Message-ID: <45980asstr$1072325406@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: spoonbender@hotmail.com (Theodore Spoonbender)
Reply-To: theodore@tspoonbender.com
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 24 Dec 2003 17:04:50 GMT
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Subject: {ASSM} ** New Spoonbender Story - The Other Side (Rape)
Date: Wed, 24 Dec 2003 23:10:06 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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The other side by Theodore Spoonbender

   **********************************************************************
Its been a long time since I put pen to paper (or finger to keyboard) and
some people have been asking what I've been up to.  The answer is drawing
smutty pictures and putting up a website (you can see the site at
www.tspoonbender.com).

   Anyway enough of the commercials.  I got the urge to write this story as
an antidote to all the rape stories I've been seeing over the past few
weeks.  I noticed that they all seem to have 1 thing in common and that
they are always from the perp's point of view so I decided to try and write
a rape story from the other perspective.  It was a challenge trying to get
inside a woman's mind (show me the man that has succeeded and I'll show you
a liar) but I hope I made a reasonable fist of it.

   Judge for yourself....

   ****** (C) 2003 www.tspoonbender.com - Not to be posted on any other
website (except asstr-mirror.org) *******

   We'd all noticed the change in Shawnee.  I couldn't exactly put my
finger on when the change occurred it wasn't like she'd grown a third leg
or something.  It was more subtle than that, more like the advent of a zit.
It had probably been there festering for ages until one day it sort of
explodes into your consciousness.  I judge myself as a pretty caring sort
of person, even as a teenager I wasn't fully into the hormonal mood swings
that we seem prone to but can't stop ourselves from indulging in.  At least
I think so looking back on those years.  But I still couldn't put my finger
on what exactly.

   Of course once she started to show we all 'knew' what had made her
change from a high kicking extrovert into a shrinking introvert that seemed
to shun all male company.  Of course we quizzed her about the father but
she wouldn't tell us which meant that the teenage gossip telegraph worked
overtime coming up with all sort of plausible (one night stand) through to
the downright implausible (drunken gang bang) explanations being fielded.
The funny thing was that she didn't refute any of them.  I often wondered
why, especially as I was supposed to be one of her best friends, she didn't
feel it in herself to confide in me.

   I know now of course.  And no I didn't want to tell anyone either.

   It all began for me one day in the park.  I was with Shawnee and a
couple of other friends.  This must have been a few weeks before Shawnee
had her baby and we were, apart from her of course, in our cheerleading
outfits fresh and perspiring from our practise.  It was coming up to the
end of the school year, our final year when we shucked off the shackles of
school and indulged in the headier world of College.  We kind of felt sorry
for Shawnee because we knew that for her college wasn't an option so we put
up with her hanging around with us even though she was miserably quiet. 
The rest of us were just a bunch of happy go lucky teens with an endless
summer ahead of us, a breathtaking arrogance in our effect on boys and
modestly wealthy parents.  College funding would not involve working in Mac
Donalds over summer for us.

   I'd thought a lot about College and in particular the sort of boy I was
likely to meet there.  I wasn't exactly an intellectual but I didn't enjoy
the company of the slope headed Neanderthals that our town seemed to breed
especially to send to our school.  So I'd resisted the temptation to put
out, even though it was hard on occaision especially on a balmy night in an
open topped car with a cute, and very insistent, boy.  A fumble was all
they got, even though my body was screaming "YES, YES, DO IT, DO IT". 
Nature had quite a few tricks up her sleeve to buckle the resolve of girls
from the chimera of teenage love, through his "if you really loved me you'd
do it," to the reactions of our own bodies.  And what was it that made me
keep my viginity?  My dad!  Not in person you understand but the thought of
the disapproving frown on his face as he peered at me over the top of his
newspaper as we sat across the breakfast table.  I never saw it but I sure
as heck imagined it often enough.  Well often enough to rescue me in a
sticky situation with a boy's hand thrust into my panties and his lips on
mine, our tongues entwined.  Just as my legs started to part involuntarily
I saw his face in my mind and I sobered up like I'd been slapped with a
large wet haddock.  Looking back I often wonder what my dad would have
thought if he had known he was the most effective contraceptive in my
armory.

   So there I was.  Cute, attractive, proud of my long legs and pert
breasts at the peak of my youthful perfection with an endless long and
happy life ahead of me.  And not a cloud on the horizon of my own personal
chunk of sky.  Little knowing that my nemesis was eyeing me with a gimlet
stare.

   We goofed around for a while, dancing around, doing cartwheels in fact
anything that would give us an opportunity to flash our panties at the boys
that were tossing footballs to each other, without giving the impression
that we were doing it on purpose.  When it started to get dark the boys
went away and we decided to split up and go home after promising to meet
the next day in the mall.  I lived on the opposite side of the park from
the others and I often cut through the little wood that shielded our safe
middle class houses from the possibly unruly elements in the park.  Which
was kind of funny because the local Sherrif lived two streets away from
ours and even dropping litter would have the perpetrator being frog marched
to the local Police station.  It was safe, it was middle class and it was
white and we needed our privacy so we needed the wood.

   It wasn't much of a wood being barely 50 feet at it thickest point and
it was hardly forbidding.  The city bent over backwards to keep the
undergrowth down, probably spending more each year on weed clearance than
they did on housing projects in the whole south side.  But the people who
lived here knew the power of the pen and it was a brave mayor who risked
their wrath only to find himself standing on the city hall steps with his
belongings in a bin liner.  The people who lived round here paid serious
taxes and they wanted to see those taxes at work in our neighborhood not
across town somewhere.

   It was my little wood.  I had my first secret den in there behind my
house when I was young and my first proper adult kiss.  It was safe, it was
close to home, I could see the roof of my house from here, and I daydreamed
though the gloom of dusk.

   I was about half way through when my peripheral vision caught movement
and I was suddenly slammed sideways onto the ground.  It was like when the
linebacker had crashed into me at a football match but instead of getting
off me with profuse apologies this man clamped a hard hand over my mouth as
he lay fully on me, pinning me down.

   Surprise gave way to fear as I saw the glint of a knife as he held it in
front of my eyes and ordered me to keep quiet or he'd cut me.  He then
pricked the point under my chin for emphasis.  I was terrified into
speechlessness as he shifted his body and fumbled under my skirt.  Looking
back it was strange that I didn't perceive his intentions straight away.  I
suppose if it had happened somewhere else I might have been more alert to
danger but here, only yards away from my house with my mum's cooking
bubbling on the stove and my trusty labrador snoring on the sofa, it just
didn't seem possible.  And so my panties were half way down my thighs
before I woke up to what was happening.

   I grabbed his hands trying to tear them away and opened my mouth to
scream.

   "You try screaming and you're dead," he said picking up his knife and
waving it for emphasis.

   Teenagers very rarely think of dying.  That happened to old people and
drunks on the freeway and so being confronted with it jarred me into
silence as he suceeded in tearing my panties off and thrusting them in his
pocket.  He'd had to rock back as he heaved my panties over my shoes and I
tried to scramble to my feet.  I nearly succeeded but he caught one of my
ankles and with a quick twist I crashed to the ground winded.  He quickly
flipped me over and forced my ankles apart before I could completely catch
my breath.

   I tried to fight him, I truly did, as he flipped up my skirt and started
to unzip his fly.  I tried to twist away to try and knee him in the groin
like they taught us at the self defence classes at school but he simply
grabbed my throat and started to squeeze.  I dug my nails into his hand but
the tough leathery skin seemed impervious and I found my vision starting to
shrink into a tube as I fought for breath.  He slackened his grip long
enough for me to gasp for life giving air as he pulled his enormous penis
out of his pants.

   I couldn't help staring at it.

   I'd seen one before, my evenings in open topped cars were not completely
selfish and I had jerked a couple of boys off, but I'd never seen one so
big or so evil looking.  It looked gnarled like an old tree or something,
with thick veins pulsing under the skin and the enormous head with its
ragged slit seeming to grin malevolently at me.

   Now this is the point where the self defence experts would advise
reaching down, grabbing his balls and squeezing hard.  What they neglected
to mention was how exactly you were supposed to do it with a steel like
hand in a claw around your neck attached to a man that had a foot in height
and at least 150 pounds over me.

   And he was black.

   Now in common with most of the people I know I wouldn't have called
myself a racist.  I remember being as purse lipped sanctimonious as the
rest of my peers when one of the blockheads at my school mouthed off about
blacks.  But the only real contact I'd had with black people were the
sanitized middle class blacks that wore blazers and called my mother ma'am
that I met in church.  But this black man was different he was more feral
and more overwhelmingly powerful.  And consequently more terrifying.

   He held me down effortlessly with one hand as he used the other to guide
himself towards my vagina.  I tried to twist away to stop him from
penetrating me and it seemed to annoy him because his hand suddenly whipped
round and cracked across my face.  I saw stars for a few seconds and he
used that time to introduce his penis against the lips of my vagina.

   He lunged inside and it was like I was being torn bodily apart.  The
pain was tremendous, way beyond explanation as he tore away my innocence.
Conscious thought deserted me as I tried to use every ounce of my strength
to get away from the tearing slashing pain as his hips hunched forcing more
and more of his penis inside me.

   Inside me!

   I remember beating my fists against his chest and trying to kick him but
it was futile.  His power overwhelmed me and the pain almost made me bite
my tongue.  A few seconds of lunging and then he lay still on top of me,
our noses touching, and I knew I was fully impaled.  That angry looking
thing was buried inside me and my childhood had gone for good and I groaned
at its loss.  He put his mouth over mine and tried to force his tongue
between my lips but I turned my head away.  Angily he grabbed my chin
between his finger and thumb and forced me to look at him and then he
backhanded me across the face again.

   I opened my lips.

   His tongue tasted of cheap cigars and cheaper booze and I almost
retched, especially when he started to withdraw his penis from me.  It hurt
just as much going out as it did going in and I remember hoping, praying,
that he had decided to withdraw.  A hope cruelly shattered as he rammned in
again.

   In and out, faster and faster.

   I was tossed like a feather in a hurricane.  Every part of me seemed to
be focussed on the million screaming nerve endings inside my poor ravaged
vagina as he pounded away at me.

   Maybe I cried out, maybe I babbled.  I don't know.  My brain seemed to
shut down and the world beyond shrank to nothingness as he brutalized me.
It was just me, the smell of him, his disgusting grunts and the pain; the
fiery, screeching pain.

   I do remember that it seemed to go on for ever until I was jolted back
into reality when he husked "You ready for your first load bitch?"

   Reality hit me in the stomach.

   I was being raped.  My carefully preserved virginity had gone and now he
was going to impregnate me.

   I was ovulating.  He could hardly have chosen his time better.  I stared
in his eyes and begged for mercy hoping to reach out and contact that spark
of humanity that I believed in my naive innocence everybody possessed.

   I'd never felt so helpless in my life before.  I was pinned effortlessly
to the ground by his bulk, and I had no chance of heaving him off.  But I
tried, my god I tried, but my puny strength was no match for his hard,
sinewy muscles and my wriggling and inefectually kicking legs just made his
grin broader.

   His lunges became more brutal, his penis harder and fatter and his
grunts more pronounced until he suddenly slammed into me as deeply as he
could and I felt his penis spasming inside me.

   It was happening!

   A man was forcing his sperm inside me.  Deep inside my womb.  And there
was nothing I could do about it.

   His smirking face dissolved into shards as tears flooded my eyes.

   His lunges became slower and harder as he repeatedly slammed inside and
his penis spasmed again and again.

   Finally he collapsed on me as a sort of stupifying numbness crept over
my body.  I honestly thought I could feel his sperm burning away inside me
like some sort of acid.

   After what seemed like hours his eyes opened and looked into mine.  He
laughed, actually laughed in my face then pulled his penis out of me. 
There was a sharp pain as his pulled the head clear followed by a sudden
wet warmth down my asscrack.

   I lay there numbed as he zipped up, the humiliation washing over me in
waves.  Especially when I caught the flash of a camera as I lay there
spread and conquered with his seed dribbling out of me.

   "Nice fuck bitch," he smirked before he ambled away into the gloom.

   And that was it!

   The most overwhelming and life changing event ever to happen to any
woman and he'd just dismissed it as a "nice fuck".

   I started to cry.

   ************************ (c)2003 www.tspoonbender.com - free stories,
art and more ***************

   I don't know how long I lay there but the streetlights had turned yellow
casting long shadows into the wood before I finally came to.

   His sperm had cooled and dried around my crotch and my vagina ached
abominably like it had been stuffed with broken glass.

   I remember stumbling home and locking myself in the bathroom.  I was on
autopilot as I tore off my clothes and climbed into the shower and reality
only seemed to hit me as I delved into my crotch to be rewarded by a
trickle of slimy sperm on my fingers.  I sank down in the cubicle and cried
huge bitter tears at my loss.

   I never told anyone.

   That night in my bed I somehow rationalized that I'd somehow deserved it
for wearing too short a skirt - crazy because it was the standard
cheerleader uniform - or flashing my panties which he must have seen.

   The time for my period came and went but I tried to thrust it from my
mind.  It had all been a bad dream.  Safe in my house with my mom, my
sister, my faithful dog, my normality.  It couldn't have happened.

   Shawnee's baby a few weeks later brought me back to reality with a jolt.

   Her parents, her father especially, didn't take having a black grandson
too well and she found herself living in a hostel for unmarried mothers,
shunned by her friends.

   When I saw the baby I knew who the father was.

   He looked so much like his father - my rapist - that I gasped.

   Shawnee caught my look and a river of understanding flooded between us.
We collapsed into each others arms and cried.

   I told her my story, she told me hers.  It was the same guy alright.  I
was the lucky one (lucky!) at least I hadn't been raped in my own bed like
she'd been.  Or made to suck his disgusting penis.

   She advised me to have an abortion but it was against my Catholic faith.
But I'm sure his holiness in Rome would understand and so I decided to
confide in my priest.

   He was hardly sympathetic quizzing me at length about whether I'd led
this guy on and sucked his teeth when I told him that I'd been wearing. 
The look on his face told me that he believed I deserved it.  He then went
on about how it was all God's will and if a life had been created then it
must be allowed to come to fruition.  After all there were lots of good
Catholic adoption agencies.

   I walked home numbly.

   My mother heard me retching one morning and instantly knew.  Luckily she
didn't tell my father what she suspected but instead quizzed me.  I tried
to be tight lipped but eventually I broke down and told her everything.

   She wanted to call the Police and was surprised when I was dead against
it.  I honestly didn't want to relive the experience again - twice - once
in my statement and once at the trial.  If they ever found him of course;
it had been nearly 3 months and he was probably long gone.  She initially
got angry, then possessive and motherly and finally practical.

   We decided to tell dad it was an accident with a burst condom and some
boy at school.  He was all for 'finding the son of a bitch and making him
face up to his responsibilities' and was furious when I wouldn't tell him
who it was.

   I was despatched to my aunt's place at the other end of the state before
I showed too much and had the baby there.  The birth was difficult, he was
huge, and despite the fact that I wanted them to take him away and put him
with the adoption agency the harrassed midwife instead plugged him straight
onto my breast.  I was too exhausted to fight and as he suckled I knew then
that I had to keep him.

   The rapist had won.

   The "nice fuck" had given him a son.

   ***************** (c)2003 www.tspoonbender.com - free stories, art and
forums *******************

   So there you have it.  My life in a nutshell.

   Eighteen years has passed since that encounter in the woods.  My sister
has married well, to a dentist and she lives close to my parents.  I'd
tried living at home after I'd first come home but the stares of the
neighbors had driven me away, my dad had swallowed the color of his
grandson's skin and had bought me this apartment close enough for them to
visit but far enough away for me to be forgotten by the neighborhood.

   My son had grown up into a surly brutal teenager that even I found
difficult to love.  Around his fifteenth birthday I'd seen him chatting to
an older black guy at the corner of our street.  He seemed familiar and
then it dawned on me, he'd met his daddy.  I grabbed a knife from the
kitchen ready to plunge it into the bastard's heart but my son leaped to
his defence calling me, his mother, "a stupid bitch".

   I didn't see him much after that, in fact the only time I really got to
spend any time with him was at his trial where he was convicted of raping
and impregnating a girl from my old school.  I guess genes will out.

   And the moral to my tale?  I'll leave you to work that one out.

   ************* (c)2003 www.tspoonbender.com - Free stories, art and other
stuff **********

   Hmm!  Comments anyone?  Spoonbender at hotmail.com or visit me on the
website.

   BTW - Writers can sell their work via the website without costing them
one red cent - see the website for details - www.tspoonbender.com 

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Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting.

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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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