My finger flipped the light switch on. "Rise and shine, Mr Freeman." You flinched and squinted your eyes as the bright lamps lit up the bed like an autopsy table. I could finally take a good look at you, and I was not impressed.
Yes, you had your biceps and abs like any other jock, and you could probably make an average chick cream herself. Yet I couldn't help but notice that your eighty kilograms of muscle were clearly compensating for something. Something tiny and strung, comically propped up like a stray, ill-hammered nail on a plank.
"You were planning to rape me with that?" I snorted, covering my mouth with my fingers. Your frown shifted from confusion to helpless rage. Fortunately for you, I had your mouth stuffed with your sweatshirt, so you couldn't say something dumb and embarrass yourself further. You could only growl and squirm with animalistic fury but barely strain the ropes around your wrists, elbows and ankles.
I let you have your moment, soaking in the futility of your struggle. Wasn't that how my best friend felt when you forced yourself on her? Wasn't that going to be my fate if I hadn't been fast and clever enough to switch our drinks last night?