#too many medications and another to try and are you sure youve tried everything and maybe youre not trying hard enough

[lupismaris]

.

[combustitties]

I wanna ask all 👀

1. First sex experience?

i was like.. less than ten and my friend asked me to touch his ding dong

2. Celebrity threesum?

oh god idk kjdfgxjch

3. Would you ever have a devils threesum?

urban dictionary says this is legit just a threesome w two other guys so uh Yeah I Guess. why does that get a fancy name.

4. Ever been rimmed?

nah. idrk if i’d like it either jkgdfjkhnb

5. Would you ever rim someone?

??? maybe

6. Weirdest sexual experience?

my friends and i stole her mom’s vibrator and used a bunch of lotion in a plastic cup as lube and masturbated together. wild.

7. Weirdest solo sexual experience?

i was jackin it in the shower once and i think i mightve squirted but i dunno bc SHOWER it felt like a water balloon popping in my vagooter

8. Every have a one night stand?

nope

9. Thought on r*pe play?

hmmmmmmmmm,,,, i dunno like so long as it’s between consenting adults who cares but for myself i dunno if i’d like it?? like. the loss of control and consensual non-con w safewords sounds chill but i dunno like actual roleplay would b. unpredictable.

10. As a guy, what do think is a female’s idea penis?

11. What’s your ideal penis?

my boo’s tf

12. Ever have sex in public?

technically i blew a friend in middle school on a creek trail thing.

13. Describe a sex fantasy that you want to try in detail.

wow i’ve suddenly forgotten everything ive ever thought

14. Do you consider your genitals attractive?

nahhhh

15. What bra size do you find yourself most attracted to?

i don’t think i have a preference

16. Favorite sex position?

shrug emoji haven’t had enuf to develop a preference

17. Least favorite sex positions?

^

18. What makes sex ‘bad’ to you?

if no one’s enjoying themselves

19. Ever have sex with someone loud?

i’m sure he could get louder 👀

20. Have you ever thought a partner faked an orgasam?

i?? don’t think so???? god i hope not??

21. Have you ever faked an orgasam?

nope

22. Thoughts on accidental anal?

how do u accidentally stick it in the butt

23. Have you ever had sex with food?

technically i tried to use a hot dog in a condom as a dildo when i was. uh. young and stupid.

24. For giving oral to a female, you prefer them to ride your face, or them laying down (or other)

ive never done lol idk

25. Weirdest thing someone’s ever said to you during sex?

???????????? nothing comes to mind.

26. Ever prematurely cum?

pffft is there such a thing? all orgasms good orgasms. i wonder what the world record for fastest orgasm is. lmao lets beat it (HA accidental pun.)

27. Do you prefer you or your partner to cum first?

my partner ndfgkjdfnh

28. Ever have a kink a partner thought was weird?

? i? don’t know????? 👀👀😫😫

29. Thoughts on drunk sex, or sex where your sober and your partner semiconscious?

i can’t stand being sober around not-sobers bc issues but if consent was given for those circumstances prior and we’re both fukt up then um yes pls

30. If your partner made you a sex toy from their genitals would you be creeped out or…?

gimme gimme gimme

31. Ever have a safe word, if so, what was it?

i never used it with anyone but, hyacinth. i like the traffic light system more tho.

32. Thoughts on partner sharing?

gut reaction is grr but w plenty of communication and negotiation and talking i don’t think i’d have a real problem w it. i don’t think i’d want another partner tho.

33. Weirdest sex story you’ve heard?

oh god idk

34. What gives you the most confidence during sex?

being not sober and the lights being off or v dim

35. What feels better for you sex or oral sex?

sex :o

36. Do you like sloppy blowjobs?

giving them hella

37. Which feels better blowjob or blowjob and hands?

38. Most viewed porn categories?

rough, and sex machines.

39. Thoughts on knife play?

hnnnnnn sharp shiney good. idk about the actual cutting tho i’m recovered from s.h kjdfgkdljf

40. Can you be intimate if your pet is in the room?

yea so long as he’s not up in my grill

41. I’d you ever had the chance for a threesum with twins would you do it?

...probably not?

42. Are you ok with your partner owning sex toys?b

?? tf yes

43. Are you ok with your partner using toys to finish after sex?

hella. no bad feels just whatever works ^_^

44. Are you ok with your partner mastubating. (Instead of going to you for help)

duh tf i don’t own them

45. Are you a fan of cuddles after sex?

YES

46. Do you care how many sexual partners your partner had?

no????

47. If you had the chance to join an orgy, would you?

...not sober

48. What’s your thoughts about watching porn with a partner?

hmmmmm. nice.

49. Are you ok with your partner watching porn to get off? (Instead of going to you?)

again, yes, wtff

50. As a guy, do you consider your girlfriend kissing other girls as cheating?

51. If you and your partner broke up for a week but got back together how would you react finding out they had sex during that time?

i mean. i dunno. if we were legit broken up with no intention of getting back together then whatever.

52. Are you ok with your partner posting nudes online?

yes what is up w these possessive ass questions

53. Has anyone ever said the wrong name during sex with you?

not that ive noticed dkfjgvdfjkhn

54. Ever had sex to just get it out of the way?

no???? wtf was this written by a Straight

55. Have you ever had sex in your parents bed?

NO GJKFGH

56. Favorite place to cum?

anywhere anytime lol

57. Do you prefer your partner to a Bush or shaved? (Which do you find more aesthetically pleasing)

whatever they want lol idc

58. How old were you when you first bought condoms?

my mom bought me some when i was like 12 it was mortifying. i still have yet to purchase them myself. WAIT NO YES I DID i was like 13 and it was for a friend bc she was too embarrassed.

59. Have you ever tried flavored condoms?

i haven’t but i wanna yummm lollipop without the cals

60. Would you ever let a stranger watch you and your partner have sex?.

uhhhhhh. not unless we were being paid

61. What’s the worst thing that’s aroused you?

i used to be really fucking embarrassed about my daddy kink

62. Would you ever have sex with a guy who had a spliced dick?

wh. okay i have to google this.

UM. OKAY. I GUESS?? WH.

63. Would you ever have sex with someone with genital piercings?

sure why not

64. Thoughts on sleep sex?

GOD yes. esp on the receiving end but all around a+

65. How easily do you get aroused?

aroused in general p easily ig? but im ace so idk i don’t ever feel like i NEEED it

66. Explain the time you got aroused at the worst time?

any time in public bc i blush too easily

67. Have you ever received oral from someone with a tongue piercing, did it feel any different?

i has not

68. Have you ever accidentally hurt your partner during intimacy, how? And did you continue after?

i? think i totally kneed him at least once. but ya

69. Ever 69 :p

not YET

70. Would you ever give someone oral underwater?

YES pool sex or hot tub sex is a kink of mine ever since i got off with a hot tub jet. and breath play. so like hella. i have a sensory issue with water on my eyelids tho and i don’t think goggles are all that sexy sooo njdfgjkfhn

71. Would you ever have sex on the beach?

idk maybe. that’s a lot of sand to keep track of.

72. Do you prefer your own touch or a partners?

not my own ksjdnfjkgh

73. Why do men slap their penis on their partner? Does it feel good???

i dunno WHY but it feels somewhat objectifying in a good way to ME so likeee

74. For mastubating do you use lube?

nah

75. Is there some place you don’t like being touched during intimacy?

my sides feel hurt really easily like even if u poke it it HURTS i think it’s a medical thing but ive never brought it up at the drs. and my ears. that’s weird.

76. Do you prefer your partner to knead you head or pull your hair?

uh both? both yes? both good

77. Has a condom ever fallen off during sex?

lowkey sjkdfhnzskjghfh

78. Have you ever lost arousal during intimacy, did you keep going?

no??? like im generally always turned on gettin it on n it’s a gr8 time but my meds just fuck with my ability to actively get off UGH

79. Have you ever gotten cum in your eye?

no *knocks on wood*

80. Weirdest compliment you’ve gotten?

ive had people compliment my feet and that’s not my kink so i think it’s kinda weird.

[serenefreakgeekao3]

Something You've Forgotten (Part6)

Authors Note: This is the final part! Hope you enjoy! You can find all parts of this if you search my blog with the "#writing:something youve forgotten" and soon the entirety of this fic will be uploaded to Ao3!

Tag List: @xx-thedarklord-xx @rmh8402 @drarryismymuse @dewitty1 @ramenbahman @lumos394 @markedplaces @pressedflowersandvinyl @whatisthisthingcalledlife @malec4everr @maqicool @just-a-flicker-of-hope @jewelwellspring @alanna342 @scaredboymalfoy @princess-ikol @laborinquena @greendelish @golunch @cctlnthms @frosty-vmc @blackcoffeelikemydarksoul @complete-fangirl-trash @serethiel-is-hufflepuffed @distant-illusions @qualitythingblizzard @muskaan @chaoticbong @fcrisan [Blogs that are crossed out could not be tagged for some reason]

Rating: M

Warning: Angst, mentions of death/injuries

Draco slowly dressed, appreciating the fact that Harry had gone to the other side of the medical curtain to give him some privacy. Draco didn’t exactly remember everything, which would become quite the problem if he ever wanted to go back to work, but now he had weekly appointments set up with the obliviation specialist, and Harry had promised to do everything in his power to help Draco remember everything else.

Stepping into his high quality trousers and slipping his cashmere sweater over his head, Draco immediately felt better already. Just wearing his own clothes, the softness of the fabrics, brought a sense of comfort and safety as opposed to the strange and sterile feel the last few weeks in the hospital surrounded him with. He was glad to finally be able to leave.

Stepping out from behind the curtain, Draco studied Harry’s back as he waited, watching Harry fidget with his hands in front of him. Walking up slowly, Draco slid his hands around Harry’s waist, lowering his head and nuzzling into the side of Harry’s neck. “You seem nervous?”

“What? Me? No,” Harry replied, a bit too fast and high-pitched to be considered believable, but Draco let him slide. He nuzzled Harry a little more before backing up and letting Harry turn around in his arms.

“So, first day out of the hospital. I’m sure you have something sappy planned,” Draco mentioned, smirking slyly once he saw Harry’s cheeks light up a bright pink.

“I was going to take you for a walk,” Harry mumbled, glancing down toward his hands that now lay against Draco’s chest. There was silence for a few moments, Draco not bothering to answer as he watched Harry shift slightly from nervousness. There was definitely something going on. Harry glanced up, a slight bit of fear in his eyes, “I mean, unless you don’t want to Draco? I’d understand if you just want to go home and relax.” Draco barked out a laugh, shaking his head and pulling Harry against him.

“That’s all I’ve been allowed to do here, Harry. Of course I’m fine with going for a walk. I need the exercise with all these fatty foods you keep feeding me.” Draco teased, whispering into Harry’s ear. He felt a shiver run down the other boy’s spine, and grinned, nuzzling against Harry and kissing just below his ear at his pulse point. When Harry immediately pushed him away, out of breath, Draco just chuckled, shaking his head.

“If you keep doing that, we’ll be doing a completely different kind of exercise.” Harry mumbled, his face still burning heat from a blush. Draco grinned in response, winking.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that.”

“After the walk,” Harry said sternly, though glanced away, mumbling a, “Hopefully,” after that had Draco confused, but excited for their day.

Their walk began as they exited the hospital, taking a sharp left and wandering down different streets, hand in hand. Harry seemed to know exactly where he was going, and Draco had a small feeling of someone leading him toward a surprise party, that there was something waiting at the end of this journey but he didn’t exactly know what. Harry abruptly pulled to a stop while Draco was midstep, causing him to stumble slightly and grip Harry a bit tighter as he righted himself.

“Our first stop,” Harry says quietly, with a small smirk, as he gestured to the building on their left. Draco glanced over, noticing the horrible neon sign in the window, the tiny door and- of course- the red ribbons hanging absolutely everywhere you looked.

“Ruban Rogue?” Draco mumbled in distaste, glancing over toward Harry with raised eyebrows. Harry just began chuckling, pulling Draco in close to place a kiss on his temple. Draco just shook his head, exasperated, and hugged Harry tighter to himself. The temperatures weren’t too low this time of year, though it was definitely getting chilly outside, and the leaves of the few trees around them were starting to change colours.

“Isn’t Ruban Rogue, like, French or something?” Harry mumbled into the side of Draco’s face, causing him to laugh in response.

“Yes. It means Red Ribbon,” He replied, glancing over and eyeing the disastrous building. This just caused another bout of giggling from Harry, and Draco was practically holding him up by the end of it. “I don’t even understand why it’s name is in French. They don’t even serve french cuisine.” Grabbing ahold around Harry’s waist now, Draco was definitely sure he was holding him up as he began chuckling once again. “My goodness Harry, you’re heavy!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry replied, not sorry in the least, straightening up and rubbing tears away from under his eyes. Draco just rolls his eyes in response, glancing back toward Harry with a small smile underneath his annoyance.

“Oh come on already, let’s get on with this tour of yours.” Draco began pushing at Harry’s back, causing him to chuckle shortly before taking his hand and leading him down the road once again.

“How did you know I was taking you on a tour?” Harry asked, looking over toward Draco with a bright smile. A good kind of smile that Draco wouldn’t mind looking at all day long for the rest of his life. Is that why he had agreed to date Harry before? That smile had never been aimed his way during school, that was for sure. Yet now, he felt too lucky to be able to see it. “Draco?”

Draco snapped out of his inner monologue, glancing away with a smile he couldn’t force away from his face if he tried. He didn’t bother trying anyway. “You said that was our ‘first stop,’ so I assumed.” Quiet assumed its role in response to that, and Draco was content to leave it that way. Glancing over toward Harry, he didn’t seem bothered by it either so Draco drank it in like a gift, holding tightly onto Harry’s hand and walking one step at a time.

Sooner than Draco would’ve thought, they broke through the crowd of buildings on their side of the street, opening to reveal a large park on their left. Draco tilted his head, studying the park, feeling as if something was familiar about it.

“Do you remember?” Harry whispered into his ear, and Draco reluctantly let go of Harry’s hand when he was nudged, though was happy when Harry wrapped his hands around Draco’s waist from behind. Draco leaned back slightly, watching birds fly from tree to colourful tree, listening to the sounds of children playing farther into the park.

“Not exactly,” Draco admitted, tilting his head and peeking behind a tree. “Though it does feel familiar?”

“This was the park where Hermione had her baby shower, while she was eight months pregnant.” Images began flashing in the back of Draco’s mind, yellow and green streamers hung up everywhere (non-gendered colours, by Hermione’s orders), fairy lights dancing across trees, a table stacked full of presents to help when the baby arrived. Draco remembered his own gifts, a crib mattress sheet set complete with three rags for burping and whatnot, and a small (baby-friendly) stuffed dragon toy that was soft to the touch and was constantly lazy, wanting to lay and cuddle with anything near it. Draco was an absolutely proud uncle when that was Rose’s favourite toy for three months straight before she moved on to the next one.

Draco grinned, remembering sitting next to Harry often, worriedly sipping at a cup of coffee- black at the time- afraid that the family wouldn’t like him. He was plenty close enough to Hermione, and too close to Harry, and Ron definitely tolerated his presence, though he hadn’t exactly met the rest of the family aside from two visits to the Burrow for family dinners, and definitely not so many had been there than there was at the party. He was afraid, and Harry knew it and was constantly reassuring him.

Draco remembered the moment that he felt included into the family, when Fleur had appeared out of thin air and Draco began speaking French with her. She had expressed her utter surprise and happiness to be able to speak French with someone again, and then yelled over toward Hermione, “We’re keeping this one!” Draco had flushed madly, but when everyone at the party simply laughed, never sneered or argued or even shot any dirty looks, he finally let himself relax completely, and slowly let his shields fall away.

Draco didn’t know how long Harry let him just stand there, thinking, but finally he turned his hand, brushing his lips against Harry’s cheek, and whispered, “We need to have tea with Fleur sometime, I miss her company.” Harry’s excited laughter sprung forth as he picked up Draco from around the waist, spinning him in a circle. Draco let out a loud squeak, slapping Harry’s hands quickly. “Unhand me, you brute!”

Harry laid Draco down on his feet, moving around Draco’s body to face him with a bright expression, so full of joy. “You remember?” Harry had yelled the question, but somehow remembered to add the higher pitched end to the sentence to make sure it was a question and not an exclamation. Draco just laughed in response, shaking his head.

“Bits and pieces. Well, maybe a bit more than that. Not the whole party, mind you, but enough.” Draco nodded along, smiling toward Harry before leaning forward and placing a soft peck of a kiss on his lips, straightening back up and finding glee at the dazed expression on Harry’s face from such a simple show of feelings. “Let’s keep walking,” Draco whispered, taking Harry’s hand once again. He’d never admit to how he never wanted to let go of that hand.

They visited other places- dates they had been on, parties they had been to, even one scandalous place where they had copulated- before they came across a nice looking restaurant. This place in particular surprised Draco, for the sole fact that he had thought he knew of every nice establishment in London. He certainly had enough time, his whole life, to know of such places. He glanced upward toward the name of the place, written in fine cursive, Salvami. He blinked, trying to remember this place, but nothing was coming up on it’s own. “Do we have story here as well?”

“Sort of,” Harry whispered, squeezing Draco’s hand. Draco glanced over, his face falling once he noticed Harry’s somber expression.

“What happened here?” Draco asked, moving his gaze to the glass door, to the windows where couples were lovingly having conversations, laughing as if they were having the best time. Harry tugged on his hand and they began walking again, leaving Draco unanswered.

Until they reached their final destination.

Harry halted Draco on the sidewalk of a three way intersection, staring down the roads where few cars drove by. And Draco glanced down, noticing small crosses, ribbons, pieces of wood, flowers. Draco brought his free hand up to his mouth, his eyes beginning to water as they stared at the little grave markers. Draco knelt down, reading the various names, prayers toward the ones who had fallen in the accident. Harry let him take his time, standing by his side the entire time.

Eventually, after who knows how long, Draco stood and took Harry’s hand once more, firmly. He knew his eyes were bright red, but didn’t care if this man saw it.

“Where did I-” Draco began, before biting his lip and looking away. Harry tugged on his hand, leading him close to a nearby alleyway.

“You hit your head here,” Harry began, his voice low, placing his hand against the brick before letting his hand fall down, “And slumped against the ground here. Once I found you, I drug you into this alleyway and immediately apparated.” Harry finished, turning and taking Draco into his arms, squeezing tightly as if to make sure he was still there. Draco spun in his arms, laying back against Harry as he pictured the scene in front of him- many muggle vehicles piled together, fires starting- before blinking and they all disappear, leaving the two boys in the fading twilight, one lone car driving down the road. “When you’re ready…”

Draco turned, eyeing Harry quietly. “This isn’t the final stop?” He asked, uncertain, before Harry managed a small smile.

“Thankfully, no. Not before, and not now.” Harry reached down, interlocking their fingers before pulling Draco into a kiss. Draco melted against him, old feelings that feel at home settling into his chest and stomach, knowledge that this was a good thing, that Harry loved him, and he in turn loved Harry back. When they finally parted, Harry tugged on Draco, and they began their walk once more.

Harry turned, tugging Draco alongside as he ascended some small steps, bringing out his keys at he began to unlock the door in front of them. “Salvami was where we had our ‘special date’ at. We were walking home when- that happened.” Unlocking the door and pocketing his keys, he took Draco’s hand once more and began taking him inside the house, closing and locking the door behind them. The building was dark, almost unnaturally so, and Draco began looking around.

“This is the Black residence, isn’t it?” Draco mumbled, turning and looking back at Harry.

“Yes, this is where we were staying, together.” Harry said quietly, eyeing Draco, who glanced away. Harry took his hand once more, smiling softly. “I’ve set something up. Come here.”

Harry led Draco toward another room, a sitting room it looked like, that took Draco’s breath away. All the furniture were a nice brown colour, pleasantly arranged, with a nice wood coffee table in between a couch and two armchairs. Candles were strewn about the place, most floating, but some sitting on a side table or on the coffee table itself. The room even smelled nice, like a rich forest encased within the small room. Draco turned around, tilting his head.

“What is this?”

“You were begging me to throw out some old couches, to buy this sitting room set you had found in the local store. I did it, and set it up this way. I wanted to show you that I wanted you to be here with me, that your opinion matters to me,” Harry began, speaking a little too quickly. Draco began spinning around, smiling at the decor he saw. He knew he had excellent taste, it fit perfectly with the cream coloured walls of the room.

“Well, listening to me definitely worked. This room looks amazing,” Draco began, grinning as he spoke, spinning back around to face Harry. He hesitated, looking down and widening his eyes as he saw Harry on one knee.

“Draco, I love you more than I ever thought I could have, and my love keeps growing every day that I spend with you. I was planning on doing this on our special date night, but I never got the opportunity. I’m not going to make the same mistake again. I don’t care if we spend the rest of our lives recovering your memory- as long as we do it together. Will you marry me?”

Draco sucked in a breath, listening and hardly believing what he was hearing. He blinked a few times, realising belatedly that tears had begun to form in his eyes as they began sliding down his cheeks. He was speechless, the breath completely sucked out of him. Then, all in a rush, as if he was never breathing, living, loving like this before, he finally answered, “Yes.”

Harry stood quickly, wrapping his arms around Draco and spinning him around again, though Draco didn’t complain this one time. He leaned forward and pressed their mouths together before he was even set back down, deepening the kiss as much as possible, a slow dance between the two before they finally backed away for air. Draco glanced down, noticing the thin band of silver, slipping it onto his ring finger before studying it. It looked like a snake curling around and eating itself, a small green gem located where the eye would be. “It’s beautiful,” Draco said, sounding as breathless as he felt.

Glancing back up, he noticed the red rimmed eyes of Harry’s, leaning forward quickly to capture his mouth against his once more. He knew that as long as he had this man- this incredibly brave, selfless, caring man- on his side, he could conquer anything.

[viralhottopics]

Can I forgive the man who raped me?

Thordis Elva was raped aged 16. Years later, she emailed Tom Stranger, the man who raped her, beginning a raw, painful healing process documented in their book South of Forgiveness. In this extract, they meet to find a way forward

Thordis Elvais from Iceland and known to Icelandersas a writer, playwright, journalist and public speaker. She was voted Woman of the Year 2015 by the Federation of Icelandic Womens Societies in Reykjavik for her work on gender equality, and has written a celebrated book on gender-based violence, 2009s mannamli (The Plain Truth). She currently resides in Stockholm, Sweden with her partner Vidir and their son.

Tom Stranger is Australian. He met Elva when he was 18 and on a student exchange programme in Iceland, and the pair had a relationship. Since then, he has worked in various sectors (community services, youth, outdoor recreation, charity, construction, and hospitality). For now, he is working as a landscape gardener and lives in Sydney with his wife, Cat.

From: tomsstranger@hotmail.com Sent: Saturday 21 May 2005, 5.38am To: thordiselva@hotmail.com Subject: Words for you Thordis, I dont know where to start. When I saw your name in my inbox, my spine went cold. My memories are still as clear as day. Please believe me when I say I have not forgotten what I did, and how wary I have to be of myself. I dont know how to reply. I want to call myself sick (but I know I am not), I want to say that you are so strong, so strong to be able to write to me and recall the events and my actions. I want to thank you for not hating me, although Id like you to. It would make it easier for me. Without looking for a scratch of sympathy, I want to tell you that the events and emotions I was party to in Iceland have replayed in my head many times, usually when I am by myself for any length of time. They flash past me, vividly accurate, and then, shortly after the denial and positive character reinforcement, comes the question: Who am I? It is a dark part of my memory. Ive tried to suppress it. But this is not about me. Whatever I can do or offer you, I am more than willing. The question is where to go from here. You tell me. Tom.

*****

After eight years of analysing the violent past and its consequences in a written correspondence, Thordis and Tom decide to meet up in the middle, between their home countries of Iceland and Australia, looking to face their past once and for all.

Day one, 27 March 2013

The taxi picks me up at a quarter to five and takes me to the bus station, where Im booked on the fly-bus. The grizzled taxi driver, hoisting my suitcase into the trunk with a smooth manoeuvre, asks me where Im going.

To South Africa.

Oh, really? To Johannesburg?

No, to Cape Town, I reply, still in disbelief at my own words despite the time Ive had to adjust to the idea. It would be an understatement to say that the proposed meeting has been on my mind. Its reverberated in every step when Ive gone out for a run; its been in every breath of cold winter air that scraped the insides of my lungs; its soaked the wet washcloth I used to clean my sons sticky fingers. And Ive tried my best to push it out of my mind when making love to my fiance, enjoying his warm skin against mine.

After all, that would be a highly inappropriate time to be thinking about it.

From the moment the destination was set, I adapted to a new calendar before or after Cape Town. The last time I bought deodorant I automatically deduced that I wouldnt have to buy another one until after Cape Town. Yesterday, when snuggling down with my three-year-old son to do some painting together, spending quality time with him BC momentarily appeased my guilt for leaving him for 10 days to travel halfway across the globe to face a man from the past without any guarantee of the outcome.

Something tells me that parents of young children are not meant to take such foolhardy decisions. Thats the reason I gave up my dreams of parachuting when I fell pregnant with my son. Then again, throwing myself out of an aeroplane at 7,000 feet carries less emotional risk than taking a trip down memory lane with the man who turned my existence upside down. Because it wasnt an unknown lunatic who tore my life apart all those years ago. Who turned down the offer of medical help for me, even though I was barely conscious and vomiting convulsively. Who decided instead to rape me for two endless hours.

It was my first love.

My mothers eyes flew wide open when I told her that I was travelling alone to South Africa to meet up with the man who raped me when I was 16. She strung together a series of hair-raising worst-case scenarios before letting out a sigh, looking at me with loving reluctance, and adding: But I know its pointless to try to talk you out of things youve set your mind to, dear. Shortly thereafter, my dad interrupted my packing when he dropped by for a coffee. Despite my attempt to break the news to him in the gentlest manner possible, it didnt prevent him from freaking out. He lectured me in a thundering voice about how I was jeopardising my life for an utterly ridiculous idea.

But I have to finish this chapter of my life, I said softly. My cheeks were on fire.

Finish this chapter? he repeated, appalled, and jumped out of his chair. You dont need to travel across the globe to finish anything! This whole idea is a big pretentious drama, thats what it is!

His words hit me right where it hurts.

Youll have no control over anything. Nothing but your thoughts! Nothing else!

What do you mean? I asked, confused. Ill obviously control my actions and whereabouts.

No you wont, dear, he hissed. You cant always. If you could, then that wouldnt have happened.

We both knew what he meant by that, even though weve never talked about the incident that changed everything. In recent years, Ive spoken widely and publicly about my status as a rape survivor (though, until now, never identified the man who raped me) yet my father and I have never discussed that fateful night. He has never asked and Ive always assumed he doesnt want to know.

I sat up straight, aware of my glowing cheeks. If you reduce me to victim and him to perpetrator, I can see how this seems incomprehensible to you. But were much more than that, Dad.

He scoffed loudly before storming out of the kitchen.

I leant against the wall and let the air out of my lungs slowly. Goddamn it. I knew this would be hard, but bloody hell.

My father appeared again in the doorway, pacing up and down with frustration I knew was fuelled by fatherly love. How can you be sure youll finish anything with this nonsense? This may just as easily be the start of something else entirely! The distress in his voice made it sound like a threat.

I sat alone in the silence my father left behind and watched the dust settle. In a way, I think were both right. This trip will surely mark an end to a certain chapter of my life. What sets me apart from my father is my belief that in the next chapter, I wont be the victim any more.

Day two, 28 March 2013

The screen in the seatback in front of me shows a blinking plane over a map. According to the timer, Cape Town is just 29 minutes away. The butterflies in my stomach nose-dive, as the time seems way too limited considering how many questions are left unanswered.

Goddamn it, what if I cant forgive him? Am I ready to let go?

Frustrated, I scroll through the folder on my laptop, searching for something to calm my nerves. I was level-headed enough when I suggested this trip, wasnt I? In an attempt to recover my faith in this risky undertaking, I read through my own proposal:

You may need a lifetime to forgive yourself for what you did to me. That is up to you and you take however long you need, independent of anyone else. I, however, am climbing a different mountain. And I am getting very close to the top. I propose that in six months time, we meet up with the intention of reaching forgiveness, once and for all. In person. It is the only proper way for me to do it, I feel. No letter can ever compare with face-to-face communication. And after all weve been through, I think it is the most dignified and honest way to finish this chapter of our story.

I sound so calm, so fucking reasonable. How is it possible that this was written by the same person now hyperventilating in a plane 30,000ft over South Africa, full of nerve-racking doubt?

Reading through his reply, Im somewhat comforted that he, too, felt conflicted:

Ill admit that I was floored by your request to meet up. Fearful, anxious, cautious, paranoid. You name it, it all came swarming in. But youve asked, and you sound like you are making vital ground towards something very special for yourself. So of course Ill agree to see you. After much thought I do think it will be beneficial, and an opportunity for myself to air face-to-face some long held words and for us both to look to close some doors. I want it for you, Thordis, as you seem strong, open and ready to see me and move forward. I want it for me because Im so very sick of being sick and seeing myself as unlovable, and believe I can move on if I could just look you in the face, own up to it and say Im sorry.

Forgiveness is the only way, I tell myself, because whether or not he deserves my forgiveness, I deserve peace. Because Im doing this for me. My forgiveness is white-hot from the whetstone, and its purpose is to sever the ties, because if I can let this go, once and for all, Im certain that my overall wellbeing will benefit greatly. Self-preservation at its best.

Day four, 30 March 2013

Its seven oclock when we buy ourselves a drink at the hotel bar and sit down by a table facing the garden, readying ourselves for the hard talk. The windowpane clatters loudly, and an endless stream of staff crossing the room distracts me to the point where I give up. What do you say about us finishing this conversation in my room?

He looks at me, shocked. Are you sure? Youre comfortable with that?

Im sure that itll be easier to have this talk if we get proper privacy. Its tough enough as it is.

Tom radiates ever-increasing anxiety as the elevator climbs closer to the 12th floor. Unlike him, my emotions have calmed down.

Almost serene, I step out of the elevator. Theres no turning back now.

He buries his hands in his pockets as I fish my key out of my bag in front of my hotel room. Putting my hand on the doorknob, it morphs into the white plastic door-handle with the keyhole that haunts my dreams. Within me, everything falls silent. Ready? I ask myself.

Without hesitation, I turn the key.

Tom follows me inside my room, takes a look around and smiles nervously. Not bad.

Sit wherever you like. Im going to make some tea.

Thordiss student ID from around the time she met Tom. Photograph: Courtesy of Thordis Elva

He sits down on the edge of the bed while I busy myself with the kettle. From the corner of my eye, I notice him closing his eyes and straightening his back, as if hes steeling himself. When the boiling water hits the teabag at the bottom of the cup, Tom begins the story in a hoarse voice. I wore my golden shirt that evening. I didnt know it was customary to get dressed up for a dance in Iceland, and I didnt have anything fancy. The son of my host family took me to an exclusive store and helped me choose the shirt. I thought it was the peak of cool, at the time. The striped trousers were a present from my host sister.

He accepts the steaming teacup from my hand and stares into it for a moment before continuing. I remember how excited I was when I bought the ticket. I remember that I was with my friends Carlos and Ben when we met you outside the dance. You were pretty drunk when you arrived.

It was the first time Id ever tasted rum, I tell him. I didnt know how to drink alcohol. Nor did I know how to smoke, even though I took a drag from the rolled cigarette you handed me. I just wanted to impress you. And after the ensuing wild cough, I wondered if perhaps that wasnt a cigarette, I remind myself.

I lost you the minute we stepped inside, Tom continues. Carlos and I went straight to the dancefloor. I remember feeling happy and carefree in that sweaty pile of people. Then someone told me you werent well, you were in the ladies.

My mind replays the awful scene from the bathroom stall. The stains on my new dress. My hair wet from hugging the toilet. My fear and wonder as one spasm after the other wrung my body out like a dishrag. The repeated promises that Id neither drink nor smoke again if I were only allowed to survive this night. And finally, the desperate wish for my mom to come save me. I fucked up, Mom. Im sorry.

Tom frowns. I felt it was my duty to go and check on you. So I went in and climbed over the partition, into your cubicle. I held your hair back while you vomited, and I thought I was going to be sick as well. Then you flopped to the ground and lay there, motionless. I remember carrying you out.

He pauses and looks away. Before I have a chance to tell him how grateful I was when he appeared like my mother incarnate to save me from an untimely death on the bathroom floor, he grimaces bitterly. Then I couldnt be bothered to look after you, Thordis. I dumped you on Ben and left you with him. You were slumped on the chairs outside the bathrooms and he stood there, stooped over you, as I went back to the dancefloor.

I look at him in surprise. I thought youd taken me straight home.

He clenches his jaw. My only thought was that this was the only Christmas dance I was going to experience in Iceland. I was selfish and didnt have any concern for you. In the end, I felt guilty that some other guy was looking after my girlfriend. So I scooped you up in my arms and carried you up the stairs, in a foul mood because I had to leave the party.

And the security guards stopped you on the way out because they wanted to call an ambulance for me as I was dangling from your arms, foaming at the mouth. They thought I had alcohol poisoning.

Id forgotten that moment but I dont doubt it, he says in a low voice.

Tom Stranger in 1996, the year he went to Iceland. Photograph: Courtesy of Tom Stranger

I remember that part vividly because for a second there, I thought youd take their advice, I respond, looking down into my cup. That Mom and Dad would get a call from the hospital saying that their 16-year-old daughter was lying there with alcohol poisoning. I imagined being grounded for life.

Id known for three years by then what it is to drink to excess, and Id seen many of my friends at various stages of drunkenness. I just thought you were wasted. I didnt think you were in real danger, he says.

Whatever it was, it had me paralysed and unable to speak. But I heard you loud and clear as you refused the offer of an ambulance, telling the security guards that you knew me and would see me safely home.

He nods, his complexion strangely pale. The taxi was white, I recall. I told the driver your address I remember letting us into your house. But what I dont remember is what I did with you while I struggled to unlock the door.

You draped me across your shoulder while you rummaged round in my bag for the keys.

He raises his eyebrows. Really? Like a sack of potatoes?

I nod.

He swears at himself quietly. And I remember your entrance hall, the shoes on the floor. From memory, past the coat hooks there were some stairs on the left, leading up to the kitchen and your parents area. Your room was through on the right. He stops and swallows.

I remember taking your clothes off.

I remember it too. My gratitude when he removed my vomit-stained dress. My relief at having my feet freed from the high heels. My frustration for not being able to utter a word of thanks. My lack of understanding when he continued to remove my underwear. Why my panties? Why?

My stomach muscles reflexively tighten as I prepare for the blow.

He stands up, moving restlessly, and walks over to the wall opposite the bed. I undressed you completely… He falls silent and hangs his head. The wind howls pitifully outside the window.

Tom begins to cry.

I wish I could tell you why I did it, Thordis.

Did what?

Raped you, he says, quietly.

This is an edited extract from South of Forgiveness by Thordis Elva and Tom Stranger (Scribe Publications, 12.99). To order a copy for 11.04 go to bookshop.theguardian.com or call 0330 333 6846. Thordis Elva and Tom Stranger will be speaking at the Royal Festival Hall as part of the Women of the World festival on 11 March, and at the Bristol Festival of Ideas on 13 March

People were quick to judge I wasnt angry enough: what came next for Thordis and Tom

Standing in stark stage lights, with five cameras directed at me, I recently found myself on a stage, telling an audience of 1,200 how Id been raped when I was 16 years old. Next to me on stage was Tom, who raped me after a dance at our high school. Together, we gave a TED talk that summarised a 20-year long process, whereby Tom shouldered responsibility for his actions and the way they impacted our lives. It was viewed nearly 2m times in the first week and the overwhelming reaction was positive and supportive.

In the talk, I described the violence Tom subjected me to, how I spent years wanting nothing more than to hurt him back, how I found a way to part with the anger that nearly cost me my life, as well as rid myself of blame that I like so many other survivors wrongfully shouldered.

Tom described how he felt deserving of my body that night, without any concern for me, and consequently convinced himself that what he did was sex and not rape. The following nine years were marked by denial, in which he did his best to outrun the past, until I confronted him in a pivotal email that changed our lives for ever.

Ive been asked why I didnt press charges immediately, and the simple answer to that question is that I was a 16-year-old girl with naive notions about rape. Rapes were committed by armed lunatics, the kind of sensationalised monsters you saw on TV and read about in the papers. The fact that Tom wasnt a monster, but a person who made an awful decision, made it harder for me to see his crime for what it was. That way, the demonisation of perpetrators in mainstream media got in the way of my recovery. By the time I was able to identify what had happened to me as rape, Tom had moved to the other side of the planet, far from the jurisdiction of the Icelandic police. At the time, 70% of rape cases in Iceland were dismissed, even when the perpetrator could be interrogated and the survivor had documented injuries, neither of which were the case for me. Therefore, pressing charges would not have been a fruitful process, and the only option I felt I had left was to bottle up my pain and anger. Studies show that very few survivors have a clean-cut story in which they went straight to the authorities after being assaulted, put the blame squarely on the perpetrators shoulders, healed their wounds and moved on. For most of us, life after violence is a messy ordeal. We dont go to the police because were too confused, scared or doubtful that well get help. We blame ourselves and obsess about things we couldve done differently. We numb ourselves with alcohol/drugs/sex/food/work, or we turn to self-harm to relieve the emotional pain. We continue to see our abusers and pretend that nothing happened, because facing the truth is overwhelming. We develop PTSD and mental illness. We stay silent about what happened out of fear that well not be believed, or worse, blamed for it because we did something wrong. No wonder, really. In reality, the only people capable of preventing rapes are those who commit them, and yet were told from an early age that we can avoid being raped by dressing and behaving in a certain way. This culture of victim-blaming also fosters the idea that there is a right way to react to violence. Had the survivor only worn something else, not smiled so widely, not gotten drunk, fought back (more), screamed (louder), gone straight to the police, not feared their attackers retaliation if theyd only done that, everything wouldve worked out differently. Victim-blaming deepens the shame that many survivors feel and lessens the likelihood that they speak up about their experiences.

Watch Thordis Elva and Tom Strangers TED talk.

The reality is that there is no right reaction to having your life ripped apart by violence. I knew that my collaboration with Tom would be controversial, and the reactions of internet trolls didnt surprise me. But I am concerned with how quick some people were to judge the wrong way in which I worked through my experience. I wasnt angry enough, I shouldve pressed charges, I was setting a dangerous precedent, I should be ashamed. Although I made it clear that my forgiveness wasnt for my perpetrator but for myself and that without it, I wouldnt be alive, I was still told that I should not have forgiven.

This worries me. I worry about my fellow survivors who are at risk of internalising the misconception that there is a standard reaction to sexual violence, with the conclusion that they didnt react in the right way. To you, I want to say that you did nothing wrong. The way in which you carried on with your life may not have been clean-cut, it may have been messy and incomprehensible to those who dont share your experience, but it was your way to survive a trauma. Nobody has the right to tell you how to handle your deepest pain.

And as the title of our story South of Forgiveness suggests, forgiveness played a pivotal role in allowing me to let go of the self-blame I shouldered, largely due to the victim-blaming culture I grew up in. And yet, forgiveness is not the core of our story, in my mind. The core issue is responsibility.

I understand those who feel discomfort and even outrage when hearing and seeing Tom on stage, knowing that hes perpetrated sexual violence. At the same time, given how prevalent this type of abuse is and how under-reported a crime it is, were in all likelihood seeing and hearing from perpetrators on a daily basis the main difference being that we dont know theyre perpetrators. They could be the people we went to school with, who greet us at the grocery store, who direct the films we watch, get elected to public office, run entire countries and live right next door. Given the low reporting and conviction rate, most of them will never have to take responsibility for their actions in an institutional sense. This does not lessen the gravity of their deeds.

By the time Tom had confessed to his crime, he couldnt have done time for it even if he wanted to, as the statute of limitations had passed. As a result, our case fell through the cracks of the legal system, like so many others, but it didnt lessen our need to analyse our past and place the responsibility with the person to whom it belonged: Tom. We also did our best to answer questions that are rarely posed in the public discourse about rape, where more focus seems to be on the survivors attire, behaviour, whereabouts and sexual history than the perpetrators culpability. And as frustrating as it is, I understand it to a certain extent. Because in the public discourse, the only people speaking about the violence theyve been party to are the survivors, usually. Which is why we only have their stories to dissect, their details to scrutinise. Did she say shed been drinking that night? This tradition of one-sided scrutiny blindsides us from looking at the behaviour of the person responsible, the perpetrator, to whom the focus needs to shift.

I am not sharing the story of how I processed the abuse I endured as a set of recommendations for others.

My story is a unique account shared in the hope that it can aid a public discussion about sexual violence.

As a society, it is our duty to fight against violence. And as individuals, we have a right to heal from it.

Read more: http://bit.ly/2lUbi8H

from Can I forgive the man who raped me?