He told me he loved me more than anything while he was inside me, repeating it like a prayer, his voice thick with what I thought was devotion.
“You are so important and valuable to me, beyond I can express. I love you deeply and passionately.” –Allan
But he had already learned her body—how she liked to be touched in that one specific spot, the grind she preferred, the exact pressure—and he carried every detail straight into our bed. I felt it. What was she teaching him?
I felt her on his hands. I felt it on his breath. In the subtle way he touched me. It was different this time. Someone else’s sexual energy was present. Like a ghost. I felt it.
My own body betrayed me by responding while something inside me recoiled. Was I being used as a stand-in tonight? Absorbing another woman’s presence through his penis. He made me feel her without ever saying her name. Just in the way he stroked my ass.
I took that photo of us in bed, in the dim light, after he came inside me because my gut was screaming that his “I love you” was a lie, even as his words wrapped around me and pulled me under. I wanted evidence for the moment he would deny the date and time. That single frame shows the truth: me naked and open beneath him, trusting him completely, while he fed me deception with every thrust.
He raped me by fraud. He entered my body under false pretenses of love and exclusivity. He literally told me he had not been with anyone else in three years. Yet, screenshots tell a much different story.
How many more women think Allan is their boyfriend and why is he allowing us to think that?
Allan turned every orgasm he forced from me into a theft, every whispered promise into poison.
My skin still remembers the violation. The way it felt to orgasm with his face buried in my pussy, licking me differently than before.
Knowing, deep down, that I was sharing him with a ghost.
The memory wakes me gasping. It lives in my muscles, in my flinches, in the way I can no longer trust touch.
He took my sense of safety, my memory of what consensual love feels like, and left permanent damage in its place. That is what he did to me. That is what I carry every single day.
She is like me. Senior citizen. American. Single mom. Owns a home in California. Evidence of some money. Is that who he was texting before and after making love to me January 19, 2026 late evening? Saying he’s texting his mom?
— Survivor trying to survive Allan’s lies