I did not report it to the police and can't tell anyone. It is too difficult to talk about and almost unbelievable. Perhaps if I reveal the details of that horrific experience I will gain some semblance of... what... I'm not sure. Hopefully this will remind other young women to constantly be on the alert for those who would take them against their will.

The college I attend is a branch of a large university which is two hundred miles from my home. During the football season I attend two or three games with a group of my sorority sisters and then we fellowship with some of our friends who attend main campus.

A week ago the team played the last home game of the season. Some of the football players invited us to a victory party to celebrate the win and the upcoming bowl trip to Orlando. It turned out to be more like a victim party.

James is the star running back. He is tall, about six foot five, muscularly chiseled, and black. James exaggeratedly swaggered over to me at the party and struck up a conversation. "I'm not fooled by the blonde hair," he began.

"What do you mean you are not fooled by the blonde hair?" I asked.

"Obviously you are very intelligent, Annie," he complimented. He consumed my body with his darting eyes, moving from my breasts to my legs with lusting intentions.

"Now how could you possibly know that? And how do you know my name? And my hair is obviously red. Are you color blind?"

"Do you know my name, Annie?"

"Of course I do. Everybody does, James."

I had heard about James and his past sordid exploits but I have always been willing to give one the benefit of the doubt and make up my own mind about a person's character. He had been in trouble with the law most of his life. First, the criminal mischief and burglaries and escape from a youth home. Then the gang involvement and arrest for being the triggerman in a drive-by shooting. He missed badly with the shotgun due to being in a cocaine-induced haze or would be in prison today. When a senior in high school they charged him with brutally sodomizing the forty-year-old teacher who tutored him in English. She ultimately refused to testify against him after he allegedly threatened her with the possibility of a radical mastectomy via switchblade. But then, there also were the rumors that she had stalked him and begged for more. I have learned there are two sides to every story.

"Your friend Sarah told me a little bit about you, Annie. A political science major who is planning to attend law school. You live in the honors dorm. You model to help with the expenses, although no doubt you are on scholarship, like I am. And your hair is so red I thought it might possibly be a wig."

"I model in order to save money to buy a car. I'm on scholarship because of my brain, not my body. My father won't let me drive any of his vehicles since I wrecked his Lincoln Navigator. And the red hair is real."

"What kind of car do you want?"

I could visualize the vehicle that I sat in at the showroom. The color is advertised as absolutely red and the cloth seats almost match and both are close to the color of my hair. I notice these things. Unique features like a manual transmission without a clutch pedal. No drifting backwards on a steep hill for me with someone screaming at me about stupid female drivers.

"I'm hoping to get a MR2 Spyder this summer. I love sports cars! So I'm doing every modeling gig that comes around to save up the cash. Victoria's Secret just contacted me to do a shoot. They gave me this outfit and several others. You like?"

"I like what's in it, Honey Pie. Well, I'm sure you'll have the money for that car in no time. You are extremely attractive. Better looking than most of the girls I saw on that Victoria's Secret show on TV recently. You have the look and body. And so tall. I'd sure like to see you shift my stick."

"I am a Sauromation," I joked, "a descendant of the Amazons and the Scythians, from the town of Pokrovka, near the Kazakhstan border, just below the Stone Belt Mountains. Can't you tell by my accent? You have a sports car with a stick shift?"

He laughed. "I had the accent pegged as Pittsburgh. I read somewhere that Amazon warriors cut off their right breast so they can better shoot the bow. Do you have two breasts, Annie?"

"Last time I checked."

"Do you mind if I have a look, Sugar?"

"Yes, I do mind! Don't get fresh, James, or I won't talk to you. I don't care who you are. And my name isn't Sugar... or Honey Pie!"

"I'm sorry, Annie. Just joking. Your friend Sarah told me you girls were staying here for the weekend. Do you think we could have dinner tomorrow night? Perhaps some bone dancing afterwards."

"I don't think so, James. What is bone dancing?"

"Do you mind telling me why not? Bone dancing is a black thang. I do them all--the funky monkey, fuzz bumping, knocking boots, the pole dance, riding the pony. And nobody can do the scootie like me. Would you like references?"

"Those dances are definitely ethnic because I never heard of them. I'm what you might call religious, James. I don't date men who I would not consider a potential candidate for marriage."

"Then you are saying you could never consider me as such?"

"That's what I'm saying. My parents would simply die if I married someone like you. That's just how it is. But I don't want you to think I'm prejudiced."

"I see." He looked very upset. "It's because I'm black, then?"

"No, no. It wouldn't matter if you were green as long as you belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. You know--Mormon. Some of my best friends are black. Two of the girls who came here with me are black. I'm in a serious relationship, anyway. With a doctor who lives in San Francisco. I'm going to see him in a few weeks. He's not a Mormon but he will be soon. Steve Young is a friend of his. Steve is a Mormon."

I reminisced fondly about Mark and the love we shared that day. I hadn't been with a man since, almost a year ago. But Mark and I would be together again soon. The longing, especially between my legs, had become unbearable.

"Steve Young, former quarterback of the 49ers? Damn, I'm impressed. I didn't know he is a Mormon. There aren't many Mormons around here."

"Steve is related to Brigham Young himself. My mother was born and raised in Salt Lake City. So tell me about your plans after you graduate, James. Pro football is on your horizon I assume."

"Are there any blacks in Utah? We played Brigham Young University in a bowl game a couple years ago. White, white, and more white. Yes, I should go high in the first round. I'll be a multi-millionaire. I'm the next O.J." He guffawed. " Not that I'm doing all that bad now. I do really have a sports car, by the way."

"Oh, what do you have?"

"A new Z." James bragged vociferously on the automatic climate control, analog gauges, drive computer, three-spoke steering wheel and Bose sound system. Then he elaborated on the DVD-based navigation system which made asking for directions a moot point. I'm sure now I looked at least a little impressed. "Would you like do go for ride? Maybe in the wooded forest or to happy valley." He snorted for some reason. "Six-speed manual transmission. I'll let you put your hand on my knob and jerk it around. If you're a good girl you can suck chrome off the tailpipe." He snorted again. I thought he might be allergic to my perfume because he got as close to me as he could.

"No, thank you, James. I'm not all that fanatic about sports cars that I would go for a ride with someone I just met." His reputation worried me.

I wore a short plaid skirt and a red poorboy sweater, both Victoria's Secret fashions. The sweater showed off my upper body quite nicely, especially since I went bra-less. James placed his hand on my thigh, just under the skirt, above the knee. "How much?" he inquired quite arrogantly.

"How much for what?" I responded, confused. I brushed his hand off roughly and gave him dagger of deep blue eyes that could have iced over Hades.

"How much for your body, Angel Smile? I have plenty of money. You want a sports car. Let me contribute to your fund. Let's say five hundred dollars for a few hours of fun. I rarely have to pay for it but I want you. I've had every cheerleader you saw on the field today for free. Shit, they would have paid me. But the boosters have my financial needs covered. I'll bet half the white chicks at this party have sucked me off. Although none of them could get all that much of it between the lipstick. Mostly the bimbo babes just nibble on the end of my third leg. Not that I can remember faces or names. Most white chicks all look the same, especially with my big black dick in their mouth." He smirked lewdly. "But I can tell you are different, sweet cheeks, and wouldn't I just love to split them wide open with my rump rooter. A woman has certain needs, you know. You are looking at the answer to your prayers. At least you will be when I pull out my one-eyed trouser trout and give you the great honor of speaking to the head. I know, I'll give you a pearl necklace for your efforts!"

"James!" I practically screamed. "I'm sorry I can't say it has been a pleasure meeting you. Please get away from me!"

James did, but not that far away. He joined two of his teammates standing a short distance from me. The three stared at me lewdly, laughing and boasting about what they would like to do to me--and how I would beg for more. Finally they changed the subject and started talking about vanilla pudding, fuzzy donuts, tuna melt, white sugar and passing on the dark meat. Hungry, I guess, or recalling Thanksgiving. These black folk sure talked strange lingo. Oh well, I suppose I'm just too lily white to understand their ghetto menu, jive jargon or much else.

Another person soon sat beside me. Very short, white and intellectually looking. "I couldn't help but hear some of your conversation with James," he began politely. "That's how all the football studs are around this place. They think every white chick has a secret fantasy about being fucked senseless by a big black cock. I should know, I'm a manager for the team."

"Oh, so you wash the players' jocks?" I snapped, still high irritated by the conversation with James.

He giggled like a girl. "Yeah, and James wears an extra-extra-large. He didn't bullshit about that. Hung like a horse."

"Thanks for the information. And don't you start hitting on me, too. Are all the guys here assholes? What's your name?"

"Ricky. And don't you worry about me putting my hand up your skirt. Unless you are a transsexual which I seriously doubt. Even then, I have a serious hang-up about sucking off a dude who has tits."

"You're gay?"

"Absolutely. Some of these football players in this very room like my lips on their cock let me tell you. See that big black one over there with the Mohawk?"

"He looks like Mr. T, but bigger."

"Offensive tackle. Toby. That dude likes to give it to me up the ass and then watch me suck my own shit off his cock."

"That's disgusting!" I blurted.

"And the tall lean one wearing the Falcons' jersey? Michael, wide receiver. I gave him a great blow job in the locker room before the game."

"I don't believe you, Ricky. He has his arm around that very attractive black woman and she has a diamond ring on her finger."

"Yeah, they are engaged. My bet is he'll dump her long before the wedding. He says she relentlessly complains about him leaving the toilet seat up while she on a monthly basis plugs up his commode with used... uh... feminine products. As if! Tell the bitch to take a hike. And she doesn't even woof on the wiggle wienie."

"Huh?"

"She doesn't give head, so he says. Afraid of it or something. How tragic. There is nothing like having a big black cock stuffed in your mouth. I just love it when these stud muffins give it up as I squeeze their tight black asses and they cum down my throat. Michael says he plays better when he's not horny so I help him out. You would not believe what goes on in that locker room. And they have a hidden camera."

"Oh, stop it, Ricky. You are being a jerk, too."

"Lighten up, girl! Geez! I can't pass, punt or even kick field goals. Everybody is good at something. I just happen to be the world's greatest cock sucker. And I'm damn proud about that. At least a thousand different passion poles have gone down my pike. The players on many occasions have asked me to give oral lessons to their numerous conquests. The only person I know who has more experience with fellatio than me is James. And his experience is on the receiving end instead of on the giving end like mine. I'd just die for the opportunity to suck his big beautiful black bone. You should see it! But he is strictly into beautiful white women munching on his monstrous member."

"Ricky, you are making me righteously indignant."

"That little one with the dreadlocks? Lannie. The kicker. He's gay, too. That dude loves little white pricks. Mostly because he can get all of it in his mouth. Yeow, I thought he just might bite it off a couple times."

"Now that one looks gay," I observed. "I saw him groping that real old white man wearing the spectacles in the crotch."

"That's our coach. He's almost blind even with the specs. I bet he thinks that's some cheerleader juggling his jewels. Lannie is wasting his time though. He won't get no protein shake off that old codger's roger. I doubt Coach has had a hard-on in twenty years. I came into his office one day around noon and he snoozed on the couch. I unzipped his pants and pulled out his wrinkled pecker and smoked it for ten minutes. No way could I get anything resembling a rise out of him and he never even woke up."

"Ricky, let's change the subject if you want to continue to talk. And I think you made up half the stuff you told me. What is your major?"

"Finance. I'm planning to be a star athlete's super agent, like Arliss."

"So that's why you are James' gofer I guess."

"Yeah, I take real good care of the players, especially James. I deliver whatever they want." Just then his cell phone rang. "Excuse me, it's probably one of my clients. Hello? It's my mother," he whispered to me. "Yes, Mother. I watered my plants, not to worry, Mother. Yes, Mother, I have a date tonight. A very beautiful young lady who is a model. She's sitting next to me at this very moment. Of course I'll bring her to meet you. No, she's not Jewish, Mother, but I have high hopes. At least she isn't Muslim, you know? I have to go, Mother. Business. I'll call you tomorrow. "Fucking mothers," he muttered irritably as he hung up.

"Does your mother call you often?" I inquired, biting my tongue to keep from laughing out loud.

"Fucking mothers," he mumbled again. "You know, Annie, most of these black studs don't like to tickle the bearded clam. They think it's undignified or something. "

"What in the world are you talking about, Ricky?"

"You know, diving for tuna, yodeling in the canyon. The black bones brothers like to 68--you do me and I'll owe you one."

"I'm still clueless, Ricky."

"And you're not even blonde. Getting a perm, licking the bird--eating pussy! Do you fucking understand now? Hell, I even perform cunnilingus on occasion. My mother... uh... well... you know how it is. A lonely widow. A very wealthy lonely widow."

"No, I don't know how it is, Ricky, and I doubt I want to. And please don't raise your voice like that when you are speaking to me."

"Sorry. The thought of cleaning the old hatchet wound that never heals with my tongue makes me cranky. But the one player who thrives on going south is Ike. The center. He's the fat one standing over there by the refrigerator with half a pizza in his hand. We call him Ike 'The Ice Box' Ingram. There is already a famous football player nicknamed 'The Refrigerator.' Ike is the only black dude on the team who is not well-endowed. It could be the steroids. He's so embarrassed by his lack of manhood he won't even take a shower with the team. But he makes up for his lack of wood with his other talents so the ladies say. He can muff it for hours on end without coming up for air. I've seen him do it. Talk about turning an ice box into a hot box! James doesn't care much for foreplay so he sometimes lets Ike warm up his dick garages before he drives in, which is almost impossible unless the whussy is sloppy wet."

Ricky pulled a bottle of pills from his pocket. I knew what they were. "Would you like an Adam?" he asked hopefully. K, E, STC, Adam, Clarity, Lover's Speed, Stacy. All variations of Ecstasy. The major ingredient of which is the stimulant and hallucinogen 3,4-Methylenedioxy-Methamphetamine. People who take it are seeking euphoria, empathy, trust heightened energy and emotional warmth. The unwanted results and side effects are nauses, dizziness, blurred vision, increased heart rate and blood pressure, depression, anxiety, confusion and paranoia. It can damage brain cells that produce serotonin, an important brain chemical.

"I'll pass on the pills," I insisted. "But I could use a drink. Would you mind getting me one, Ricky? Just a Pepsi or something."

"Sure. I'll be right back But keep an eye on those two over there while I'm gone." He pointed. "Freddy and Teddy. They are twins. Offensive left and right guards. Didn't you notice them staring at your tits? Incidentally, your nipples look like they just might stick right through that sweater. Freddy and Teddy are boob connoisseurs extraordinaire. I wouldn't be surprised if they come sit beside you while I'm gone and beg to breast feed."

"Oh shut up, Ricky, you pervert!"

I looked around for Sarah. She had been talking to Andrew, the quarterback, a half hour ago. Hanging all over him actually. I had been concerned then because he was talking about drugs. He too had a bottle of pills he showed Sarah.

And then I saw Sarah. Sort of. She was on her knees and Andrew had his coat over her head. Giving him a blow job in the middle of a crowded room. I knew it had to be her. She had borrowed those shoes from me.

Suddenly Andrew pulled the coat off Sarah's head with his left hand. His right hand squeezed the base of his cock as the head rubbed Sarah's lips. She had her blouse unbuttoned and her bra unsnapped and held her breasts up with her hands. Cum ran all over her face and chest. Sarah let out a surprised shrill cry and jumped up and ran out the door, trying to put herself back together, obviously unbearably embarrassed. I thought about going after her but she had willingly put herself in that situation. What could I say?

Of course the rest of the players got a huge kick out of all this and actually cheered Andrew. "That white nookie sure played your skinny flute," James joked. "Maybe I'll let her join my band. Her friend doesn't seem to want to peel my banana. But the night is still young."

Just then Ricky returned with my soda in a plastic cup. "What did I miss?" he asked. "Everybody is in a hoot about something."

"My girlfriend Sarah just performed fellatio on your quarterback and everybody saw the gooey results thanks to him pulling the coat off her head just as he shot his load on her face. She ran off in a hissy fit."

"So what's the problem? I like it when people watch. I just spoke to Michael and he wants me to blow him again. Says his lady is on the rag and he won't be getting any black sugar tonight. Would you like to critique my performance?"

"No thank you. My goodness, you should have seen Sarah's shocked expression. That wasn't very nice of Andrew to expose her like that for everyone to see. And his penis was so big! It looked like a big black snake. More than a foot long. I simply can not imagine having that thing inside me. It would rip me wide open."

"You think his is big? James has Andrew beat by about six inches. And James's is thicker by far. Think of a baseball bat."

"No! And it looked so weird, the contrast between Sarah's milky white skin and Andrew's gigantic black penis."

"You sound like you are getting a little turned on here, Annie. Sure you wouldn't like some big black bone yourself?"

"No way!" But I felt the damp spot in my panties and it worried me. "In fact, I'm leaving now. I simply must see how Sarah is." I rose from my seat but I could barely stand. My head began to spin and I felt very faint. Sitting back down, I mumbled weakly, "Ricky, do you think you could give me a ride over to Armstrong Hall? Suddenly I don't feel well and I don't think I can walk."

"Sure, let's go." He helped me to his car. That's the last thing I remember from that night.

The next morning I woke very late, almost noon. My body ached all over. My jaw hurt and the back of my throat seemed quite raw. When I got out of bed I could barely walk. I knew then that I had been sexually violated. My anus felt like someone had stuck a lit blow torch up it. And my pussy didn't feel all that good either. What in the world had happened to me?

I found Sarah in the dorm's lounge watching television. "Sarah, do you know what happened to me last night? How did I get back here?"

"That little white dude Ricky brought you home about 4 A.M. He woke me up dragging you in. I just thought you were drunk and passed out. You look like you have one helluva hangover."

"Yeah, I feel like I was run over by a truck." Or gang banged by a football team, I thought but dared not say. "But I didn't even have one alcoholic drink, Sarah. You look pissed at me."

"Not really. I am a little disappointed no one really gives a shit everybody saw me on my knees and Andrew shooting his load all over me."

"Yes, well, who do you have to blame for that but yourself, Sarah? Nobody twisted your arm to give Andrew a blow job in a room crowded with football players and students. What were you thinking?"

Sarah stormed out of the lounge. I called Ricky. "Ricky, I would like to talk to you about last night."

"I was just about to call you, Annie. Thought I'd let you get some rest. You had a rough night."

"How rough?"

"Would you like me to show you?"

"What?"

"It's on video tape." Oh my God, I thought, what had I done? "Can you walk over to the athletic complex?" he asked "Nobody is here but me. Go in the ground level door that says Employees Only. I'll leave it open for you."

Twenty minutes later Ricky gave me a tour of the 8,000 square foot locker room. Air conditioned, a lounge, five meeting rooms, trophy room, lobby, a fiberglass skylight roof, kitchen. Ricky pointed to a long bench next to the lockers. "You would not believe what you did on that!" He giggled. "Follow me." We went into the largest meeting rooms equipped with an overhead video projector. "You best sit down, Annie." He motioned to a couch and popped a tape into the machine.

The movie opened with me naked and dancing with James. We were in this very room. He wore his football jersey but no pants. His huge black penis poked at me when we moved close together. I could not even believe how humungous it looked.

"Somebody drugged me! I have never acted like that in my life, Ricky!" I started to sob miserably. "I just wouldn't," I moaned.

"Yes, you were drugged, Annie. Remember the soda I brought you? James put something in it. He told me he'd hurt me bad if I said anything and I knew he meant it. I have seen him hurt people before."

"What did he give me?" I asked, almost in shock.

"A Roofie. Several, actually." I knew about Roofies. The forget-me-pill. The date rape drug of choice.

"That got you semi-comatose," Ricky continued. "Then when we got to the locker room he forced you to take a drink of water laced with Special K. In half an hour you were totally stoned out of your mind." Special K--Ketamine, more specifically Ketamine Hydrochloride, an anesthetic mostly used on animals. It gives you dreamy, floating sensations and hallucinations that make you feel like you are being removed from your body. Side effects are it can cause loss of consciousness, delirium and amnesia.