... But the problem was that I found no exception. No man, no matter how nice he seemed to be initially, was fundamentally different from the rest. He could even seem grateful to begin with for everything I did for him, but eventually, like all men, he took it for granted and felt no need to express his appreciation any longer.

I put up with it. I like men and I don't really mind doing their laundry. But... (There is a mixture of anger and sorrow in her eyes.) sometimes I was exhausted and could need a little help ... with the dishes or whatever. And if I asked him, he would answer in the most indifferent tone of voice: "Can't you do it tomorrow?" That was the sign. Then I knew that he had contempt for me for being such a push over, and it was just a matter of time before he left."

She took a deep breath.

-"Sexually ... I was 28 before I got my first orgasm with a man. But then things had changed. I remember him vividly. He was just like the rest and expected me to do everything for him even if I was ill. The ending came, and as he had packed his things and was on his way out the door, a devil spoke to me on the inside, and I let the following remark fall: "I haven't had a single orgasm with you." He looked at me confused since he had believed that my bad faking was for real. I don't even make an effort. Men believe what they want to believe anyway. -I looked at him and added: "I haven't had a single orgasm with you and I would like one before you leave." "Ha!", he burst out and turned to escape through the door. "Wait one second.", I said in a friendly voice, which caused him too turn around again. I went at him and took his arm. "Once, just for me." He looked at me as if I was crazy and tried to pull his arm without success. "Don't be so stubborn. It won't cost you much." "Let go!", he ordered, and I could see a worried look in his eyes. I liked that. Actually, it turned me on. "Come", I said and pulled him effortlessly with me in here and laid him down on his back while I started to take my panties of under my skirt. Now he started to panic. God, I loved that (takes a deep breath). He started to beg and plead me not to do it, but the bulge in his pants told another story. He was going to do something no man had done for me before, and I sat down on his screaming face while locking his head with my thighs. He soon turned silent, and I could feel his body tremble as the intimidation he felt became unbearable and caused his tongue probing deeply into me. God, could the boy lick! I think I got three orgasms, and he swallowed every drop of my juice as I came.

I'm a girl, so I felt he should get a little something out of it to, but I didn't really want to fuck him. In my eyes, our relationship was over. Instead I picked up a vibrator from the drawer. You should have seen his face! Share terror! "Don't worry, I'm not gonna put it in your arse.", I said, and felt a little sorry that I hadn't let him suffer a bit longer. I put it on and caressed his cock with it until he came. I had never seen such an ejaculation in my life. Parts of it landed on his throat.

Afterwards I told him to leave. He was reluctant though, and for the first time in my life, I was in control. But I wasn't ready to use it. I wanted a man to love me for whom I was, not a creep like him who had to be raped to get a crush on me. So, instead of exploiting the situation, I kicked him out and fell into a depression. I gave up my belief in men and decided to live by myself."

-"Why are you telling me this?", I asked with badly hidden fear.

She looked at me in an investigation way.

-"Are you afraid?"

-"Yes"

-"Tell me, what kind of women are you attracted to."

-"Nice and kind", was my stupid answer.

She laughed a little.

-"Nice and kind, hah? That is not what I have read."

Terror arose in me. Finally I understood what this conversation was about. My eyes were wide open and I started to breathe heavily.

-"Nice poem.", she said with a smile. " ... But the story seemed to have been written in a little haste."

-"You had no right to read them.", I said with a trembling voice.

-"I know. I'm curious person. Actually I'm nosy. That is one of my negative traits. I should do something about that soon.", she said amused.

I tried to look offended and stood up.

-"Sit down.", she commanded in a calm but determined voice.

I had no force inside of me to oppose her with, and sank back down on the couch.

-"I like you. You are different from other men. That is why I found your story so interesting. You're not the only one who masturbated while reading it. I especially liked the face sitting part."

-"Please don't hurt me."

-"Hurt you?! If anyone tried to hurt you I would have smeared them on the wall. I'm gonna fuck you, and fulfil all those fantasies you've had while pretending to be a man with your weak girlfriends. You're a little boy, and now we're two who share the secret. Come over here and sit on my lap."

-"No", I said with a weak voice. My heart felt like it was about to break through my chest.

-"I really don't want to be too rough, but I want to feel that beautiful face between my thighs. Don't argue with me."

I got up from the couch and started to run towards the door. She didn't seem to be in a hurry, and walked slowly after me as I grabbed the knob of the front door. It was locked and could not be opened without a key. The only way to run was upstairs, but as I rushed back I met Marianne in the hall. I was trapped and started to walk backwards. She stopped as I sank down with my back at the door, and slowly took off her panties from under her dress. It looked as if she enjoyed every second of it.

I couldn't hold it back any longer, and started to cry.

-"Please don't do it!"

She sat down on her knees next to me and placed a hand behind my neck before she started to kiss the tears of my cheeks. "I'll be gentle. I promise", she said and started to undress me slowly while continuing to kiss me. My cock felt as if it was about to explode, and when she finally touched it while taking off my shorts, it was more sensible than it had ever been before. She just briefly stroked it, but if she had continued, I would have come there and then.

She looked deeply and hungry into my frightened eyes while pulling up her dress.

-"I need you to do something for me first. Don't be afraid. Just give me your tongue and your instincts will take care of the rest.", she said, and pushed me gently downwards.

I tried to get free, but she was invincible, and as she spread her legs, her gender appeared as the mere symbol of everything that frightened me beyond measure. I panicked, and used all my force to try to break free, but soon her thighs pressed softly against my cheeks and her smell intoxicated my senses. She pushed my head a little closer against her, pressing my lips towards her wet gender.

In that moment, my will was gone, and my tongue automatically pushed itself as deep as possible into her. I was aroused beyond belief, and intensely stimulated her clitoris while my body moved as if I were making love to the carpet.

-"Oh, God!", she moaned. "God, I love you!"

She lifted her head.

-"Why haven't I met you before?", she asked before she lay back down and continued to make gratifying noises.

She held my head tight towards her, and if I had stopped for a fraction of a second to sense my entrapment between her legs, I would have panicked. My only refuge was to concentrate all my energy on satisfying her.

An animal sound emerged from her lips, and as she came, she gave me my first experience with female ejaculation. Her juice covered my whole face and ran down my throat. I tried to swallow the best I could as if she would have punished me if I didn't.

I was still licking her when she grabbed me under my arms and pulled me up towards her. She had loosened her bra and lied with her breasts bare.

-"Just relax and suck mummy's breast for a while.", she said and led my mouth to her nipple.

I sucked it with no objection and felt enormously safe, lying there at her bosom. After a short while she started to caress my cock and sent waves of satisfaction through me.

She rolled me over and whispered into my ear:

-"It's time for the rape."

With the dress still on, she mounted me while holding her hands softly around my wrists. She kissed my neck as she fucked me, and all I wanted was to become one with her.

-"If you come inside of me, I will make you my child. You will be my property.", she whispered.

-"No", I objected weakly but with desperation, and tried to lift myself up.

She held my wrists a little tighter and started to lick my nipples. That doubled the intensity of the stimulation and I lost all control. Seconds later I came, and in that moment I was no longer an "I". All my individuality was gone and I had vanished inside of her, belonging to her as a part of her body. She wrapped her arms around me and held me tightly as she pumped the last drops of cum out of me.

Minutes later she held me in her arms and ran her fingers through my hair.

-"I'm not going to wipe out your identity. I like who you are. I am not going to rape you again. Unless you want me to ... "

I whispered something, but she couldn't hear.

-"What?"

-"I want you to.", I said a little louder, but still in a whisper.

She smiled.

-"That's settled then. I wouldn't have accepted another answer anyway.", she said and kissed my forehead before she squeezed me a little tighter towards her.

-"I will never let go. Never."