Confessions of a Rapist

Day in day out I watched her, observed her. I’ve known her for many years. Well at least I know her- not too sure if she knows me. But she is a peculiar character. She’s not much older than me, about the same age actually, and we’ve been going to the same high school since ninth grade. But she hung out in a completely different crowd than me, and dated guys from a different ilk as well. As a matter of fact, I saw her with a different guy almost every few months. Not even sure if she was actually dating them.

I wonder.

But one thing I’ve noticed, and it was perhaps the most striking thing about her, was the way she dressed. Not modest at all. When she walked through the hallways all attention was pinned on her. She always dressed as if she was going out, or walking down the runway on Fashion Television, minus the anorexia of course. She wore a lot of make up, too much for my own taste. I don’t like it when girls wear so much make up. It makes them look… synthetic, and it masks their true beauty. Or perhaps it’s true beauty they lack, so they must wear these masks. Insecure. Her choice of clothing didn’t leave too much to the imagination either. From observation alone I could guess her cup size, simply by looking at her breasts. Of course I did this when no one was looking. Not that people pay much attention to me though. And her legs were always visible. Long, slender, yet powerful legs that moved with an almost inhuman speed and grace. I always knew when she was near for her high heels echoed across the halls, announcing her presence.

As usual I continued to watch her over the next few weeks. I dropped eves on her discussions with her like-minded friends. All they talked about were guys when they weren’t speaking negatively about some other girl. They spoke of clubbing, house parties, who slept with who, and they’re escapades each Friday night. Didn’t these girls have jobs. No, they had guys to pay for all their things. It angered me somewhat. She didn’t appreciate her body or herself. She abused herself with promiscuous sex, drugs, and alcohol. She didn’t understand that sex shouldn’t be given, it must be earned. She needed to learn that sex is as spiritual as it is physical. It didn‘t take a genius to see what had to be done.

I took the liberty to go to one of these house parties. I made sure to take the time off work. It felt good having a Saturday off. I haven’t had one in ages. I decided to leave my glasses at home that night. I usually don’t where them on the few occasions that I go out, though my mom thinks I look more handsome with them on. I took a cab to the location. The party was at her house I believe. It was pretty big, spacious, and luxurious with a basketball net above the three car garage. There were plenty of cars parked outside. It seemed as if she invited the entire school. I could hear the music blasting from inside. The house seemed to be shaking from its foundation. I invited myself in. The place was packed and the atmosphere seemed to be composed purely of marijuana smoke. Strangely enough, it had little to no effect on me. I asked around for her and was told that I could find her in the basement. On my way there, I was offered drinks but I graciously turned them down. I despise the taste of alcohol.

The basement was dark and was a little less crowded than the upper floor. A completely different system of music was playing down here, more rock oriented, and heavier. My eyes adapted quickly to the dark. In fact, I have excellent night vision and a superb sense of hearing to accompany it. Many people are startled when they realize how acute my judgement is in the darkness. So it didn’t take me long to discover her in a large beanbag couch surrounded by friends. I would have felt awkward to introduce myself right there, so I helped myself to the only bottle of root bear from a cooler packed with mostly domestic, and I sat down on another couch not too far from them. I took note of which glass she was drinking from. A large plasma TV was directly in view and the movie Die Hard was on. Bruce Willis is one of my favourite actors I might add. It was then when I noticed a young couple right beside me. They were making out vigorously. I shook my head and turned my attention back to the film.

Sometime later I woke up, realizing I had dozed off. The movie was still playing, but I had seen it so many times before, that I could tell what time it was based on what part of the movie was currently showing. It was 11:02, and the party still seemed to be alive upstairs. I also saw that she had left the couch along with her entourage. I saw this as my opportunity. Silently I stood up and crept over to where she had been sitting. Her drink along with some others were still on the small coffee table. I sat down in her spot and stretched my legs. The leather was still warm from her body. I reached over and grabbed her drink. Sitting back, I allowed the harsh music to tear its way into my brain and marinate there for a bit. I sniffed the rim of the glass and the aroma of her saliva was pleasantly intoxicating. And with that, I took a gentle sip. The fire of the alcohol burned its way down my throat and into my stomach. The heat began to radiate across my chest and into my head. It began to dance in unison with the eternal pumping of the music.

But I digress.

Coming out of this trance, I placed the glass back on the table. I motioned to stand up only to sit back down again. I nearly forgot. I slipped my hand into my pocket and pulled out a small plastic bottle. Popping the cap, I shook out one of the last two tablets. With one tablet remaining, I placed the bottle back in my pocket. And as I got up, I dropped the small white pill into the beverage, and walked away as the tablet began to fizz and disintegrate away in the alcoholic solution. No one seemed to notice me do it. No one ever does.

I sat back on the couch where I was before just as she and her friends came back down stairs. With my peripheral vision, I watched her drink from her glass as she chatted with her friends. This time I didn’t eves drop. I just continued to watch the rest of the movie.

A short while after, her friends went upstairs to enjoy the rest of the evening. She decided to stay put- something about not feeling too well. So with her friends out of the picture and being the gentleman that I am, I slid over to her and asked what’s the matter.

“You look familiar,” she said. “Do I know you?”

“Well sort of,” I said. “I go to your school.”

She nodded her head, still trying to recognise me.

“I’m Ashton,” I said, giving her a fake name.

“Tiffany,” she responded.

“You don’t look so good,” I said. “Are you okay?”

“Not really. My head is swimming. I could barely make out your face.”

“Yeah you must have had too much to drink,” I said with a smile.

“Yeah, probably,” she replied.

“You better take it easy,” I suggested.

“No, I’ll be fine,” she reassured. “I think I need to go use the bathroom.”

“Sure,” I said. She stood up and I watched her go up the stairs. Her walk was staggering and uncoordinated. I recall she almost tripped over one of the steps. But her long majestic legs wouldn’t allow her to topple over. She disappeared into the music above. I sat there for a while and sipped my root bear, which was still sitting near my seat, and savoured the moment.

After a brief wait, I got up and went upstairs to finish what I had begun. I noticed that the whole house was in darkness now with only a few lamps and candles lighting the environment. The scent of cannabis now permeated the air more strongly, stifling my lungs. I began to cough somewhat and clear my throat. I saw an Asian girl doing a line of cocaine in the living room, and I took note of her face. I’ll deal with her some other time, I thought to myself. As I looked up I saw Tiffany making her way up another flight of stairs to the upstairs bathroom. With my cat-like night vision I followed her, not too close mind you, and not too far behind. I weaved my way through the bodies that cramped the house, and glided up the stair case, keeping her in my sight. A few guys grabbed her arms trying to get her to dance with them, but she just pushed them off. Good girl.

Upstairs there was a hallway with many rooms, and I saw her walk into the one at the end of the hall. I followed and quietly crept up to the door, not that it mattered seeing how the howling music would have devoured the sound of my footsteps. I nudged the door open a little and peeked inside. She was leaning over the sink, running her figures through her wavy blonde hair. I looked back down the hall and made sure no one else was there.

This was the moment. This was the time. And even though it wasn’t the first time I did this in a washroom, the palms of my hands became clammy as sweat began to condensate on my forehead. My heart began to beat as hard as the bass in the raging music that continued to play, and I was breathing so heavily I could hear it. I couldn’t wait any longer. I opened the door, walked in, and locked it behind me. She looked up at me, her face startled. It was cute. And from there, well, use your imagination.

Sometime later I came back down the stairs. Thanks to the music no one heard the screams, and thanks to the alcohol and marijuana, no one remembered my face, let alone my presence. And with that I took my leave. I had work the next morning.


Days turned into weeks and I didn’t see her, not even at school. Eventually I began to worry, thinking that this one may have committed suicide. Finally she showed up on a Friday. I wanted to sigh with relief, but I remained expressionless. And I beheld a beautiful sight. She walked through the halls with both hands in her pockets and unaccompanied by her companions. Her walk was now silent as her high heels were replaced with the most generic of flats. Her figure- her body could no longer be seen, as it was now completely covered from head to toe with a black hoodie and blue jeans. The hood was drawn over her bowed head covering her wavy blonde hair that once looked like a shower of gold, and it cast a shadow over her face. And her face. It was sad to behold. That once proud mask of lipstick, eyeliner, and mascara that had protected the fragile being inside had disintegrated into nothing. All that was left was a solemn, featureless, barren expression. Finally, her eyes that could turn a man to stone with a single glance now looked empty, just empty. She had been living a lie. All this time there was no one inside her. It wasn’t until I broke in and torn her down did she and others realize this. Now she can rebuild, and construct a new person. A real person. A woman.

After that she had become nearly invisible to me, as I had been to her. And soon after, my eyes caught site of another. This one was wild and rebellious, loud and obnoxious, and yet there was a hidden elegance to her. An elegance that was trapped within a persona that could not and would not appreciate true beauty and respect for the female body. So I made plans to book off another Saturday night. Ahh, my work is never done.


  1. June 17, 2011 at 6:15 pm

    i was raped, exactly 1 year ago yesterday to be exact. and it completley destroyed my life. you didn’t change her so she can “rebuild” herself, she WON’T and CAN’T rebuild herself! she’s going to spend the next few years miserable, hiding, away from everyone and depression swallowing her away.
    i’m SO sorry i read this. whether this is something some sick creep wrote or it was really done, it has extremely disturbed me.
    and YOU are the one that cannot appreciate the female body. DESTROYING it is not appreciating it.
    i truly, truly hope that you end up being raped repeatedly in jail so you can see the MISERY that your victims are left with. so you can feel like your entire body is just disgusting no matter how hard you scrub yourself in the shower, so that you can have the nightmares and wake up in the middle of the night in a pile of tears and sweat and lean over and puke into a pot by the side of your bed that you must keep there because of the nightmares that HAUNT you EVERY night.
    raping someone is leaving their soul broken, torn apart, destroyed, empty and AFRAID. it does not help them “rebuild” themselves by any means, MATURITY is when someone “rebuilds” themselves. girls often go through rebellious stages in high school, but when they graduate and mature, they change and often don’t feel the need to sleep around or dress up everyday for attention. but you took that chance away from that girl. now, instead of maturing into a beautiful young woman, she’s going to disintegrate into nothing.
    i really, really hope you get yourself some help.

    • anjruw
      June 18, 2011 at 6:20 pm

      First and foremost I’m truly sorry if you had been victimized by this crime, as I honestly believe that no one can rape and still consider themselves a human being, let alone a mammal. If this story had offended or harmed you in any way, I’m truly sorry and that ABSOLUTELY WAS NOT the intention.

      Secondly, if it’s any relief (though what little it would have at this point), this story is fictional, despite there being sickos out there who have done or do such acts. The main character in this story is also fictional and wasn’t meant to be based on anyone, as well as his victim and potential victims- similarities with real cases are coincidental. The main character is a disturbed and delusional young man, and I thought I had made that clear. Obviously, rape won’t “rebuild” a woman as he believes, but can only destroy, as he won’t and can’t acknowledge. As much as I hate to use the clichéd disclaimer, the opinions expressed by the characters in this story DO NOT reflect those of the author.

      Actually I sort of hoping you were a spammer/troller, because the last thing I wanted this story to do was open up old wounds of someone who’s been victimized by this unspeakable crime. I must have been sort of careless by writing it. Then again, such stories are told all the time on television and movies, while satirical comedies make light of it; I simply told the story from the villain’s view point, and often in real life there are no heroes, thus this story is devoid of one. If you took the impression that I’m making light of rape, I’m certainly not. I pretty much wanted to write a horror story that wasn’t about a serial killer or vampires and werewolves, since those have been done to death. And I guess I was more or less trying to bring this subject matter to people’s attention, in particular high school students who frequent such parties and indulge in recreational drugs that impair their judgment and leave them vulnerable, and show them why they must be careful. And I offered the story through the character’s view point to help the reader understand how a psychopath might think.

      To be honest, I’m quite surprised someone actually found and read the story.

      I won’t attempt to begin to understand what that experience did to you as I know I can’t and it would be in poor taste. All I can say is that I’m deeply sorry if I offended you and hope you’ve been making serious progress through the healing process. Regardless, thanks for your input.

      • March 10, 2013 at 6:49 am

        from wat i can gather u wrote this story

        im glad to hear this isnt true
        but its still very interesting and i would like to use it for a case for an episode in my animation

        and im hoping u’ll at least think about it
        as for my earlier comment ive found out this story isnt true, so morals stay out of it
        please think about my request, i’d love to use this for an animation. one of senior sergeant Nick’s worsed cases of rape.

      • rakbak16
        March 10, 2013 at 10:45 pm

        I am not the writer of this incident or fiction or whatever.

      • October 4, 2014 at 8:21 pm

        I at first, was hoping to find a story of a rapist who regretted what he had done, instead I found a fictional story written by “Anjruw”. Not that I have left unpleased.

        Each word follows the other in compelling writing; the account almost seems real. The reaction of the woman after her encounter with hell is understandable and real, as such is the actions of the rapist.

        Sadly, these things occur and women should be aware. Rapists are not always sane men, in particular the character you have created.

        To those who criticize, how does this story do any more than to inform and to share? As a mental king or queen in your own world, do you chop off the messenger who brings you news of great sorrow or harm, such as war?

        I think that this story, albeit fictional, is masterfully written. Powerful and compelling, do not take this writer or his story lightly; the images his words leave within your brain are shocking and yet, at the same time, logical. More than just reading, you can see it happening within your brain.

        Wonderfully written on a very strongly dark topic.

        Thank you,
        Dmitri Chuikov

        P.s. I do write stories myself, and yet as English is not my first language, I am awestruck with those who have good English or write well, as you do. I do not judge those who write well, even if what they write may not be good. For example, I have edited a work, a homosexual romance, and while my beliefs do not support homosexuality the writing was superior in every way.

    • February 14, 2013 at 6:59 am

      Hello, Dear Rhea,

      I am an author, and i am researching on the topic of rape or men and women. From the research i hope to write my book, titled “I am no victim’ Because, the subject of my book is about ;how rape victims survived rape, even if it took years, so that i can help survivors shine a light on their path to recovery for god forbid future victims. I am from India, Bombay, and if you want to know more about my book, please email me on

      I am inspired to write about survivors, because i know of two survivors: Renee DeVesty – “Nothing or no one ever can – or ever will – be able to alter your core, your centre of purity, wholeness, and beauty. We must believe that, indeed, we are important enough to begin again. Our beautiful canvas is ours and ours alone. Only we have the power to continuously wipe it clean and begin again.”

      and, Sohaila Abdulali (wrote an article on her survival from rape in the new york times jan 2013 issue online. She is the author of the book Year of The Tiger.

      I think these two women inspired me to write an anthology on rape survivors, and i am looking for women like these two who will be willing to trust me and put their faith across continents in my proposed book.



  2. Rheannin
    August 18, 2011 at 9:38 am

    no, i’m not a spammer or any of that. i’m just a 20 year old person, that found this on a google search for statistics for an essay and it came up.
    obviously it’s a relief to hear that this did not really happen, and while i am sorry for freaking out without fully knowing, i guess i can’t understand why anyone would have the desire to write about this crime- except for your point, to educate.
    i’m sure that if it didn’t hit so close to home i would have still been upset but not like that.
    i just hope no one reads this and begins to think that doing something like this is… okay. i’m sure any normal person wouldn’t but i fear what these… satanic creatures would think.
    regardless, you have a good insight into their minds as i believe a lot of this is what they are thinking when they do it, which is probably why i assumed it actually happened. you have done a good job in writing it and giving insight, just that many victims don’t want the insight. it’s almost impossible to even say the word rape until long after the healing process let alone read about what their attacker was probably thinking. and then i guess things like this make me angry, things that make it seem to be the victim’s fault. while they do put themselves in incredibly vulnerable and stupid positions, after it happens they feel SO stupid and worthless for it happening already. especially after keeping it bottled up for a year not telling a soul, and losing many friends because of it who don’t know what actually happened. i suppose this story was like a bottle of soda being shaken furiously for awhile until the cap pops off and it explodes- if that makes sense.
    i am glad though, that you obviously see the severity of this crime. it’s people like you who help the world and i apologize for my harsh criticism.

    • anjruw
      October 25, 2011 at 11:21 pm

      No problem, Rheannin.

  3. Cemal
    May 10, 2012 at 2:05 pm

    Is this the full fictional story or is there more to it?

    • anjruw
      May 12, 2012 at 2:55 pm

      Yep. That’s all she wrote.

  4. December 24, 2012 at 12:50 pm


  5. February 14, 2013 at 7:05 am

    Glad this was a fictional story. 🙂

  6. March 10, 2013 at 6:13 am

    ok i’ll be honest
    well written, but i hope to god this isnt a true story. ive been researching rape and its victims and its perpetrator for im making a cartoon dedicated to shaming criminals and telling victims if they look hard enough they can find help and hope.

    so im quite disappointed the rapist in this story seems to be still at-large but, i’ve grown a strange liking towards this story, for i see it as good motive for a case that my main characters can work on. wen they get their confession, this is the story he tells… however i cant just use it without consulting the writter

    now im one to put morals over anything else so if i do find out that this is true, or u have preformed this crime, or if u so much as agree with the crooks actions. my morals will tell me to tell u to get stuffed i’ll think up my own story… how ever if ur a creative writter simply writing a story based on wat u think goes through a rapist’s mind. i can respect creativity, but dont u think u could of given it a better ending?

    well it is called “confession of a rapist” so by the sounds of it this is being told in a police station’s interview room. but i cant be sure. u dont actually make it all that clear. but… if this is a story i can certainly appreciate the creativity and im hoping if ur interested u could hand me permission to use this for one of my episodes in my cartoon… now unfortunately im going to end it with this rapist in gaol (Australian for Jail).

    if ur interested talk to me
    but remember my conditions.

  7. vega
    June 11, 2013 at 10:32 pm

    This is one fucked up story.

  8. Lindsey
    August 29, 2013 at 1:29 pm

    Don’t justify your rape by saying you’re “doing her a favor”.

    You’ve ruined her life. You’ve ruined her trust in mankind. All because you’re a selfish bastard that wanted to feel something. Hell, it’s probably going to take her years and months of therapy to even love a man again. There’s a special place in hell for people like you. I pity the moronic woman you marry.

    • anjruw
      August 29, 2013 at 6:24 pm

      Bear in mind these characters are fictitious, otherwise I totally agree with you. Women who marry such individuals I wouldn’t call moronic; they’re just deceived by the façade these men put on.

  9. Roxy
    November 1, 2013 at 11:38 pm

    You’re a sick and twisted monster! People like you need to be eradicated from existence instead of walking around pretending to be normal. By normal, I mean non rapists and murderers. If you’ve never been caught before then I hope you are soon.

    • anjruw
      November 2, 2013 at 7:59 pm

      The story is fictional but thanks for your feedback.

  10. BaDumTss
    December 17, 2013 at 10:10 am

    Well, according to the rapist’s logic… If rape fixes a person, Then this guy should be raped multiple times. That ought to fix it

  11. Miss L
    March 27, 2014 at 1:01 pm

    Yea right, just reading this I understand the man’s mission and you should too, if you let such break you and damage you then you were fake doing fake and living fake! I was raped twice in my life and I’m only 18, I never felt so voilated and hurt the 2nd time it happened! But realized that I needed to be the me I really am and people like this man would respect me or leave me alone! Get over it honey, it’s done and there is no rewinding the clock! He did help her to reinvent herself, now she won’t go around fucking every tom dick and harry too bad it had to be a harsh lesson and I’m sure she ended up in church with more heart! Superficial fakies is not life love! Deal with it and move on, keeping dates isn’t going to help you either, gosh!

    • anjruw
      April 25, 2014 at 12:41 am

      Hmm… You’re the first person to interpret this character that way, which I find curious if you are indeed a rape victim. The story is told from the POV of a teenage serial rapist (an unreliable narrator) and as such the audience should question everything he says, including his views on how to “reinvent” young women.

      If you were able to “get over” the experience as easily as you make it out to be in your comment, then that’s quite remarkable. But with all due respect, I think it rather unwise to apply that same expectation to other victims.

  12. Rheannin
    April 24, 2014 at 9:08 pm

    Excuse me Miss L but that’s your own insight into what happened. I am not intentionally keeping dates, but this is something that has been engraved into my memory; I can’t simply erase it. It didn’t help me “reinvent” myself, and I sure as hell didn’t run around sleeping with every “Tom, Dick and Harry” before it happened. I have accepted that it happened. Who the hell are you to judge me? You don’t know me or anything about me, you simply read a comment I left. Grow up, seriously. You were raped twice and I am very sorry to hear that, but even more sorry that you seem to think it was something “good” that happened. There are other ways to change other than having your body, mind and basically your soul taken from you. I’m 23 years old now and I’ve changed a lot since I wrote that comment, but the feelings I felt then about rape, I still feel now. We obviously have different viewpoints, so let’s agree to disagree instead of getting into some stupid argument over the internet. I’ve never met another rape victim that intentionally tries to further demean another rape victim. I suggest you get therapy; it does help.

    • October 4, 2014 at 8:25 pm

      This. As a journalist, in my interview of a rape victim, I had to tread lightly. Between the fights of breaking down and buckets of tears, I learned just how hard it is to forget. It never goes away. You can dismiss it, hide it for the most part, but some part of you retains that memory.

      Human memory is not selective. To right a wrong within one’s brain, it takes often as much as 6 or 7 times done right to fix what has been done wrong. But how do you make something as wrong as rape, right? How do you repair what has been done wrong, like this?

      While truly disturbing, I do admit that this is fiction. My advice to rape victims is to avoid reading this as this might bring back unwanton memories. Unfortunately, by the time you read my comment most will have already read the story.

      You cannot deny, anjruw’s writing is exceptionally and wonderfully imaginative. The case seems real, the imagery is profound and shocking–writing well does not get much better than this. I do not condone the subject, but I do not deny the writing. Fair enough?

  13. Rheannin
    April 24, 2014 at 9:16 pm

    Also, how the hell would you know if I was “fake” or not before this happened? I was just a regular girl! I was never one of those “attention whores” you see in HS or College, just an average girl with an average group of friends that decided to go to a party with them one night when I was tricked and then raped. Stop being so judgmental. I think you are angry this happened to you and that’s why you feel the need to try and bring me down. Funny, because I felt the exact opposite- after it happened I was ANGRY that I didn’t turn him into the police because I didn’t want this to happen to any other girl. You are really screwed up to actually believe what happened to you was “good” and to tell me to toss aside what happened to me as if it was nothing. I seriously urge you to get help; and I don’t mean that in a rude way either.

  14. Miss L
    April 25, 2014 at 3:29 am

    I hear you woman…agree to disagree….didn’t mean to judge. And I’m tired of therapists they all ask the same damn thing “what did I do to become a target” sorry!!!

  15. Miss L
    April 25, 2014 at 3:34 am

    Well apparently I need help because apprently I’m not over it. Since my first response I have spoken to many women and man (shocker) and I do appologize to all other rape victims and no way am I going to ever going to get into this shii

  16. Chris
    July 14, 2014 at 12:38 pm

    Cool story bro. Even the most heinous crime has its own divine logic, I suppose.

  17. Fuck You
    September 22, 2014 at 7:09 am

    You are a fucking Sociopath.

    • anjruw
      September 29, 2014 at 12:04 am

      Good to know they’re still some sane folks out there.

  18. October 4, 2014 at 8:28 pm

    I do admit, anjruw, you might want to write at the top that the story is fictional, and that while the account may seem real, it is not.

    Might have saved you a hell lot of undeserved criticism 😉

    It is habit of mine to write a foreword and afterword for every chapter I write, in order to clarify inconsistencies and consistencies alike.

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