When I told a guy I’d started seeing that I was writing a book about my adventures, he responded by saying he hoped he was good enough to end up in it. I told him that everyone deserved a chapter, but the story wasn’t always good.
This is one of those chapters. This morning I woke covered in bruises. Not just the normal bruises that I’d come to expect from my liaisons with Harvey, but raised red welts that slowly turned to black over the day.
But last night Harvey frightened me. I finally understood why he wanted me to watch American Psycho. It wasn’t because he thought I was like the main character. It was his way of telling me that he was.
After two months of fucking, I had signed Harvey and I up to a swinging site, to find ourselves another girl or couple to play with. The game hadn’t changed but it was definitely a different experience when you’re entering a world as friends with benefits rather than a couple. I had stupidly listed Harvey as married and myself as separated. I quickly learned that Harvey being married, and not to me, was a big turn off. I had to get back into the head space of these people, mostly married, who like the idea of swinging because it’s cheating with permission. Harvey and I were breaking the rules. We were doing what they had all thought about, but had to do together to remain married.
Some people I chatted with were against it straight away. Others had questions and then apologised and said they couldn’t. Some had to think about it and get back to us. One such couple was G and S. S was a short-haired, blonde pocket rocket, with a sexy little body that was curvy, nice boobs and a cheeky smile. G was taller, with a warm, charismatic face and nice eyes.
We chatted back and forth, swapping photos – all of me because Harvey was too paranoid to share any – and arranged for a play date in a week’s time.
Harvey didn’t chat to them and had wanted me to lie about his being married, his job, his name, everything. It was too late. I had already told them too much. Even half an hour before our date he was messaging me to see what “our story” was. I told him it was his story. I wasn’t going to lie for him and if he wanted a fake persona, he was going to have to organise the liaisons himself.
The crap thing was, my period was due some time that week, and on Wednesday it arrived. Our date was for Saturday. I messaged them and told them while we’d still love to meet, I wasn’t going to be able to play. They were still keen. I told Harvey I was on my period and it was like I ceased to exist. Even up until the afternoon before, he was suggesting he’d have to leave early, he might be late, why were they wanting to meet if we couldn’t play. I gave him plenty of outs. He said he was still coming.
When he finally arrived, S, G and I were already a drink up and ready for another. The conversation flowed easily but every now and then Harvey would nudge me under the table when he didn’t like something I’d said. He thought I was telling them too much about us, where we worked, what we did. They already knew he was married so I don’t know how he thought them knowing what he did for a living could be worse.
It was clear we were all interested in playing, even though it was acknowledged that wasn’t going to happen that night due to my period. But it didn’t stop me from inviting them back to my apartment for another round of drinks and to admire the view.
It began to rain and we moved indoors and settled on the lounge. The conversation turned dirty, the innuendo flowing freely. We all wanted this to happen and it wasn’t long before S, G and Harvey were admiring my boobs, difficult to miss as they were in my strapless jumpsuit. And before long, the top of it had been pulled down along with my bra to expose me to their eyes and mouths.
S and I were all mouths and tongues and lips, hands everywhere. With my housemate due home from work soon, it was decided to move to my bedroom where we could explore more privately.
It took no cajoling for G to take off his clothes and S was already as undressed as I was. Harvey refused to undress and said he just wanted to watch. I knew this wasn’t going down well. He had told me earlier that if I couldn’t play, he wouldn’t, even thought I had told him I didn’t care.
G was laying back on the bed, naked, and as promised his cock curved down away from his belly rather than towards it but it was big. It’s the first time I’d seen one do that. Despite my period, I was wet. I wanted to fuck badly. S was all but climbing Harvey as he stood next to the bed, still refusing to undress or get involved, although he was happy to kiss and touch S.
I sucked G’s cock and it was hard and tasty. I could feel Harvey’s eyes boring into me as I did. S and I were both frustrated. Me because I still had a tampon in and S because Harvey refused to participate. I could tell it was beginning to weird S and G out.
Soon S climbed on to G’s cock and was fucking him while I kissed and caressed her. Harvey just watched. It wasn’t long before G came and the night drew to a natural conclusion. I showed S and G to the door and we exchanged promises to catch up soon when we could all play. I went back to my bedroom where Harvey waited. I wanted him so badly, I didn’t care about my period. I suggested we smoke some weed and then we began to fuck.
I made him fuck me, finger me. I wanted him more than any of the others. I knew he was charming me but it was impossible to resist the way he made me feel. Like I’m the only one that mattered. Because of that, I let him do things I wouldn’t normally. I let him use me any way he wanted, manipulate my body into countless positions, fuck me and tease me until I begged.
On this night, things got rough. They were always reasonably rough, but tonight was different. He had been whispering in my ear, when S and G were there still, saying he wanted to eat them, kill them, choke them until they stopped breathing. I dismissed it all as playing. He was quoting Bateman from American Psycho and he knew I knew it. It was weird but I thought I understood it. Then he started biting.
Harvey has always been a biter, hard bites that bruised for days. But that night something had changed. He started biting me relentlessly – my shoulders, my boobs, my stomach, even my calves, but it was my thighs that bore the brunt of his attention. Every time he finished a bite he would select a new piece of flesh and clamp down hard. It was becoming more and more painful, closer together until it was unrelenting in its furiousness.
“Ouch, stop,” I said. “Ouch, fuck that bloody hurts!”
He’d move to a new part of my body.
“No, ow, stop! That really hurts!”
But he wasn’t listening to me. He was ignoring my pleas and I was in real pain.
Over and over again he bit me, every bite harder than the last.
He had honed in on my right thigh, holding my legs apart while he buried his teeth into my skin.
“Stop, ouch, stop! Ouch, you need to stop!”
I was suddenly terrified. What if he didn’t stop? What if, like Bateman, he took a bite out of me? His teeth piercing my flesh and making me bleed. If this sounds irrational, all I can say is that in that moment, I truly believed he was capable of it. He just wouldn’t stop.
“Ow – stop! Get off me!” I started hitting him on the back of his shoulders, pleading with him to stop.
And he finally let go. I could feel the wall of tears ready to gush out and I, very consciously, told myself not to cry in front of him … because I didn’t want him to leave, to stop seeing me. I didn’t want him to think I couldn’t handle it. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever told myself.
What’s more sickening to me, is that when he fucked me afterward, taking me from behind on the side of my bed, it was hot. I was so turned on, so wet. I wanted him to fuck me over and over. I came so hard I gushed all over the bed. What the hell was wrong with me?
The next morning, I woke to intense pain in my thighs. The bites had turned into red welts, sore to touch. They looked horrible. They felt horrible and I realised then I needed to end it. I was deeply confused by my response the night before, and how hard I had come, but this was wrong. He didn’t stop until I hit him. He didn’t stop until I was ready to cry. That isn’t lust. That isn’t sexy. It was something else. I had to end it.
That decision was to start a chain reaction of events but I wasn’t to know that the time. But I knew that if I didn’t tell people, if I didn’t have others to hold me to account, I would go back. I would let him hurt me again and again and I knew I needed help. I told my housemate. I told my closest girlfriends. I even told me ex, still technically my husband, although I hadn’t planned it that way.
I sent Harvey a message with photos of my bruises telling him it was over. He thought I was joking, being childish. I was scared of him now and what he might do. I screenshot all our messages as insurance against a day in the future I hoped would never come if he tried to hurt me again.
I found out a short time later he was seeing other women, lying to other women. That he and another woman would regularly go out and pick up random men and women for threesomes and foursomes using fake names, pretending they were married. I was sick with disgust at what I had allowed to happen.
I spoke to him only once after that message ending it that wasn’t in a professional work context. I told him that if he ever went near my friends, or touched them, that I would cut off his balls. The twinkle was definitely gone from his eyes.