"IVANKA TRUMP RAPED ME"

Little did I realise there was a dark side to "female empowerment."

Ivanka Trump is convinced that all the women making allegations against Alabama Senate nominee Roy Moore are telling the truth. Nothing has been proved, no criminal charges made, but women have spoken, and said things about stuff that may or may not have happened 30 or 40 years ago.

As reported by CNN:

"I’ve yet to see a valid explanation [from Moore] and I have no reason to doubt the victims’ accounts,” she replied when asked about allegations that Moore raped, groped, and dated women, some of them younger than 16.

"There’s a special place in hell for people who prey on children," she added.

It's good to see the bar of truth set this low, because now it means that at last I can tell my own sad and tragic story, one that involves Ivanka herself, but few other witnesses. Yes, it's literally her word against mine.

Before I became an intern for Trad News, I briefly worked in the fashion industry in New York, as an assistant to a handbag designer, whose name I won't mention in order to protect him and his family of adopted gay Somalian children. 

He had been commissioned by Ivanka to come up with a new type of clutch bag for her personal brand. This is what brought me personally into contact with the President's daughter, something that will leave its psychological scars on me to my dying day.

The designer would always send me over to the swanky, upper East Side apartment that Ivanka shared with her husband Jared Kushner and their children. My job was to bring her copies of the latest designs. Usually I would be asked to wait in the hall for 10 to 15 minutes, while Ivanka looked over the designs and made comments directly onto the designs with a red pencil. 

Ivanka was not going to
take "no" for an answer.

When she handed them back to me, I often noticed her giving me a strange look out or the corner of her eye. But it was impossible to say what this meant at the time, as I was unused to sexual predators like Ivanka.

One day, however, as I arrived at the front entrance of the building, I saw her husband Jared Kushner storming out. He looked angry and a little afraid, but, then, that was none of my business, right?

When Ivanka opened the door, her cheeks were flushed with colour, and she had an angry scowl on her face. Obviously she had just had a row with her husband, but when she saw me, her expression suddenly changed to a pleasant and ingratiating smile. I later found out that this ability to change modes of expression at the drop of a hat is the true mark of the sociopath.

This time, instead of leaving me standing in the hall as usual, she invited me into the living room and offered me a seat on a luxurious sofa opposite her, while she examined the latest designs.

After what seemed like a short time, she tossed the designs to one side, and came and sat down next to me. She started asking me all sorts of personal questions, like -- Where was I from? What cologne was I wearing? Did I have a girl friend? etc. 

A recent photo of the author.

As she was such an important client for my employer I tried to be as friendly as possible, but I noticed her inching closer and closer, and trying to look more and more coquettish. She was clearly interested in me in a non-professional way.

I am not particularly good looking, but many women say I have a strange charisma and an offbeat charm that many of them find irresistible, and it was clear that Ivanka had also noticed.

Sure, she is a very attractive lady, but, as I have a steady girlfriend, I just wanted her to stop behaving in this highly inappropriate manner. To remind her of her wifely duties, I politely asked her about her husband, Jared.

"Oh, never mind him," she said, sneering. "Right now I am much more interested in you."

With that she suddenly made her move, swinging her long thigh over me and pushing me back against the sofa, as she crushed her lips against mine. I tried to fight back, but was taken by surprise, as she forced me to the ground and ripped off my jeans. 

I am a tall, strong, well-built man, and I regularly lift weights and avoid soy, but Ivanka seemed possessed by a demonic strength that day. Also my glasses had fallen off, rendering me powerless. Before I could say another word she had ripped open her dress and was forcing me to fondle, caress, lick, and suck at her ample bosoms with their giant, erect nipples. 

All the time I just wanted this nightmare to stop, and told her constantly that this was wrong and a sin against God.

She just laughed at me and said, "Ha! Don't you know I'm a Jewess now? So I am not tied by your puny, Goy morality."

I will spare you the rest of the terrible details, but suffice to say, she had her way with me, and only stopped grinding relentlessly away after she had achieved a shuddering orgasm, which she signalled by screaming, "Oh my God, Daddy, yessssss!!!!" After that she just rolled off me, laughing with sick pleasure, as I lay there gently sobbing.

I felt violated and used. Still stunned, I gathered the clothes she had ripped from me, and slowly got dressed, hoping in the meantime that her sexual desires wouldn't revive and demand a "second performance."

As I sneaked out the door and headed for the elevator, the pitying looks from the neighbours told me this was not the first time she had done something like this. I made my way to the streets, but her rich animal spoor was all over me, clogging my nostrils, making it impossible to forget what had just happened. Even worse, when I got home, the shower was broken.

Rape is not about sex at all, I realised. It is about raw, ruthless power, and, in that situation, she had all the power and I had none. I had been used for her crude, carnal pleasure, and then callously discarded like a soiled dishrag.

Yes, Ivanka Trump raped me! Let's hope the world gives the same credence to my accusations as it does to those made against Judge Roy Moore! That would be justice indeed!