Chapter 1

“After the rapes, my daughter Jessica turned hypersexual.” Donna was behind us, talking into her cell phone.

Apparently her husband, my friend Scott, already heard the story several times. He excitedly told me, “I got the new edition Player’s Handbook yesterday! Let me grab it from the car.”

He walked outside, so I listened in on his wife’s strange conversation. The phone slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the table, as she laughed intensely. She quickly picked it up. “Oh God, yes! Third boy this week. Probably ten last month. Hot little tramp, but she’s only fourteen. The shrink says it’s a defense. If she asks for sex and decides how they do it, she’s in control of her body instead of the guy. That and fear. Her butt is safe if she makes him pop in her mouth or kitty. She’ll screw nearly anybody, for just some cuddling or a few compliments.”

She noticed me listening and pointed to a picture on the wall. “Ken, Jessica.” The early teen girl in the image was mid-laugh, her tight white blouse straining over big curves no fourteen-year-old should have, bigger than average college girls’! The fabric clung, sheer enough to betray the faint shape of her nipples beneath. Looking at her mother, it was obvious where she got her marvelous chest and long, natural blonde hair. Her beautiful face and slender athletic body must have come from her father’s side of the family, though.

“It was pretty bad. She had bruises all over, and needed surgery to fix a rectal tear. An abortion, too, one of her father’s creepy brothers put a baby in her. All three of ‘em raped her at least five times that weekend. Until then, she was normal. A calm, sweet, happy virgin.”

My jaw dropped in shock. I was twenty-one, but my virgin emotions jumped between disgust, pity, empathy, arousal, and horror.

“Her dad Jack is no help, either. For her last birthday, he gave her a set of dildos! What kinda sicko does that?” She blew a cloud toward the ceiling and crushed out her cigarette in the ashtray. I hated the smell. I was glad the weather was unusually warm for late April, and several windows were open.

Donna lit another stink stick and returned to gossiping. “No, she got held back a year. Seventh grade. This morning a snotty punk visited her for breakfast. He was here maybe fifteen minutes. They went in her room, but the bed only squeaked a few times. He was bright red when he left, so ashamed. A three pump chump. Hehehe! I don’t think he’ll be back.” She giggled into the phone then continued. “She has another date tonight. I swear, since she grew tits, the little slut controls boys like robots.”

I wondered why any mother would judge her own child so harshly, but soon I’d learn.

Quieter, she continued. “All three of her uncles got eleven years, way less than they deserve.” Long pause. “Yeah. I buy her a dozen condoms a week. That’s usually enough. She’s on the pill, too. Yeah. Don’t want another baby. Most of the guys are two or three years older, but if I try to stop her she’ll run away again.”