I’m still not sure if it was assault or something else entirely

Hey, I’m Emily, 31, about 5’7”, 120 pounds, and I’d say I’m pretty easy on the eyes. I was married to Jake for five years. I loved him—really, I did. We got hitched because we were head over heels. Our sex life? Decent, despite Jake’s occasional insecurities. We met through a mutual friend, and that’s how it all started.

Back in high school, when I was 17, I had this boyfriend, Ryan. Even as kids, we had something intense. But we were young, and our families had different ideas, so the most we ever did was some light making out, maybe once or twice. Ryan and I had a friend, Sarah, and her boyfriend at the time was Jake. One day, the four of us were chilling at a café, just talking and laughing. Ryan was a good-looking guy, but Jake wasn’t far behind, honestly. A few weeks later, Sarah and Jake broke up. Then, about a month and a half after that, Ryan and I split too. I got into college, he didn’t, and it just got messy—his ego took a hit, and I was over it.

Jake heard about the breakup and reached out. He was upfront, saying he’d had a crush on me even when he was with Sarah. We started hanging out, and eventually, we got married. Fast forward five years, our marriage was solid, but we didn’t have kids. I wasn’t ready; we were still young, you know? By then, Sarah and Ryan were out of the picture, but Jake and Ryan stayed in touch through some old high school Facebook group. They’d meet up sometimes, and since I knew Ryan, Jake brought me along to one of their hangouts.

That day was fun, but I was hesitant. Ryan was my ex, after all, and being around him felt… weird, like I was doing something wrong. Ryan kept throwing little jabs my way, but Jake didn’t notice—he didn’t know much about my past with Ryan beyond that one café hangout. Anyway, we had a good time catching up, and then we went home. The next day, Monday, Ryan called saying he’d left his jacket at our place. I’d noticed it but figured Jake would handle it. Ryan insisted I come get it myself, saying it was out of Jake’s way. I told him I was at work but could try the next day, my day off, if Jake couldn’t swing by. Jake was too tired after work and didn’t bother, so the next day, around 3 p.m., I headed to Ryan’s place. He’s got this boutique, so he can dip out whenever.

I wasn’t thrilled about the trip and just wanted to grab the jacket and go. But Ryan was like, “Come on, you look beat. Let’s have a coffee.” So, I sat down, and we started chatting. I could tell he was still a little bitter, probably why he was tossing shade my way the other day. I played it off, but then he hit me with, “Wow, Emily, you ditched me, locked eyes on Jake, and ran off to get married, huh?” I was pissed. He backpedaled, smoothed things over, and we kept talking. Then he got serious, saying he never wanted to break up and still had feelings for me. I tried to leave, but he wouldn’t let me.

Next thing I know, he’s saying, “Can’t I be your Jake?” and kisses me. I slapped him, yelling, “What the hell are you doing?” Part of me felt bad for him, but I was mad. He grabbed my arms, kissing me harder, and it was like he was unleashing years of pent-up frustration. I fought back, but he was stronger. At the same time, I couldn’t deny he was good—way more intense than Jake. He moved to my neck, unbuttoning my shirt, kissing and sucking everywhere. I was still struggling, but it was pointless. He took off my bra, and the way he teased me… I started wondering how I could even feel pleasure in a moment like this. My chest is pretty full, and he was all over it, biting, licking.

Eventually, I stopped fighting. He moved He grabbed my arms, pinning me as he kept kissing me, like he was pouring years of pent-up longing into it. I fought back, pushing against him, but let’s be real—he was stronger, and my efforts didn’t do much. Still, I couldn’t ignore how good Ryan was at this. Compared to Jake, it was like he’d mastered the art. His lips moved to my neck, slow and deliberate, then he started unbuttoning my shirt, kissing and sucking every inch he uncovered. I was still squirming, but it was no use. He slid off my bra, and the way he teased me—licking, sucking—I started wondering how I could possibly feel pleasure in a moment like this. I’m a C-cup, and he was all over me, nibbling and playing with his tongue.

Eventually, I just… gave in. He kept going, moving lower, tugging off my pants while stripping himself down. He kissed my stomach, practically devouring me, then slowly slid my underwear off and started exploring with his mouth. I was already so turned on, and he didn’t hold back, teasing and biting in ways that drove me wild. He worked his tongue in and out, and I lost it—two waves of pleasure hit me, one after another, and he didn’t stop. He even went further, and I was so overwhelmed, I barely recognized myself.

I reached for him, tugging down his pants, playing with him before taking him in my mouth. I was caught up, biting lightly, and he was so into it, grabbing at me with this desperate edge. I went all in, and then we switched to a 69, both of us barely holding on. He laid me down, climbing on top, teasing at first, but then he pushed in all at once. I let out a scream, feeling like I was being torn apart, but he kept going, fast and relentless, kissing my lips, my chest, all while moving. I hit that high three times, each one more intense. Then he flipped me over, teasing again before going somewhere I’d never been. I told him I wasn’t sure, that I’d never done it, but he eased in anyway. It hurt more, tight and unfamiliar, but he was slower, careful. The pain mixed with something else, but he didn’t stay there long—he was close.

Like it was all planned, he pulled out, sliding between my chest, moving until he finished, some of it hitting my face. I was gone, lost in a haze of pleasure, like he was worth three of Jake. Exhausted, I couldn’t move. We dozed off together, but when I woke up, I could barely sit. He went for it again, quick but intense, and I was shocked at how he could keep up. It was getting late, so I scrambled to get dressed. As I left, we kissed one last time, and he said, “You felt that, right? How good it was?” I nodded but begged him, “Please, don’t make me do this again.” He just smirked, saying, “You’re mine now, babe. You’ll come back when I want, right? I love you.” Then he added, “If you don’t, Jake might hear about this.”

That night, I could barely look Jake in the eye. Two days later, he wanted to get close, but I was so… satisfied, I couldn’t even last 20 minutes with him. Ryan’s threats kept me going back, and every time, it was mind-blowing, no question. But eventually, I realized we’d gone too far. I stopped showing up, and sure enough, he told Jake. Now I’m divorced, single again. And here’s the thing—am I messed up for this, or is it a blessing? I’m still seeing Ryan. He makes me feel like the happiest woman alive, even if he’s also made me feel like I’ve hit rock bottom, like I’ve lost myself completely.