My name is Antwan and I’m a rapist.

My name is Antwan and I’m a rapist. 


There, I’ve said it. I’m sure you are going to expect me to redeem myself with some long forgotten tale about a boy who was abused and tossed from foster home to street—leading him to become a monster.  Don’t bother. I don’t feel a bit of remorse for what I do. I’ll tell you what brought me to this point another time, but make no mistake— My name is Twan. I am a rapist. I am a monster and I feel no sorrow or empathy for my victims.

I’m typing this from my hotel room. Last night I attended a so called ‘neo masculinity’ rally. The meeting gained significant attention via social media. The idiot that organized this rally was rumored to be pushing for legislation that made rape legal so long as it occurred on private property, but this was apparently a joke. I assume it was a ‘joke’ in the same sense that N.A.M.B.L.A just really really likes the company of little boys. Either way it peeked my interest so here I am.

I met Trent at the rally last night. I felt his eyes on me, but I never approached him.  Every move I made found him in my general vicinity. I can spot a victim hunter a mile away. When this hastily organized debacle concluded—rather taking a cab to my room—I made it a point to make the 10 block trek back. When I saw him smoking a stogie in front of my hotel entrance. I highly doubted this was coincidence. He wore a pink shirt that was clearly made for a toddler, a pair of tan cargo shorts, sandals, and a backwards turned fitted hat that choked his skull. He also had an awful case of date rape face.

“Sup?” he said. I smiled and headed for the door.
5….4….3….2…1
“Hey wait!” he said.
“Yes?”
“Sup?”
“Can I help you?”
“I dunno can you?” he grinned.

Gross.  He is so gross. “My name is—“  His phone interrupted me.  He punched the end call button.
“I’m Trent. How about I buy you a drink?” he asked. “I’m not sure, I’m pretty exhausted. “
“I saw you at the rally—kind of weird seeing you there. Come on! I don’t know anyone here.” He pled his case. “Sure why not?” I said. He dropped his cigar without bothering to stomp it out. Lazy, smoker, date rape face and a douchebag name. He is a perfect candidate.

My name is Antwan and I’m a rapist.

The hotel bar was nice. I stay in IHG hotels exclusively. Staybridge in particular because they have full kitchens and separate bedrooms.  Though the real bonus was that the bar had Allagash on tap. The hotel was laid out well and had a sincere homey feel. We sat in front of the fire place on a large overstuffed couch. We talked about life, the universe and everything. He told me about the issues he had with his last few girlfriends. There was nothing particularly interesting about his anecdotes. Just the standard garden variety blame shifting, and complete lack of accountability.

I barely spoke aside from the occasional feigned look of suprise or an approving nod. I interrupted him once to talk about my fiancé. “Her name is Kimberly. She—“ I paused and reflected on my words. “She saved me.” I said. “That is nice. So you like girls?” he asked. “ I like GIRL—singular.” He  wasn’t even listening. He shuffled around a bit, and his eyes constantly darted from me to my glass. So it begins.

“I think I will have one more drink then I have to turn in.” I said. “Yeah, but like, these drinks are expensive, how about we go to my room. I have tequila out the ass.” he said.  Tequila out the ass? Could he be many more of a douche? Summer's Eve could learn from him. “Its fine, I’d rather drink down here. No offense but I don’t really know you.”  I said.  “Ok, ok! Let me get you a drink!” he said with far too much fervor.  I conceded and let him know that I needed to use the restroom.
A few moments later I was tying off my left arm and injecting myself with a small dose of Romazicon. I knew what was coming with that last drink and I wanted to be prepared.

 I put my ear buds in, sat on the toilet and prepared myself. I’ve had Lil’ Wayne’s  ‘Free Weezy Album’ and Kendrick Lamar’s ‘To Pimp A Butterfly’ on repeat for weeks now and I was completely stuck on them. I did a few breathing exercises, though I could barely control my excitement.  Moments later, I found him at the bar looking impatient. “Hey! You took forever!” he said, shoving the drink in my hand.  I winked at him and drained my glass. He seemed delighted by this. “The bar is closing. We should head to my room! I have my computer hooked up to the television so we can do Netflix. Also I want to watch most of the sports highlights I missed because of the rally.” The douchebag prattled on. The drowsiness began creeping its way into my consciousness. Yup. He drugged me. Shit the dose of Romazicon  wasn't strong enough.

“Y-yesh. That soundz amazhing.” I said; slurring my words.  I could see the delight in his eyes. We walked toward his room, his hand occasionally tapping the small of my back. “Wait, what sports highlights? College ball? I-I thought the s-shuperbowl was tomorrow?” I asked. “Huh? Oh yeah college games. I know you are probably an Alabama fan, but Utah is 10-3 right now.”  he said. I didn’t say a word. I hate sports, unless you consider raping rapists a sport—which of course I do.  We arrived at his room. Room 420. Could he possibly be any more of a douche?  When he opened the door I almost puked. The room was a mess. There were pizza boxes everywhere. Crusts were scattered throughout the room, along with a veritable ton of Pabst Blue ribbon cans. He tossed his key card on the counter. I stepped over some errant trash and snagged the card when he wasn’t watching. “Hey, what is your name by the way? I never caught it.” he asked. “W-what?  My name ish-” I began. A heartbeat later, all was black.


My name is Antwan and I’m a rapist.

The room spun into view. The Romazicon hadn't been strong enough to keep me conscious, Christ, how much did he dose me with? My awareness returned—albeit slowly.  I recall waking up at some point but the details were sketchy. I have no idea how I made it back to my room. I sat up, attempting to recall the night. The fresh pain exploding in my groin and throat filled in the blanks for me. I don’t recall how I got back to my room, not to mention I was completely naked. My body was bruised, but my dignity was still intact. After the hellish life the universe tossed me I was unbreakable—which makes me an ideal hunter.

I grabbed my phone and immediately called my lover—the dearest tenant of my heart—Kimberly., my savior. “I’m already headed your way she said and ended the call. She hates what I do, but if I don’t who will? I see her point though. I try not to think about it. I sometimes wonder if I should just leave. She’d probably be happier. I pushed those thoughts away and began preparations for my holy work. I shit, showered, and shaved. “Fuck! It’s 11:30!” I said aloud. The hotel offers a free breakfast buffet if you make it in time.

It’s silly I know. I was clearly raped last night, and here I am lamenting over missing a free meal. Please try to understand this is who I am.  This isn’t my first rodeo.  I was hungry, so I called room service. A half hour later I filled my tummy with a garden salad, guacamole and chips, and a large glass of orange juice. I haven’t eaten meat since I met Kim. She forbade me, and I complied.  End of story—no argument. She owns my heart. She is the only person I can talk to about my work. She accepts me with no judgment. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her aside from change. Ironically enough, she wouldn’t ask me to.

When I finished my meal I opened my suitcase and took a few condoms out, as well as some lube, handcuffs , and my trusty taser. I changed into a tracksuit and a pair of Jordans. I then placed my items into my bag, slung it over my shoulder, and headed out the door. A heart beat later I was standing in front of room 420—my hand covering the peephole. I knocked. No answer.  I knocked several more times with the same result.  I should really wait on Kimberly, but I was far too anxious to begin. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the key card id stolen before abruptly passing out. The room was still in disarray, and Trent was nowhere to be found.


I rifled through his personal effects, searching for anything of value.  I found his wallet. Jackpot. I walked to a desk and used the hotel’s stationary to copy down all of his personal information.  I also helped myself the petty cash he kept in his wallet. Easiest 500 bucks ever. I opened a dresser and found the most beautiful Audemars Piguet wrist watch I’d ever seen. “I’ll definitely be taking this.” I placed the watch in my bag, but when I closed the dresser drawer I heard the tell-tale rattle of a pill bottle.  I pushed aside his disgusting, stained underwear collection. Gross .Another grown ass man who doesn’t know how to wipe his ass.

 I found the bottle. Bingo. Come to think of it something has always perplexed me about drug regulation. If the FDA knows that Rohypnol is used for date rape, then why do they continue to make it? They stopped making Quaaludes because of abuse—they passed legislation to make it extremely hard to get narcotic pain relievers, so why not eliminate Roofies? There are so many alternative sleep aids available. Hell, I’m practically immune to most drugs, yet one Benadryl knocks me out cold. Oh, and don’t get me started on Ambien.  I found a small bag of white powder in the bag as well. I tasted a bit. Cocaine. Nice. I did a small bump of coke and the pain Trent left me in last night left me in a hurry.  I left the room in search of my dear Trent. My candidate.

 My name is Antwan and I’m a rapist.

I found Trent at the bar. Big surprise. It was 1:30 PM and he was already drunk. Several patrons were watching the pre-game programming. I took a seat next to him. “Sup bro?” I asked. He nodded but was otherwise stoic. “Penny for your thoughts?” I asked. Still nothing. I ordered a drink. I wanted another glass of Allagash, but I wanted to celebrate so I ordered a couple of fingers of scotch. They had a very limited selection of whiskey, but they did have the Balvenie 12 year single malt.. Shit! I wish I knew they had this last night. I drank. I savored it for a moment and let it slide down. The fire in my belly, combined with the excitement of Trent’s impending judgment gave me goosebumps.

As I rifled through his clothes earlier I distinctly recalled a Broncos jersey which gave me an idea.  “I’m rooting for The Panthers. What about you?” I asked. That got his attention. “The fuck bro? have you been following ESPN?” he said. “The ESP in ESPN doesn’t mean they can predict the future! Cam Newton is a wild card bro.” I said, though I had no idea what I was talking about.
I hate sports. I merely repeated what I’d heard weeks before regarding Mr. Newton. “That is true, but Denver’s defense is a brick wall bro.” he said. “So what? Carolina’s defense is strong, but their offense is going to overwhelm them, not to mention their lineup is filled with goons.” I said, again having no idea what I was talking about.

 “Bro what the fuck are you talking about? As far as everyone else in the world is concerned, the Panthers made it to the Superbowl on accident!” he said.“Calm down chief. I’m just saying—you are going to be extremely butt-hurt when the Broncos lose. I’d put money on it.”  I said, hoping he’d take the bait. “Oh yeah? Put your money where your mouth is!” he demanded.  I reached into my bag and removed exactly $300 of his money and laid it on the bar.  “There. Here is my money. Where is yours?” I asked. “It’s in my room.” he said. I was  excited! I’d wondered how I was going to get him back to his room.  I gathered my composure and spoke.

“Then how are you paying for your drinks then?” I asked.
“I have them charge it to my room.”
“Ok so how about this Tre—” I said, catching myself at the tail end of the first syllable of his name.
“—Trendy bro.”  I finished.  Shit. Was that the best I could do on the spot? I hope he bought it. “Huh? Trendy bro?” he asked. “Well hell, I don’t your name and you are wearing Banana Republic and Dulce and Gabbana so what the fuck am I supposed to call you?” I said. “Trent. I’m Trent.”  he said, offering me a hand. I squeezed hard. “I’m Twan. My name is Twan.”  I said. He bought it! I could barely contain myself. My cock throbbed. Don’t worry boy. I will feed you soon.

“So here is the deal, we let the bartender hold the money, and she can pay the winner.” I said. “Deal! I’ll go get my cash when we finish this round.” he said. “Hell, how about I buy us another round, then we go get your cash?’ I asked. “Deal broseph!” I ordered a couple of drinks. He was drunk already—no—he was scummy. So much in fact he didn’t notice what I dropped in his drink. We chatted for a while. I will say this, if I didn’t already know that Trent was a monster, he could easily be mistaken as a ‘nice’ guy. He was a garden variety trust fund baby who attended an Ivy League university as a legacy and rather than getting a job like the rest of us, he simply lived off mommy and daddy’s money.  I always found it funny that Clarence Thomas rambles about affirmative action being a problem with major colleges, yet conveniently ignores that the real affirmative action is that the children of alumni are instantly accepted 100% of the time, regardless of their ethnicity.

“Wait, didn’t I see you at the rally last night?” I asked, draining the remainder of my glass. “Oh! You were there?” he asked. “Yup.” I said bumping his fist. “Yeah man! Seems like there is a war on masculinity! They want us to be pussies! I mean look at animals! Animals take what they want!”  he said. Yes we do. “I feel like it is survival of the fittest. If you don’t want something done to you, then it is up to you to stop it.” I said, pandering to his poorly formed ego.  “Exactly!!” he said, slamming his glass on the table.  I thought it would take more than arbitrary pandering to make him talk, but it took surprisingly little to get him to open up. He regaled me with tails of his exploits. He had raped a whopping total of 23 women.

“I mean they clearly wanted it, otherwise why didn’t they stop me? Right?” he asked. “Oh they want it bro.” I laid it on thick. “I mean think about it, if you can legally shoot and kill someone for being on your property without permission, why shouldn’t you be able to rape them?” he asked, seeking approval.  I nodded, my heart banging against my chest. “It’s these beta males! They pander to women’s desires because they can’t get them otherwise. Meanwhile, when Alphas like us follow our instinct and take what we want, we are somehow criminals.” he said. I couldn’t tolerate anymore. I am a monster. I don’t rationalize it. It annoys me to no end when a monster wears the veneer of human. I accept what I am, meanwhile this cretin is following the Republican playbook and blaming the victim. “When was your first bro?” I asked.

“Technically when I was in college, my friend Chad and I tag teamed this gorgeous cheerleader—bro it was some real life porno shit. My dorm mate Jamal was there recording it for us. This bitch took both of our dicks in her pussy at the same time. It wasn’t a rape per say, but she screamed so much! We asked her if she wanted to stop, but she was silent so we kept going.  About a week later we were all in handcuffs. I bet it’s because she found out I was fucking her best friend.  Which was crazy! Like I would have seriously dated such a hoe!”  he chuckled. I nodded. “The fucked up part is that Jamal is still in jail, and he was the only one who didn’t fuck her bro! It was because he was black.” he said. How quaint—a socially conscious rapist. 

I eyed his body. I needed to make sure I could take him. He obviously worked out, but most of his strength appeared to be upper body. I glanced at his legs. They were boney and pale. That was all I needed to know. My hackles rose. Kimberly must be here. That was my signal. I was now safe to proceed. Safe to proceed with my holy work. I glanced at the clock. “Hey man, the game starts in 10 minutes. Let’s go get your cash, plus I want to show you a few things in private. Too many eyes here.” I said. “Oh you got pics? Video? You gonna share bro?” he said, barely able to contain himself. I could definitely relate. “Yup!” I said. With that we headed to room  420. Finally

My name is Antwan and I’m a rapist.

He fumbled about looking for his key card while.  “Whoa buddy you alright?” I asked. “Y-yeah. I can’t find my keysh.” he said, wobbling. I was liberal with the dose of Rohypnol I spiked his drink with. Though I was shocked that he could still speak, let alone walk. I offered him the very key card I’d swiped from him earlier. “Bro, is this it? It just fell out of your pocket.” I lied.  “T-thanks broshif.”
By some miracle he managed to get us through the door. I could literally see the alcohol evaporating off of his body. He stumbled towards the dresser. I stepped in, grabbed the ‘do not disturb’ sign, hung it on the door handle and closed the door behind me.  “What the fuck bro!!! My sshhit!! Ish missing!” he raged. “Game time bitch.” I said. Which was ironic as it was now 5:00 PM, Superbowl start time.

“W-what? Fuck the game bruh!! My money, sshit!!” he cried. I reached into my bag and slipped the watch on. “Are you talking about this?” I asked, flashing my wrist. “Y-you! You took mah ssshit!!” he immediately charged at me. I was prepared. I hit him with the taser and that was that. I could have taken him, but I didn’t want to take any chances.  I kicked him in the ribs as hard as I could. He was out cold.

I drug his limp body to the bed and poured him onto the mattress. I undressed him and flipped him onto his back. I then handcuffed him to the bed and waited. My cock pulsated. He was so impatient. This was the demon I swore fealty to. It demanded I pin him to the fucking bed and shred him like wet paper. I pulled up a chair, popped in my ear buds and waited. I sent Kimberly all of his information. His bank account would be drained by the end of the day.  He came to roughly an hour later and immediately screamed for help.

*****CRACK*****

I slapped the bitch quiet. The motion caused my ear buds to jerk out of my ear with a nasty pop. I hate that sound! Angry I slapped him again. He instantly bruised.  “If I have to gag you, I will.” I said. He tugged hard on the handcuffs to no avail, and when he saw the stun gun all hope faded from his eyes. He fell apart—sobbing. “Why are you doing this bro?? Please don’t do this!!” he pleaded. I laughed from a good and healthy place. “BRO! If you don’t want me to do this, stop me! Otherwise you clearly want it!” I said. Tears flooded his face. I laughed at him, tossing the lube and condoms next to him. The sight of which made him thrash about violently. I hit him with the taser and he fell silent.

“Bro, please don’t do that again. I won’t move. I promise.” he said. “I'd prefer you to move. It’s no fun if you don’t fight back.” I said. “Why?! Why are you doing this?” he pleaded with me. “Survival of the fittest pumpkin!” I said. “But were men!! Were on top of the food chain.” he attempted using his twisted logic, to no avail of course. “So women are lesser creatures then?” I asked. “YES!! You get it now!! Women are for taking!” he said.

Oh, I can’t wait to bust this fuck boi’s pussy open! I grabbed the lube and placed it back in my bag. “I guess we won’t be needing this anymore.” I said.  Trent looked as if he had died inside.  “W-what are you going to do?” he sniffled. “Trent, can we stop pretending? I am going to do the same thing you did to me last night. Not to mention the 23 girls you raped” I said. He was perplexed. “Bro! We just met!! This is all a mistake bro!! I aint no faggot!!!” he yelled. “Oh no baby boy you are a faggot. You might not be gay, but you are definitely a faggot.” I scoffed at him.

Trent looked at me like I drowned his puppy. “Bro, I don’t know you!! I swear you have me mistaken!” he said. “I do not. Trent, I will make you a deal. Try your hardest to get out of those cuffs. If you can, I will use the lube.”  I lied. “No! It’s not fair!! I don’t know you!!” he cried. “Alright enough of this shit.” I said; kicking my shoes off and dropping trou. The abrupt sight of my cock caused Trent to thrash wildly. He tried with everything he had to rip the headboard loose. He failed. He began sobbing again.

“Thanks! I just wanted to make sure you couldn’t get loose. And I lied about the lube. You lost your lubrication privileges the minute you regarded women as lesser creatures.” I said.
“Why are you doing this bro!! Please don’t. I have a family!! I’m rich!! I can give you—“
“—money?” I finished his sentence. “Trent. My fiancé Kimberly will have your accounts on empty before the end of the day.”

 I phased a bit.

“K-kimberly….” he was searching his memory.

I phased a bit more.

“You know what kills me about you fucking troglodytes? You have mothers! You have Aunts! You have sisters!” I said.

 I phased a bit more.

 His eyes widened a bit, but he seemed unsure of something. “I-it’s different if it’s not your family!!” he said. “See Trent, it’s dumb shit like that!” I said phasing a bit more. Trent was too sedated and frightened to even notice my shifting until my tits began to fill my top. My newly formed breasts filled in my tracksuit—though I over did it a bit. Had I worn a dress shirt, I would have made it rain buttons.

“I assume you realize that lube is entirely off the table now—right?” I smirked. He was too shocked to speak. His brain was in overdrive attempting to sort out what was happening. My hair draped my shoulders.  I tied it back into a pony tail. I of course didn’t completely shift into a woman; I kept the penis, which was impressively erect. This was my favorite part. Pun intended. “Trent!” I said snapping my fingers. “Focus!” He came to. “What is going on?! What the fuck is going on bro?!!” he screamed. I tapped him with the taser as a friendly reminder, but this time he passed out. I immediately slapped him conscious again. “Trent! Wake the fuck up! We’re just getting started, with no end in sight!” I laughed. I completely disrobed, phasing away my cleavage and curves.

“Trent. This is not going to be pretty. I’m going to take a Viagra and do a bump of this amazing Cocaine you donated—and by the way it takes me an eternity to cum”. I  climbed out of the bed and grabbed my bag. I did another bump of coke and popped the pill. I also found a redbull in my bag that I immediately drank. I put my ear buds in and waited for the tingle. Trent said nothing. He had found his resolve and had defaulted to silent indignity.  That changed when I rushed the bed and mounted him. I slammed through his defenses—impaling him on my cock—without lubrication. He began to scream but I slapped him hard across the mouth. He lost all constitution. I shifted my face again. The woman he raped last night would be the face of his penance. I began pumping him violently. He cried in silence. His visible distress only made me harder. I paused. My makeshift ponytail came loose. “You didn’t bother catching my name last night—” I said; retying my hair, I pinned him down by the throat. I spat in his face before I finished speaking. “My name is Antoinette and like you—I am a rapist.”

CHAPTER 14: CHICAGO IS KILLING ME
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I would like to thank you for taking the time to read this excerpt from my novel. [The Dead Girl Diaries: Book 1 – “Awakening”] If you would like to learn more about my series please like my facebook page.