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It was a mild summer day. The sky was bright blue, and
scattered, fluffy white clouds drifted on the light breeze.
Birds filled the air with there songs, and everywhere was
the scent of fresh mown grass. Sarah Mackenzie thought it
was the kind of day that was blessed, when the fates smiled
down on the earth, and only good things could happen. She
was happy simply to be alive and enjoying such a marvellous
day.
Sarah was a pretty, eighteen year old girl with long,
chestnut hair, brown eyes and full lips. She stood five feet
five inches tall and weighted 115 pounds. Her body was well
proportioned and she had long, well shaped legs. On this
glorious morning, she was dressed casually and comfortably
in a white sweater, faded jeans and white sneakers.
Sarah steered her car through the streets of Jackson City,
on her way to school. A part time student, she was in her
second quarter at Crestmore Community College. She also
worked part time at a local drugstore to pay her tuition.
Today, she was running late, and Sarah was slightly above
the speed limit as she turned into the college parking lot
and pulled into the first available space. She switched off
the engine and climbed out of her car. With her books under
her arm and her purse over her shoulder, she hurried across
campus, thinking the whole time that it was too beautiful a
day to be in class.
Sarah trotted up the steps and through the front entrance of
the main classroom building. Hurrying down the hall, she
arrived at the assigned room just before class started.
Sliding into her seat, she kept her notebook and algebra
book out while the rest of her books and her purse went
under her chair. There was a soft murmur as the other
students conversed quietly while waiting for class to start.
Chris Marcross sat on the other side of the classroom from
Sarah. He were 24 years old and had been at Crestmore for
nearly three years. He was six feet one and weighed 190
pounds. He was generally considered good looking with light
brown hair and grey eyes. He had an easy smile and had no
trouble talking with people. Chris watched Sarah come into
the room and take her seat. He had admired her since the
first day of class, but had not had the opportunity to
strike up a conversation. At least not yet.
"Good morning, class," said Mr. Kirkpatrick. "Before we
begin, will you all please pass your homework assignments to
the front?"
********************
Sarah sat in the student lounge, sipping a ginger ale as she
read a passage in her history textbook. She had a
twenty-five minute gap between the ends of her algebra class
and the beginning of her history class, and she normally
spent it here, getting in some extra study time.
"Hello." She looked up at the sound of the voice. "You're
Sarah Mackenzie, right?"
"That's right," she replied. She remembered seeing the man
standing before her in class.
"I'm Chris Marcross. We're in algebra class together."
"I know. I've seen you there."
"Would you mind if I sat down? Providing I'm not
interrupting your study time, that is." His smile was
contagious and Sarah smiled back.
"Not at all. I can't really get into it right now anyway. I
guess history has never really been my thing." Chris sat
down opposite Sarah, placing his books on the table between
them.
"Mmmm. I know exactly what you mean. Memorize this,,
memorize that. Don't worry about why something happened,
just remember the date. Seems kind of silly, doesn't it?"
Sarah laughed. "You don't know how many times I've told
myself that same thing. It just makes it so dry!"
"It sure does. So how long have you been taking classes
here?" Chris asked.
"This is just my second quarter. To tell you the truth, I'm
not even sure right now what I want to major in. I'm just
getting the standard classes out of the way while I think it
over. What about you?" Sarah placed her elbow on the table
and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. She couldn't
help thinking how nice this guy seemed. And how cute.
"I've been here nearly three years. I'm working on a degree
in Mechanical Technologies. Once I get my Associates Degree,
I want to transfer to a State College and go for my
Bachelors in Mechanical Engineering. Of course, it's taking
me some time to complete the classes here since I can only
go part time."
"Not to sound nosy, but if you've been here that long, why
are you in an entry level algebra class?"
"Well, to tell the truth, it's a little embarrassing. When I
first came here, I didn't really apply myself, you know? I
scraped through the math classes, and a lot of other
classes, by the skin of my teeth. Well, now I'm at a point
that my poor math skills are interfering with my technology
classes, and that's bad. Anyway, I decided the best thing I
could do would be to retake all the math courses, and THIS
time, do it right."
"Wow, now that's determination. I wish you the best of
luck." Sarah glanced at her watch and stood up. "Darn. I've
got to get to class or I'll be late. It was nice talking to
you."
"Listen, before you go, maybe we could get together Friday
night and do something. You know, have a chance to get to
know each other without having to break for classes."
Sarah considered it for a moment, then smiled and scribbled
something on a piece of paper. "Sure, why not? Here's my
number. Give me a call later in the week."
"Try to stop me!" Chris smiled back.
******************** It was Wednesday evening and Sarah was
in her bedroom studying when her mother called, "Sarah,
telephone."
Sarah came downstairs and picked up the receiver from the
table.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Sarah. It's Chris."
"Hi, Chris. How's everything going?"
"Well, the workload from school is kind of a killer, but
outside of that, not bad. How are you making out?"
"The algebra is driving me absolutely crazy! Why can't they
just use numbers instead of letters? Why do they have to use
letters?" Sarah asked rhetorically, not really expecting an
answer.
Chris chuckled. "Beats me. I guess that's one of the great
mysteries of the universe. Solve it and you'll be rich and
famous."
"Right, I don't think we have to worry about that. Not as
long as the solution involves algebra."
"Well, I guess we'll just have to work on that, won't we?
Anyway, the real reason I called was to check with you about
Friday night. 'Titanic' is playing at the Plaza over at the
mall if you're interested. Feel like going?"
"Sounds great. What time?"
"The movie starts at seven. How about if I pick you up at
six-thirty?"
"Fine by me." Sarah gave him her parents' address. "Do you
know where that is, or do you need directions."
"Nah, I can find it. Well, I really hate to break this off,
but I've got a pile of studying to do."
"Me, too. I'll see you Friday, then."
"You sure will. Bye." Chris said and broke the connection.
********************
Sarah put quite a bit of thought into her outfit that
Friday. A white silk blouse, her short black skirt with the
wide black patent leather belt, natural colored pantyhose,
and the black high heeled sandals. Stylish and good looking
without being too showy. She checked her appearance in the
mirror and decided she was pleased with the way she looked.
Sarah was looking forward to her date with Chris. Between
working and going to school, she had little time for
socializing, and it had been quite some time since she had
gone out. Besides, Chris not only seemed nice, but he was
really cute, too. Maybe they would really hit it off. Who
could tell?
"Sarah!" her mother called from downstairs. "You have
company."
"I'll be down in a second, mom!" Her purse! Where was her
purse?! There, on the nightstand.
As she reached the bottom of the steps, she heard Chris'
voice in the living room. "Oh, I think they'll make it to
the playoffs, but they don't have a chance at the Super
Bowl. Not without a tighter offence."
"Agreed," came her father's voice. "But the owners don't
want to lay out the money to get the right people. They want
a winning team without making the needed investment."
"Daddy! Not football again!" Sarah said as she entered the
living room.
Chris immediately stood up, his eyes lighting up and his
smile widening as he saw Sarah. "Whoa! You look absolutely
great! I mean, you're just beautiful!"
"Why thank you, kind sir" Sarah smiled back. "And may I
return the compliment?" Chris was nicely dressed in light
brown slacks, dark brown V necked sweater and white shirt.
His brown shoes were polished to a high gloss.
"We were just discussing the chances for the old home team."
her father said.
"I could tell. And if I don't drag Chris out of here, you'll
keep him talking about it all night." Sarah told her father
with a grin.
"Well, um, are you ready, then?" Chris asked.
"Anytime," Sarah said turning to the door.
Chris shook Mr. Mackenzie's hand and said "It was a pleasure
meeting you, sir. You too, Mrs. Mackenzie. And don't worry,
I'll take good care of your daughter."
As they watched the car pull out of the drive way, Mr.
Mackenzie said to his wife, "You know, dear, when Sarah
first told us about Chris, I wasn't too fond of the idea.
You know, with him being older than her. But now that I've
met him...."
"I know, dear," answered Mrs. Mackenzie. "I like him, too.
He seems like a real gentleman."
********************
Due to the length of 'Titanic', it was after ten-thirty when
they finally left the theater. They walked across the
parking lot to where Chris' car was parked.
"I'm sorry," Sarah said, "but I find it difficult to believe
Rose could wade through all of that ice cold water below
decks, but not get cold until after the ship sinks. Cold is
cold."
"Agreed." Chris said as he opened the car door for her. "And
I find it especially difficult to believe anybody would grab
a gun and chase somebody else around below decks on a
sinking ship. I mean, come on! The only thing I'd be
thinking about would be 'Where's the lifeboats!' You know?"
Sarah chuckled as Chris closed the door and walked around to
the driver's side of the car. She had enjoyed herself
tonight, and was pleased to find that she and Chris seemed
to have quite a bit in common. She was beginning to really
like him, and decided she was glad she had accepted his
invitation.
Chris started the engine and put the car in gear. He pulled
out of the mall parking lot and turned left, a direction
that would take them out of town.
"Where are we going?" Sarah asked.
"Just for a ride." Chris said. "It's too nice a night to
just go home. Too nice being with you." Sarah flushed at the
compliment.
They drove on for another half hour, talking about the
movie, about school, about what they had done and about what
they wanted to do. Sarah was relaxed and happy, enjoying
Chris' company. Then Chris applied the brakes, slowed down,
and turned right onto a side road.
"Chris, what are you doing? Where's this go?" Sarah was
curious rather than concerned. Chris had been a perfect
gentleman all night, and it never crossed her mind he would
not continue to be so.
"Oh, there's someplace special I want to show you. Special
to me. There's a small lake just beyond those trees up
ahead. My father used to bring me fishing back here when I
was a kid. That was before he died."
"I'm sorry" said Sarah, "I didn't know."
"It's okay. No way you could know. But that's why it's
special to me. And I wanted to show it to you because, well,
I'm starting to think you're special, too."
Sarah blushed as she said "Thank you. I think you're kind of
special, yourself."
They were on a dirt road now that ran near the lake. Chris
turned again, pulling onto a little used track that wound
under and between the trees. Pulling almost to the edge of
the lake, Chris stopped the car and turned off the engine.
With the headlights out, the only light came from the moon
and the stars reflecting off the lake. Sarah noticed there
were other cars parked nearby. This place was apparently
'special' to more people than just Chris.
"It's beautiful back here," Sarah said.
"Not as beautiful as you," Chris said as he leaned over and
kissed her gently. Sarah responded to the kiss, slipping her
left arm around Chris' waist and her right around his neck.
Chris put his arm around her shoulders. They continued
kissing, Chris rubbing his left hand up down her side. Then
the hand moved further, moving onto her right breast.
Sarah pulled back. "Don't." she said as she pushed his hand
away.
"Okay, babe," Chris said "okay."
They resumed kissing, but in almost no time his hand was
back on her breast.
"Please, Chris, don't do that." she said as she pushed his
hand down off of her breast. His hand kept moving down as he
began kissing across her cheek to the right side of her
neck, pressing her back against the seat. His hand moved
down along her side, along her hip to the outside of her
right thigh.
"Chris, stop it."
His hand traveled down her leg and up onto the knee.
"Chris, please, that's enough."
Then she felt his hand move to the inside of her left thigh,
squeezing and rubbing as he continued kissing and nibbling
her neck, pinning her to the seat with his body.
"Chris, come on! I said that's enough!"
And then his hand was up under her skirt, grabbing and
rubbing her crotch. She tried to push his hand away with her
one free arm, but he was too strong. She twisted her body,
pushing against him at the same time.
"Please, Chris! Don't do that!" Sarah pleaded.
"It's okay, babe. It's okay. Just relax."
Sarah tried to break away, but Chris kept her pinned to the
seat with his body. Sarah's left arm was pinned between him
and the seat, and his right arm was behind her. Sarah tried
to push him away, but Chris twisted her right arm up behind
her back and grabbed her wrist with his right hand. With
both of Sarah's arms immobilized, Chris crushed his mouth to
hers as his free hand grabbed her breast, roughly squeezing
and twisting.
Sarah managed to twist her mouth free as Chris again put his
hand under her skirt and roughly grabbed her crotch. She
couldn't believe that he was doing this to her.
"Stop it, Chris! Please stop it! You're hurting me!"
"Just relax, babe. Relax and enjoy it."
"I said stop it! PLEASE stop it!" she begged as his free
hand roamed over her body. She twisted and squirmed, but she
couldn't get away from him. He was all over her.
Chris pulled her away from the back of the seat, turned her
and pushed her backwards. Sarah found herself flat on her
back with Chris on top of her. Her arms free now, she pushed
against his chest, trying to force him away, but she
couldn't get any leverage. She felt Chris' hands pulling her
skirt up around her waist.
"Chris, please! That's enough! Leave me alone! PLEASE leave
me alone!"
His weight was crushing her to the seat, and Sarah twisted
her body to try and get away from him. She felt his hands
grabbing the waist band of her pantyhose and panties,
forcing them down over her hips to the middle of her thighs,
and for the first time she realized just how far Chris
intended to go. Her pantyhose were now past her knees and
she was terrified by what was happening.
"Please!" Sarah begged "Please STOP! I've never done this!
Please don't DO this to me! I hardly KNOW you!"
"Don't worry, babe." she heard Chris say. "You're going to
love it. Trust me you will."
Chris' hand was between her legs and he was forcing his
fingers into her.
"Stop!" Sarah pleaded as she felt his fingers moving inside
her. "That HURTS! Please, PLEASE stop!" She was fighting as
well as she could, but he was too big, too strong.
Suddenly, before Sarah realized what was happening, Chris
was off of her, kneeling next to the seat. Before Sarah
could react, Chris grabbed her panties and pantyhose and
jerked them down around her ankles. As she tried to sit up,
Chris grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her back onto
the seat, and he was once more on top of her. She felt him
using his knees to force her legs apart. She tried to stop
him, but it was a futile effort. Chris was now between her
legs, and Sarah felt him fumbling with his belt.
She fought as hard as she could, but it was useless. She was
completely exposed to him, her skirt bunched around her
waist and her pantyhose and panties around her ankles. She
was helpless and terrified. Why was this happening to her?
What had she done to deserve this? She felt him open his
pants and push them down, exposing himself as he continued
kissing and nibbling her neck and face.
"Please, PLEASE stop. I don't WANT this. Please, Chris,
please DON'T! You can't DO this! You just CAN'T!"
She felt him pressing his penis against her vagina, trying
to force himself into her. Sarah fought harder, with a
strength born of desperation. She pushed against him as she
tried to twist her body away from him. She tried to dig her
heels into the car seat, tried to get enough leverage to
push him away, but the pantyhose bunched around her ankles
effectively immobilized her legs. Sarah did everything she
could, but it wasn't enough. She felt him begin to penetrate
her.
"No! Chris, please NO! I don't want it to be like this! Not
like THIS! PLEASE STOP IT! Get OFF of me!"
Chris was brutally forcing himself farther into her. Sarah
wasn't aroused, wasn't prepared to have sex, making the
penetration painful.
"Oh, God, please don't! Please don't DO this!" Sarah begged
as she felt him force his way deeper into her. "Get OUT! Get
OUT of me! Please, PLEASE don't! You're hurting me! PLEASE
DON'T! NOOOOOOOOO!!"
Sarah cried out in pain as Chris viciously drove himself
completely into her, tearing through her hymen and shredding
her virginity without the least bit of gentleness or
concern. She had never felt such pain or frustration in her
life. She now realized there was nothing she could do to
stop him that he was going to use her no matter what she
did. Filled with shame and frustration, she collapsed on the
seat and quit fighting. It was useless. She closed her eyes,
tears burning her cheeks, and prayed that it would be over
soon.
Chris continued using Sarah, enjoying the feeling of her
body under his. His hands roamed over her, hurting her with
his roughness. He wrapped his hand into her hair, twisting
it to hold her head still while he kissed her. Her pain,
humiliation and frustration aroused him. He lifted up so he
could see her face, her eyes squeezed shut, her teeth
clenched, tears staining her cheeks.
"God, Sarah, you feel so good!" he groaned.
Sarah couldn't believe this was happening. Why her? What did
she do wrong? Why was she being punished so terribly?
Please, God, she prayed silently, please let it end. Please
let it end.
"Come on, babe. Relax. I can make it good for you." Chris
murmured in her ear. Sarah couldn't believe he said that. He
couldn't think she would actually enjoy this! He couldn't
POSSIBLY think that!
The minutes crawled slowly by for Sarah while Chris
continued grunting and sweating on top of her. Would it
never end? How much longer was he going to keep doing this?
Then she felt Chris begin to move quicker, heard his
breathing become more pronounced. With a shock, Sarah
grasped the fact Chris was approaching orgasm. For the first
time, the realization hit her she could become pregnant this
night.
"Chris! Chris, please not inside me! Please not INSIDE me!"
Sarah pleaded desperately as Chris continued the assault.
Terror filled Sarah as Chris' movements quickened, his
excitement growing. She twisted her body and pushed against
him, trying to dislodge him. She got her hands on his hips
and tried to push him out of her. Grabbing her wrists, Chris
jerked her arms above her head and pinned them to the seat.
His entire weight was now on her, pressing her down into the
seat. He was moaning, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He
drove into her with increasing fervour as he felt himself
approaching orgasm.
"Oh, Sarah! Oh, Sarah! Ohhhhh!" Chris moaned as he felt the
excitement building within him.
"Please, Chris! Please, don't! Not inside me!" Sarah's voice
was nearly a whisper, pleading for mercy even as she
realized that it was already too late.
Chris groaned deep in his throat as he climaxed, and Sarah
whimpered in protest as she felt the sickening warmth
spreading through her. She felt nauseous, feeling her
stomach turning as he finished draining himself into her.
This couldn't be happening to her. It just couldn't be!
Chris collapsed on top of her, breathing deeply from his
exertions. Sarah lay there crying quietly while Chris' dead
weight on top of her kept her pinned to the seat. Finally,
Chris lifted himself up and withdrew from her, then moved
over behind the steering wheel. With a sigh of satisfaction,
he straightened out his clothing.
Sarah lay there for a moment in shock. Then, as Chris lit a
cigarette, she slowly pulled herself to a sitting position
as close to the passenger door and as far away from Chris as
possible. She felt the mixture of semen and blood seeping
out of her and onto the seat. How could this have happened
to her? How could this have possibly happened to her?
Crying quietly, Sarah reached down, straightened out her
pantyhose and panties and slowly pulled them up into their
proper position, then pulled her skirt back down. She felt
so dirty! All she wanted was a hot shower. An incredibly hot
shower!
"Take me home." Sarah almost whispered.
"What's your hurry, babe? The night's still young."
"I SAID TAKE ME HOME!" Sarah screamed.
"Okay, bitch. That's what you want, that's what you'll
fucking get!" Chris grumbled as he pitched his cigarette out
the window. "Stupid little bitch. You weren't that good
anyway. It would have been better if you had co-operated a
little. Who the fuck do you think you are, anyway?"
Sarah couldn't believe her ears! Chris had forced her to
have sex with him. Forced her and stole her virginity!! And
he was mad at her because she had fought him! HE was mad at
HER!! What kind of sick animal was he?
"How could I have not seen it?" Sarah wondered to herself.
"How could I have not seen what he was really like? This was
my fault. All my fault because I didn't see what he was
like! How could I have been so stupid?"
The drive home was gruesome for Sarah. She wanted to be as
far away from Chris as possible. Neither one spoke during
the ride back to town. When Chris pulled up in front of her
house, Sarah got out of the car without a word. Still angry,
Chris slammed the car into gear and burned rubber down the
street.
"Thank God my parents are in bed." thought Sarah as she
noticed the house was dark. Quietly letting herself in, she
went upstairs, being careful not to wake her parents.
Undressing, she put all of her clothes in a bag. She would
sneak the bag into the garbage in the morning. She couldn't
stand the thought of ever wearing any part of that outfit
again.
Sarah slipped into a robe and went to the bathroom. She
turned the water on as hot as she could stand it and, with
soap and washcloth, she scrubbed every inch of her body
vigorously. She then washed her hair, rinsed it and washed
it again. Still feeling dirty, Sarah repeated the entire
process two more times. Finally, she sat down in the tub,
her arms wrapped around her knees, and let the water beat on
her. Only when there was no hot water left did she turn off
the shower. Stepping out of the tub, she towelled herself
dry and put on her robe. Returning to her bedroom, she put
on a nightgown and panties and slipped into bed. There,
alone in the darkness, the tears came as Sarah entered into
a long, sleepless night.
********************
Sarah stayed in bed later than usual on Saturday morning.
She wasn't sleeping, hadn't really slept all night. She
simply felt drained of all energy, of all desire to face the
day. She was overwhelmed by the feelings of revulsion and
guilt at what had happened to her. And what if she became
pregnant? What would she do then? Her parents would never
understand, never accept she hadn't wanted it to happen. It
would be her fault, no matter what. God, how had she let
herself get into this?
Finally, with a sigh of resignation, Sarah slid out from
under the covers. She couldn't stay in bed forever, as much
as she might like to. After brushing her teeth and combing
out her hair, she dressed and went downstairs. She felt
absolutely listless, but she couldn't show that. She
couldn't let her parents think that there was anything
wrong.
"Good morning, Sarah." Her mother was sitting at the kitchen
table, checking a recipe in one of her cookbooks.
"Good morning, mom," Sarah replied as she poured a cup of
coffee from the pot on the stove, then added milk and sugar.
"So how did the date go last night?" her mother asked.
Sarah had been dreading this question. "Okay, I guess."
"Chris seemed like a really nice young man. Are you going to
see him again?"
"I ... don't think so, mom."
"Well why not? He seemed so nice."
"We just didn't really ... hit it off, I guess. Anyway, I
... won't be seeing him again. I'm sorry, mom, but I've got
some ... studying that I have to do. For class, you know."
Sarah quickly went upstairs before her mother could ask her
anything else about last night. She couldn't tell her what
really happened, and she didn't feel up to creating
believable lies.
Once more in the safety of her bedroom with the door closed,
Sarah sat on the edge of the bed. She was afraid and
confused, unsure of what to do. One thing was certain,
though. She couldn't go back to school. If she did, she
would certainly run into Chris, and that was the last thing
she wanted.
Sarah laid back on the bed. How could she have let this
happen? How could she have been so stupid as to let this
happen? She shouldn't have gone out with Chris. Shouldn't
have gone to the lake with him. Or she should have done
something to stop him. God, how could she have let this
happen?
********************
The weekend was nothing but a hazy memory for Sarah as she
finished dressing on Monday morning. Still listless and
preoccupied, she felt as if her life had ended on Friday
night, as if nothing that had happened since was real. She
wandered downstairs and fixed a small bowl of cereal. She
had just finished eating when her mother came into the
kitchen.
"Well I'm glad to see you're finally eating something.
You've hardly had a bite all weekend."
"I know, mom. I guess I just wasn't feeling too well."
"Well, you'd better hurry up unless you want to be late for
class."
"I'm not going to class, mom. I've decided ... to quit."
"Quit? But you've already paid for the classes! Why quit
now?"
"It's just ... not working out. I guess that I wasn't cut
out for college."
"But you've already PAID for the classes. Why not at least
finish the ones you're in now? Why waste the money? If you
do, maybe you'll change your mind about quitting."
"Mom, please! I don't want to talk about it right now, okay?
I'm quitting and that's that!"
"But ....."
"NO! I'm DONE!" Sarah grabbed her purse and raced out the
back door. Why couldn't people leave her alone? Why couldn't
they just leave her alone?
She backed her car out of the driveway, pulled the gearshift
into 'drive', and stepped on the gas. She wasn't sure where
she was going, had no clear destination in mind. She only
knew she had to get out of the house.
Sarah drove aimlessly, her mind wandering, jumping from one
thought to another. None of them were pleasant. How would
she get through this? Would the sick feeling ever leave her?
How about the feeling of guilt? Could she ever feel normal
again, or would she feel dirty for the rest of her life?
Would she ever be able to trust again? She had no answers.
********************
The next two weeks passed slowly. Having quit school, Sarah
was now working full time, but did little else. When she
felt the need to get out of the house, she would go for
aimless rides alone. She was constantly tired, getting
little sleep. She would lay awake in bed, remembering Friday
night and damning herself for her stupidity. On the rare
occasions when she would drift off, the nightmares would
come. Chris would be there, forcing her back onto the seat,
forcing himself into her. Then she would come awake with a
start, perspiration beading on her forehead, her body
trembling.
In addition to the shame and humiliation Sarah felt, the
terrible spectre of pregnancy was constantly with her. The
very thought made her nauseous with fear. She knew what her
parents would say if that happened. Knew how they would
react. They would never understand or even try to. They
would blame her, no matter how it had happened. Sarah would
be their slut daughter who got knocked up.
"Oh, God, please, please don't let me be pregnant. Please. I
couldn't take that. I just couldn't!" Sarah would pray,
tears welling up in her eyes.
On Tuesday, eleven days after Chris had forced himself on
her, Sarah started her period. The relief she felt was
overwhelming, and she sat in the bathroom with tears tracing
paths down her cheeks. She would never have believed she
could feel so overjoyed to be having a period. At least she
wasn't pregnant. At least she had that.
While the fear of pregnancy was over, Sarah still had to
deal with her feelings of guilt. She was still blaming
herself for what had been done to her. Blaming herself for
going out with Chris. Blaming herself for going to the lake
with him. Blaming herself for her loss.
It was Saturday, fifteen days since her 'date' with Chris.
She had finished her shift at the drugstore and stopped at
McDonalds for something to eat. She went through the drive
thru and got an order of French fries and a ginger ale. Her
appetite still hadn't returned completely, and she wanted
nothing else. She guided the car to an empty space and
shifted into park.
Sarah sat in the parking lot, eating her fries and watching
other people come and go. Young men and women mostly,
holding hands and laughing, enjoying each other's company.
Enjoying life. Would she ever feel that again? Would she
ever be able to go on a date again with any feeling of
safety? Once again, the butterflies in the pit of her
stomach returned. She noticed the slight trembling in her
hand. Without finishing her fries, she put the car in gear
and pulled out of the parking lot. Once again she drove
aimlessly, filling her mind with the mechanics of driving so
that other, more disturbing thoughts, could not intrude.
She had been driving for nearly an hour. She felt confused,
alone. She felt she had to do something, but had no idea of
what. What could she possibly do?
The sign on the front of the two-story brick building
registered more on Sarah's subconscious mind than on her
conscious mind. It identified the building as the Jackson
City Rape Crisis Centre. Maybe someone there could .... no.
No, they couldn't help. Chris had forced her to have sex,
yes. But it wasn't rape. Rape was something that a stranger
did to you in an alley or a parking lot. It wasn't something
that someone you knew did to you. They wouldn't want to talk
to her. Wouldn't want to waste their time with her. They
would think she was some stupid little girl who got what was
coming to her.
Sarah continued driving. Aimless. Wandering. Without
realizing it, she had circled town and was once again
passing the Rape Crisis Centre. Maybe. Just maybe. Did she
have anything to lose?
She kept driving, thinking about it. Finally making up her
mind, she turned the car around and headed back to the
Centre. She parked across the street and sat in the car. She
felt the nervousness in the pit of her stomach. Could she
really do this? Could she really talk to strangers about
what had happened? What would they say? What COULD they say?
It wasn't really rape. Why would they want to talk to her?
But she had to do something. She couldn't keep going like
this. Mustering her courage, she reached for the door handle
of the car.
********************
Denise Rhodes was seated at the desk in her small office in
the Jackson City Rape Crisis Centre. Her desk faced the door
and there was a straight-backed padded chair in front of the
desk. The wall behind her contained several framed documents
and photographs. A bookcase full of text took up the wall to
her right books and two filing cabinets. Against the wall to
her left was a small couch and coffee table. None of the
furnishings were expensive, but they were functional
Denise was twenty-eight years old and had worked at the
Centre as a counsellor for four years, ever since graduating
from college with a degree in psychology. She stood five
foot five and weighed one hundred and ten pounds. She kept
in shape with daily exercise and martial arts practice three
times a week. She had a heart shaped face with large brown
eyes and full lips, and her thick brunette hair fell to just
below her shoulders.
The phone on her desk buzzed and Denise answered it. She
listened for a moment, then said "Bring her right up, Edna."
and hung up. When she heard the two pair of feet coming down
the hall, she stood up and stepped around the desk. Edna
escorted a pretty young girl into Denise's office and said
"Denise, this is Sarah Mackenzie."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sarah. Won't you sit down?"
Denise motioned to the couch as Edna quietly left, closing
the door behind her. Denise sat on the couch next to Sarah.
Sarah looked nervous, Denise thought, as if she wanted to be
anywhere else but where she was. That was not unusual. Most
women who came to talk to Denise felt that way.
"Would you like something to drink?" Denise asked. "Coffee?
Soda?"
"No ... thank you." Sarah stared at the floor, embarrassed
to meet Denise's gaze.
"You can relax, Sarah. I'm here to help. You can trust me."
Denise kept her voice low, soothing.
"I don't ... know ...." Sarah started, then dropped her eyes
back to the floor and fell silent. Denise noticed Sarah's
hands trembling.
Denise gently took Sarah's hands in her own. She had seen
this too many times, and she didn't need Sarah to tell her
why she had come here. "Sarah, listen to me. You are not
alone. Do you understand? You're not the first to be raped
and, sadly, you won't be the last."
Sarah looked up, then back to the floor. "I'm ... I'm not
sure that I was ... raped." The word was nearly a whisper.
"I mean, he ... forced me ... to have sex with him, but we
.... were on a ... a date."
Amazing, Denise thought, how many times she had heard
similar statements. How often young women, and even older
ones, thought rape had to be perpetrated by strangers. If it
happened on a date, if the perpetrator was known to them,
then it must not has been rape.
"Sarah," Denise began gently, "the vast majority of rapes
committed in this country are date or acquaintance rapes.
Far, far more than stranger rapes. It doesn't matter if you
were on a date. If he forced you to have sex against your
will, then it was rape, and you have nothing to be ashamed
of. He was the one who was wrong, not you."
"But ... if it's someone that ... that you ... know ... I
mean ... it doesn't seem ..." Sarah's voice trailed off. She
wasn't quite sure how to express what she was thinking.
"In some ways," Denise explained, "date rape is worse than
stranger rape. When a woman is raped by a stranger, he only
violates her body. It's a terrible experience, yes, and
there is a mental trauma involved, but the actual violation
is still only physical. When a woman is date raped, then
someone commits the rape that she knows and probably likes.
In that case, not only is her body violated, but so is her
trust."
"That makes it ... worse?"
"In some ways, yes. The woman who is raped by a stranger has
to deal with the rape itself. She may develop a fear of
strangers, but she will seldom lose faith in men that she
knows and trusts. The woman who is date raped, on the other
hand, not only has to deal with the actual rape, but she has
to deal with the violation of her trust. How can she trust
another man? If she meets someone new, can she actually
bring herself to go out with him? Often the victim of date
rape will even lose her trust for male friends that she has
known for awhile. She had trusted the one who raped her, and
he had violated that trust. How does she know that other men
that she trusts won't do the same thing?"
"How do they ... deal with it, then?" Sarah asked.
Denise sighed. "There is no one way, Sarah. Everyone is
different. Some women restrict themselves to associating
only with men that they have known for a very long time.
Others cut themselves off from social situations completely,
at least for a period of time. And some become ... easy ...
figuring that if they just give themselves to men, then the
men won't have any reason to hurt them."
"That sounds ... sad. So very sad." Sarah's voice cracked as
she said it. What would she do? How would she handles it?
"Sarah, there is another way, and that's to seek help, to
not face it alone. You've taken the first step by coming
here. That's a good first step. Now, would you like to talk
about it?"
Sarah shrugged as she continued staring at the floor. It was
so embarrassing. So humiliating. How could she tell anyone?
A single tear traced a path down her cheek. "How ... how can
I ... talk? It's ... it's so ... so ..."
Denise placed the tips of her fingers under Sarah's chin and
gently raised her head so their eyes met. "Would it help you
to know that I'm a rape survivor, too?"
"You?" Sarah looked into Denise's eyes, trying to read if
the young woman was telling the truth.
"Me. Nine years ago. There was ... more than one of them. So
you see, Sarah, you can talk to me. I understand, and I'm on
your side."
"Okay. I'll ... try. But it's ... hard to ... "
"I know. Maybe I can help. Why don't you start by telling me
how you met him?"
"At school. We had an algebra class together. We started ...
talking ... in the break room. He seemed so ... nice." He
seemed so nice. Another phrase Denise had heard too often.
Why could the animals always make themselves appear to be
nice?
Gently, a piece at a time, Denise helped Sarah to slowly and
hesitatingly tell her story. After nearly an hour, Denise
had a clear picture of what had happened to Sarah and, she
believed, a clear picture of Chris as well.
"What I don't ... understand," Sarah said in a shaky voice
"is why he ... hurt me. I mean, he was already ... in me. He
was already ... already ... doing it. Why did he keep
hurting me ... with his hands? Why was he so ... rough with
me?"
Denise took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. "Sarah,
you have to understand that rape is not a sexual act. It's
an act of violence. For the rapist, it's not a matter of
having sex WITH a woman, but rather a matter of having
control OVER her. The pain and humiliation that the rapist
inflicts on his victim is what really arouses him. That, and
the illusion of power he gets by having her helpless and in
his control. It's the act of a sadistic, depraved
individual."
"God, I can't believe that I couldn't see what he was like.
I should have KNOWN!" Sarah said, her voice low and
trembling.
"How?" Denise asked, her voice soft. "How could you have
known, Sarah? Did he do or say anything that would have
indicated that he was anything other than a nice guy?"
Sarah hesitated for a moment, thinking about what Denise had
asked. "Well ... no. I guess not."
"Then there was no way you could have known, was there?
Look, Sarah, there are some guys out there who are like
chameleons. You see exactly what they want you to see. They
put forth an image in place of reality. They don't let you
see what lies under that image until it's too late. You
can't blame yourself for not seeing through someone like
that. You can't blame yourself for what happened."
"But ... but ..." Sarah stammered.
"But what, Sarah?"
"But ... it was ... my fault! Don't you understand? It was
MY FAULT! I was so ... so stupid. I let him take me back to
... to the lake. If I hadn't done that, if I hadn't been so
stupid..." Sarah's voice trailed off.
"Sarah, it was not your fault. And it doesn't matter where
you were. You had the right, the RIGHT to say 'no', and you
had the right to have that 'no' accepted and respected.
Chris violated that right, Sarah, just as he violated you.
It was NOT your fault. There is a villain here and a victim,
and you are NOT the villain! You have to understand that."
"But I still let him take me out there. I could have said no
earlier, when we turned off the road. If I had..." Sarah
covered her face with her hands.
"If you had, what makes you think that he would have
listened? He didn't listen to 'no' when you were parked. Why
do you think he would have listened while he was driving? He
would have just sweetly told you not to worry, that
everything was okay, and he would have kept driving to
wherever he wanted to go."
Sarah lowered her hands into her lap. "But I could have
tried! I could have at least tried! God, I feel so stupid
going back there with him. So unbelievably stupid."
"You're not stupid, Sarah. You just trusted the wrong
person. That may, at the very most, be considered bad
judgment, but it is not stupid. And even if it was bad
judgment, we have a saying around here. 'Bad judgment is not
a rateable offence.' Do you understand what that means,
Sarah?"
She thought for a moment before answering. "I guess ... it
means ... even if you do something ... dumb... it doesn't
give someone else the right to .. to ... use you."
"Exactly. Are you starting to understand you did not do
anything wrong?"
"I ... WANT to believe that, Denise. God, you don't know how
BADLY I want to believe that! But ... I keep thinking ...I
should have ... I don't know. I could have got out of the
car and walked home."
"Could you, Sarah? You weren't strong enough to fight him
off. Why do you think that you would have been strong enough
to fight your way out of the car? Do you really think he
would have just LET you get out of the car?"
"I ... don't know. I ... I guess not."
"Think about it, Sarah. Was there any point, any point at
all after he started attacking you, that you could have
gotten out of the car? Was there any point where you could
have just gotten out of the car and walked away?"
Sarah was quiet for a moment, thinking back to that terrible
Friday night, to the car parked by the lake. "No. No, I
guess there wasn't. You're right. He wouldn't have let me
go. But I could have screamed. There were other cars nearby.
Someone might have come to help me."
"Maybe. Maybe not. Everyone up there would have been young
men and women, involved with ... each other. Who knows what
would have happened? But you can't blame yourself for that,
either, Sarah. Women, all of us, have been trained to be ...
ladylike. To not make scenes. Oh, if you're being attacked
by a stranger, then screaming is alright. But that wasn't
the case with you. You were on a date, in a social
situation, and we are ladies. We do not make scenes in
social situations. That's pretty much the way society has
trained us since childhood. I'm not saying I agree with the
concept, but I have to accept it is the reason why women
being date raped almost never scream for help."
Sarah shook her head slowly from side to side. "I don't
know. I guess I can understand that. But I should have been
able to stop him, you know? I should have been able to do
something!"
"What, Sarah? What should you have done? Think about it,
Sarah. You're not under pressure now. You're not fighting to
try and protect yourself now. You have time to think. So
think. Think and tell me what it is you should have done.
Tell me what it is you should have done that would have
changed what happened."
Sarah thought for several minutes. "I don't know. Just ...
something."
"So now you're going to blame yourself for not doing
something, when even now you can't identify what that
something might be. You can't tell me what you should have
done. You can't tell me what you could have done to protect
yourself. Yet you are going to blame yourself for not doing
this undefined something. Don't you see how unfair that is
to you, Sarah? Don't you see you can't blame yourself for
not doing something when you can't even identify what that
something is?"
Sarah shrugged and gazed at the floor. What Denise said made
sense. It made total sense. But it was so hard to accept.
"Okay, Sarah, think of it this way. Suppose for a minute
this had never happened to you, you had never been raped.
But it DID happen to one of your friends. The exact same
thing, only it happened to one of your friends instead of to
you. This friend comes and tells you what happened. What
would you do?"
"I guess ... I guess I'd listen to her, try to ... to help
her. Try to comfort her."
"Do you mean that you wouldn't tell her she was asking for
it? That she got just what she deserved?"
"God, no! I wouldn't tell her that! That would be ... cruel!
It would be HORRID!" Sarah was shocked that Denise had even
suggested such a thing.
"So I guess that means you wouldn't tell her she screwed up
because she couldn't find a way to avoid being raped? You
wouldn't tell her she was an idiot and that she blew it?"
"Of course not. She's my friend, and I'd try to help her.
Try to support her."
"That means you wouldn't put her down for what happened?
You'd try to give her compassion and understanding?"
"Of course! I mean, that's what friends do for each other.
How could you think I would ... would ... ACT like that?"
"I never thought you would act like that, Sarah. But tell
me, if you can extend that kind of compassion and
understanding to a friend, why can't you extend it to
yourself? You would never blame a friend for being raped, so
why blame yourself?"
"I guess ... it's just ... hard to ... accept, you know? I
want to not ... blame myself. I want to believe that it
wasn't my ... fault. But it's so ... hard."
"I know, Sarah. I know. But if you think about what we've
talked about, and I mean really think about it, I believe
that you will realize the truth."
Sarah gave her a small smile, then glanced back at the floor
as the smile faded from her lips.
"Sarah, I think there's ... still something bothering you.
Something we haven't talked about yet."
Sarah glanced up for a moment. "You're ... pretty good at
this ... aren't you?"
"Yes," Denise smiled and stroked Sarah's hair. "I'm pretty
good at this."
"I don't ... it's just ... just ..." she started to speak,
then broke off. Sarah dropped her eyes and gazed at the
floor for a several moments before continuing. Her voice was
low and trembled as she spoke, and the tears ran down her
cheeks. "I wanted my ... first time ... to be ... to be
special. I wanted it to be ... with someone I ... loved, and
I wanted it to be on ... on my wedding night. That's gone
now. Gone forever. When I do get married, on our wedding
night ... what ... what will be ... special now?"
Denise put her arms around the trembling girl and held her
close. "Sarah, believe me, when you find someone who really
loves you, and who you love in return, then what happened
that Friday won't matter. When two people really love each
other, every time is special. The first time, the tenth
time, the hundredth time. It's the love that makes it
special, Sarah."
Sarah looked into Denise's eyes. "Do you really believe
that?"
"Sarah, I believe it, I feel it and I know it. And one day,
when you find the right person, you'll know it, too. Trust
me, he will think you're special, because you are."
********************
Sarah checked the rear view mirror and pulled away from the
curb. Traffic was light and driving didn't require a great
deal of concentration, so she let her mind wander over the
last two hours she had spent at the Centre. There was no
doubt talking to Denise had been the right choice, and she
would talk to her again. She felt better than she had since
the rape had occurred, as if a great weight had been lifted
from her. It was amazing how much just talking about what
had happened to her had helped. She still had issues to deal
with, and she knew it would take time to heal and recover.
Denise warned her the nightmares would continue, but they
would fade and become less frequent with time. And she was
starting to believe she was not responsible for what had
happened. Chris had acted like an animal. He was an
unprincipled, selfish, uncaring bastard who had violated
Sarah to fulfil his own perverted desires. He was guilty,
not Sarah. She could only hope some day Chris would rot in
hell for what he had done to her. But she was beginning to
understand she wouldn't be there to rot with him. She had
done nothing wrong. She was innocent. Completely innocent. |
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