Lascivious Girl

To relieve the pressure before the exam, I took off my clothes and, wearing only my underwear, walked up to the rooftop of the school building.

I spun, leapt, and danced ballet, letting every inch of my skin revel in the freedom of being caressed by the cool air.

Just as I was completely lost in the moment, eyes closed in bliss, I suddenly heard footsteps behind me—getting closer and closer...

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My name is Rosa, and I am a ballet student.

Ever since my talent for dance was discovered in childhood, my parents have placed high expectations on me.

While other children played, I was forced to practice ballet over and over again, lonely and stifled, under their strict watch.

The solitude and pressure gradually twisted something inside me, darkening my inner world.

I desperately longed to unleash my true self but could never find a way to do so.

As a result, for many years, I remained the model daughter—a straight-A student in my parents' eyes and the well-behaved girl in the eyes of my friends and classmates.

Until that incident a month before the exam.

It was then that I discovered how exhilarating it could be to boldly expose myself in public.

That night, after finishing evening classes, I walked home through an alleyway, only to be suddenly grabbed by a pair of large hands and pulled inside.

The man roughly pinned me against the coarse wall and violently lifted my skirt.

By the time I realized what was happening, a surge of terror overwhelmed me, and I began to struggle frantically.

“Please… don't, sir! I have a dance exam coming up—I can't get hurt. Please… let me go!”

I trembled and begged, but it only made things worse.

The man became even more excited.

Thanks to years of ballet, my body was far more flexible than most. The man seemed to notice this during his assault.

His eyes lit up as he forcefully lifted my left leg high into the air, instantly exposing everything beneath my skirt.

For a moment, both of us froze.

The man stared in stunned silence.

And so did I.

It wasn't until he reached out to pull off my underwear that I finally snapped out of it, horrified.

Knowing I couldn't let this continue, I turned and kicked him hard between the legs.

As he doubled over in pain, I quickly fixed my skirt and bolted out of the alley.

When I got home, I rushed into the bathroom, turned on the cold water, and scrubbed away at my skin, trying desperately to erase any trace of the man's touch.

The memory of the terrifying encounter haunted me—how close I had come to being raped in that alley.