I Didn't Smoke Crack

After an inexcusably short time after running to Miami and lodging at the shady Camelot Inn, I was found my own source of transportation by Van. He had barely looked at me after his embarrassment when he attempted to make sweet, sweet love to me failed in an under dramatic, underwhelming premature ejaculation that I actually had no clue had even happened.
This transportation was a bike. It was owned by a young black man, tall and lanky, in a room downstairs. I bought it off of him for twenty dollars, which was a waste of my money considering how little I was going to be using it.
This guy was a total druggie. Sometime in this mixed up world I was living in, I went into his room, just because, and he offered me a hit off of his crack pipe. I'm pleased to announce that this time, strangely enough, I just...didn't smoke it. I don't really know why. I thought I shouldn't, and it would be a bad idea, but why I don't have a clue. Everything else certainly wasn't bright of me. I wasn't showing off a high intelligence level by wandering around having sex without protection, and endangering myself like I was. But I would not smoke the crack. I had limits? Who would have guessed.
He smoked his ice, and promptly began the procedural undressing of himself, and wanted me to do the same. Harper Bryson, obliging as always, but nevertheless weary of the sexual desires of the human race, conceded and climbed into his bed. As I have before pointed out, it seems that a large portion of men believe that if the legs can bend behind the head like a human soft pretzel, than obviously that is precisely how things should proceed. What they don't realize, or don't care about, is that this position, for those of us with vaginas, can be excruciatingly painful especially if not done with care, gentleness, and lubricant...none of which were obviously used during any of the Miami exploits. Because let us face the reality of the situation; it was rape. All rape. I was only sixteen, therefore underage, as well as mentally ill, hence I could not have given consent at the time even if I had wanted too. Also, I said 'no' and 'stop' multiple times to most if not all of the men I have mentioned in this and previous posts, and they continued. That is rape even on someone of age and mental clarity.
My point here? People push boundaries that we set. We say no, they say we mean maybe. We say maybe, they say we mean yes. It's as though you have to tell them 'No, dammit! No means no, end of story!' as if they are a rebellious child.
It is inexcusable that we aren't listened to when we speak, but that just means that we have to speak more loudly. We have to make them listen when we speak.

Next time I won't be shut up, I won't be shut down. What about you?