I am the young woman that was sexually
assaulted by Tupac Shakur and his thugs. I've read Kevin
Powell's interview with Tupac ["Ready to Live," April],
in which I was misrepresented. Up until this point I
have only told my story under oath in court; nobody
has heard my story, only his side, which is much different
than what Tupac stated is the true story.
A friend of mine took me to Nell's, where he introduced
me to [the men VIBE identified as] Nigel and Trevor,
who later introduced me to their friend Tupac. When
I first met Tupac, he kissed me on my cheek and made
small talk with me. After a while, I excused myself
and started to walk to the dance floor. When I felt
someone slide their hands into the back pocket of my
jeans, I turned around, assuming it was my friend, but
was shocked when I discovered it was Tupac. We danced
for a while, and he touched my face and his body brushed
mine. Due to the small dance floor and the large number
of people, we were shoved into a dark corner. Tupac
pulled up his shirt, took my hand, traced it down his
chest, and sat it on top of his erect penis. He then
kissed me and pushed my head down on his penis, and
in a brief three-second encounter, my lips touched the
head of his penis. This happened so suddenly that once
I realized what he was trying to do, I swiftly brought
my head up. I must reiterate that I did not suck his
penis on the dance floor. He pulled his shirt back down
and asked me what I was doing later. I told him that
I was going home because I had to go to work that day.
Then, as people started surrounding him again, he grabbed
my arm and said, "Let's get out of here, I'm tired of
people stressing me." We exited Nell's, got into a white
BMW, pulled up at the Parker Meridien, and went to his
suite. We conversed, and he rolled up some blunts. We
started kissing, and then we had oral and vaginal sexual
intercourse several times.
He called my house a couple nights later and gave me
his SkyPager number and told me he wanted to see me
tomorrow. That evening after work, I paged him, and
his road manager called me back and informed me that
Pac really wanted to see me but he had a show to do
in Jersey, so I should call a car service and take it
to the Meridien and he would pay for the cab. Once I
got to the hotel, I met Charles Fuller for the first
time; he paid for the cab and led me upstairs. Inside
the suite, Tupac, Nigel, and Trevor were seated in the
living room, smoking weed and drinking Absolut. Tupac
told me to come in and pointed to the arm of the sofa
near him, and I sat down. After about 20 minutes, Tupac
took my hand and led me into a bedroom in the suite.
He fell onto the bed and asked me to give him a massage.
So I massaged his back, he turned around, and I started
massaging his chest.
Just as we began kissing, the door opened and I heard
people entering. As I started to turn to see who it
was, Tupac grabbed my head and told me, "Don't move."
I looked down at him and he said, "Don't worry, baby,
these are my brothers and they ain't going to hurt you.
We do everything together." I started to shake my head,
"No, no, Pac, I came here to be with you. I came here
to see you. I don't want to do this." I started to rise
up off the bed but he brutally slammed my head down.
My lips and face came crashing down hard onto his penis,
he squeezed the back of my neck, and I started to gag.
Tupac and Nigel held me down while Trevor forced his
penis into my mouth. I felt hands tearing my shoes off,
ripping my stockings and panties off. I couldn't move;
I felt paralyzed, trapped, and I started to black out.
They leered at my body. "This bitch got a fat ass, she's
fine." While they laughed and joked to one another,
Nigel, Trevor, and Fuller held me in the room, trying
to calm me down. They would not allow me to leave.
Finally, I got to the elevators, which had a panel
of mirrors. Once I caught sight of myself, I sank down
on the floor and started to cry. They came out, picked
me up, and brought me back into the suite. Tupac was
lying on the couch. In my mind I'm thinking, "This motherf*cker
just raped me, and he's lying up here like a king acting
as if nothing happened." So I began crying hysterically
and shouting, "How could you do this to me? I came here
to see you. I can't believe you did this to me." Tupac
replied, "I don't have time for this shit. Get this
bitch out of here."
The aforementioned is the true story. It was not a
setup, and I never knew any of the thugs he was hanging
with. Tupac knows exactly what he did to me. I admit
I did not make the wisest decisions, but I did not deserve
to be gang-raped.
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