I realize this is a strange way to start, but actually, I really don't know exactly where to start my story; perhaps a place to start might be by telling you something about me?
The problem I have with that is for me to try and describe myself, I feel I come off as if I'm conceited, or I am better than others. I honestly know that my looks and the shape of my body are just the luck of the draw. I do go to a gym and work out as much as is practical just to keep in the best condition as I can, but I could have been 3'8" just as easy as 5'8"; and my body could have been lumpy and dumpy rather than the shape I'm lucky enough to end up with. I wear a 36 C cup bra, the rest of me is 24" in the middle, and my bottom is 35". I don't know if it was due to genetics or what, however trust me when I say I am very grateful I was blessed with a decent body and a nice face, and most important, I really try not to let it go to my head. I don't feel I'm conceited, but I'd have to be living under a rock to say I'm also well aware I get more than my shares of looks.
I am single and I will be 28 my next birthday in May. I have had lovers over the years and I have even loved a couple of guys; but I feel I've never been "in love" with any man. Some would call me a romantic because I believe there is a man out there who will sweep me off my feet. He hasn't shown up yet, but I still have my hopes.
I have an extremely interesting job that pays handsomely and I'm in the process of buying a very cool home overlooking the bay. Living next door is a pleasant and extremely handsome man named Jake who has to be twice as old as I am and is always very polite and pleasant. Jake is tall and looks to be in great shape regardless of whatever his age is. Every conversation we've ever had, he has been very much the gentleman. I have often thought it was a shame he was not closer to my age since I find him to so interesting and actually rather sexy.
Jake has a couple of motorcycles in his garage and I confess one of my major weaknesses is for motorcycles. He has a beautiful rather new Harley and a totally restored early 1950's Vincent Black Shadow. (I only know this because he told me what kind of bike it was.) Jake had the Vincent out in his driveway one day and was working on it as I was walking past. I'd never seen anything like it before and it was such an interesting bike I had to stop and make a comment about it.
I found it difficult not to giggle when Jake stated to tell me about the bike. He was like a big kid as he proceeded to tell me all about the bike and how rare it was and exactly what made it so special. Once I realized how old it was, I was stunned at the beautiful condition it was in. I could tell by the shape that it was not a new bike, but it looked like it just rolled off the showroom floor. The black and gold gleamed in the sun and there was a lot of chrome and brass on the bike as well. I honestly enjoyed learning how rare and interesting the bike was. As he talked, I found myself looking him over very closely and mused to myself again what a very handsome man he was for someone his age. His slivering hair seemed to gleam in the sun and he had a sexy, long mustache. Actually, regardless of his age, I thought he really was a most handsome, sexy man.
After that day, whenever we saw each other we would take a moment and chat about our day, to the weather or just general things. I found out he liked opera but not the ballet, which put us on the same page; he enjoyed football but not soccer, same as me. We had similar views on religion, politics and just life in general. I told him several times how much I loved bikes and he offered me a ride any time I wanted. I kept telling him the next nice day I was going to take him up on that offer but it never seemed to happen. Both of our lives appeared to be busy and we just never found the time.
I wouldn't say I am an overly paranoid person or that I am super cautious, but I do pay attention to my surroundings. I don't park in a dark corner or in a dark parking lot at night; I make sure when I get out of my car there are no strangers just standing around. I feel that a little prevention goes a long way. I have gone through a couple of self-defense classes at the Y and not to brag; I felt I could handle myself well if necessary.
Once in a while I have to work late and one of those evening I had to work very late. When I arrived at the parking garage I noticed my car was now the only one on that level. I thought I was the only person on that floor until I was about 200 feet from my car when 5 young men, I can only describe as punks, stepped from behind a wall and started to walk towards me. For a moment, I considered trying to get back to the elevator, but I remember that one of them was broken and the other one was set so it would always return to the ground level. I could see there would be no point in running for my car as they could easily keep me from getting to it on time. I felt my only option was to just keep walking to my car as if there was nothing wrong.
One of the punks whistled and another made a crude comment which I ignored and kept on walking towards the car. As we passed each other, two of them quickly moved up on each side of me grabbing my arms and knocking my purse to the floor. The first punk who had made the crude comment picked up my purse and I begged him to just take what ever cash I had in the purse and let me go. Instead he just tossed the purse onto the hood of my car and stepped in front of me.
His hair was long and greasy; his face was pock marked and he reminded me of a rat. His eyes seemed to be glazed as if he was on something and they were set too close together. His eyes peered over a very large hooked nose. I noticed that 3 of them were wearing some sort of filthy vests over greasy motorcycle jackets and it appeared they all belonged to a club of some sort. I remember how quiet it was as I stood there held against my will, the traffic sounds seemed so far away and the wind that flowed through the garage was cold.
With the two of them tightly holding my arms, I couldn't break free. The one punk who seemed to be the leader stood leering at me and as much as I hated myself for doing it, I started to cry. His greasy hair hung down both sides of his face and because her eyes were set so close together it gave him the appearance of a person who was not of normal intelligence. His clothing was disgustingly filthy and he reached into one of the pockets of his jacket and brought out a knife. Flicking his wrist, the blade popped out and audibly clicked into place. The feeble overhead light flickered off the blade and I was now even more terrified. I had never felt so alone in my life. Nobody knew where I was and there was nobody waiting at home for me to show up. I was totally on my own with these hoodlums. When the punk with the knife stepped up close enough, I could smell the stench of his breath and I knew he had been drinking.
He took the tip of his knife, slipped it under the top button of my blouse and flicked his wrist. The button came off, making a tinkling sound as it hit the ground and he giggled. I tried to break free again but the two holding my arms only held me even tighter.
With deliberate slowness the punk continued to cut each button off my blouse until I was standing there with it hanging open. I was mad and scared at the same time and I continued to cry. I kept begging them to let me go and not hurt me.
I felt the cold backside of the knife blade against my chest as it was slipped under the center of my bra and then I felt a strain as he pulled the knife towards himself and my bra was cut in half between the cups. My breasts held the cups somewhat to my body until the punk reached out and yanked my bra away. The cold air made my nipples so hard they ached and I hated it. For some reason now with my nipples hard and protruding, I felt so exposed.
With one hand he roughly squeezed one of my breasts and then pinched a nipple, "Nice tits mama, I can hardly wait to see the rest of you." His hand was cold and my breast and nipple now hurt from his rough handling. He continued to leer at me and I was now becoming frightened for my life. I can not describe how helpless and alone I felt at that moment ... I didn't know what to do, my mind was frozen from the fear.
Unexpectedly from out of the shadows came a deep, low rumbling voice, "Let her go ... now!" And my neighbor Jake stepped into the light.
I had no idea where he had come from, but seeing him brought a loud sob from deep inside of me and I was never so grateful to see anybody in my life. He was dressed much the same as the punks holding me except his clothing was clean and his leather jacket, even though it looked well worn, did not have the dirty, oily sheen the punk's jackets possessed. Everyone seemed to freeze for a moment as he slowly walked towards the 6 of us. He sound of his boots echoed off the walls and he stopped a few feet away from the group. Once more, he spoke in a low, deep tone, "I'll not tell you again. Let her go ... now!"
The ruffian with the knife sneered, "Go away pops before you get hurt. Does the home know that you are out this late?" And the rest of the punks all laughed at the hoodlum's joke.
Jake took one more step toward the 5 punks and pointed at the one with the knife, whom I had begun to assume was the leader. "If your boys don't take their hands off my daughter right now, you are the ones who are going to get hurt."
The leader stepped away from me and positioned his knife in a fighting style. "Gramps, I am gonna cut you up and then you can watch us all fuck your little girl." He made a motioned towards Jake.
.... There is more of this story ...