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!"
.... There is more of this story ...