My boyfriend, James, was taking a college course in photography and roped a few of us in as models. He wanted to reproduce a noirish atmosphere of prohibition and gangsters on the one hand and contrast this with the wholesome mom in the old films.

It was fun gathering costumes and sites for the series - despite the realism of my photo the car was located in a wrecking yard, the stockings borrowed from one of the college secretaries (no questions asked) In reality there was only half a car and the seat taken from another wreck.

One of my shots was a street corner scene and we found a an area due for demolition but with one of those old fashioned lamp posts with a cross bar that was to be central to the scene. One of James’s college friends had a battery powered lamp fitted in the light fitting and I was to stand under the light in a short and skimpy coat over similar underwear and of course the scene had to be shot at night.

James had shot several rolls of film when a gang of about 15 of what were only young boys – possibly as young as 14 or 15 years old; came into view. Seeing us they set up a baying sound which I imagined sounded like a pack of hunting dogs. He told me to run while he held them off as it was obvious, from their comments, I was the main focus of interest. I really don’t know how he expected me to run in my high heels with masonry, bricks and rubble everywhere except the patch we had carefully cleared around the lamp post.

He turned to face them, tripped over something and crashed face first into his blessed lamppost. I was picking my way over a large pile of rubble and cursing my shoes when I suddenly realised that I was surrounded by the boys. My coat was too small to close around me and my underwear far too revealing for circumstances.

With James bleeding and looking in no condition for anything I stood perched on the pile of rubble, surrounded by the gang, desperately trying to think what I could say or do. My situation deteriorated even more when with a whoop of excitement, one of them discovered the bag containing my regular clothes and pulled my bra and panties out to the delight of the other members of his gang.

There I was perched on top of the rubble wearing borrowed, skimpy underwear and a raincoat a 100 sizes too small which I could not close around my body. Around me a gang of boys hooting and calling out and pitching small stones at me some of which stung when they hit. It was getting very dark now, I was cold and I could see James huddled in the pool of light cast by the jury rigged lamp put up by a friend in college.

I can tell you now I had not known the meaning of terror until that moment. This was not the terror that galvanizes you into flight - especially wearing as I was borrowed oversize high heeled shoes in which I could barely stand. This terror was the terror that paralyses the rodent before the cobra, fixes someone in the path of an oncoming train.I did manage to wail in my terror with great racking sobs and my cheeks literally streaming with tears running salty into my mouth. I knew my make-up which had taken Jill, another college friend, over an hour to complete and the mascara would be streaming with my tears down my cheeks - I noticed black streaks on my body at some point where the mascara had run or been carried by my hands while rubbing my streaming eyes.

I shook violently in my terror while the gang of boys milled about below me. One, who I will call boy#1, shushed the others with only partial success and moved towards me. “If you come down from there, we won’t hurt you.” he said. His words initially served to increase my terror as, to be honest, I had run because I was physically exposed in the clothes aspect, I saw a gang of boys and James said “run”. I had put any real context to the situation.

Boy #1’s words suddenly went off in my head as a potential beating by these boys and as a trainee teacher in college I had already seen for myself some of the injuries young boys in particular, inflict on each other. Unfortunately I also have an abhorrence of inflicted pain. I don’t welcome visits to the dentist but I can tolerate that; things like beatings and whipping I cannot bear. Even someone else being hurt in that way, even in fiction, gives me feelings of physical pain.

He came a little closer and said, as one would to a puppy “Come on. I’ll make they don’t hurt you.” Seizing mentally on these words, I started a precarious descent carefully picking my steps down the pile of rubble and saying to the boy “Thank you! thank you! You are so kind”. I think of my words today and really want to give myself a good slap despite my dislike of violence.

I reached the bottom and the boys swarmed around me and pulled me into the pool of light under the jury-rigged lamp set up for the photos by James college friend. I briefly saw James crumpled and unmoving and blood on his face. The boys in the meanwhile moved in and there was a lot of groping, touching etc. and I could feel fingers exploring my panties and at least one finger entering me briefly and at this point someone dragged the mac from me. Turning to recover the mac, i looked straight into the lamp and was suddenly blinded, it was so bright. I raised my arms to shield my eyes.

Suddenly, you could hear a pin drop! In the distance I could hear cars on the main road; I could hear the breathing of the boys and an odd rattle some distance away like a tin can rolling on concrete.

At some stage one of my breasts had popped out of the cup. - it was a borrowed bra and although not flat chested, I would not describe myself as well endowed in that department despite hours and hours of exercises guaranteed to “improve your bust”

I was now embarrassed and swiftly pulled the offending bra cup into place. If you want the real joke in all this, I did not have an inkling, not a clue, not one idea as to the predicament I was in. My terror had frozen my reason youing faculties such as they are to the extent that although shaking with fear, still weeping - only quieter now. I was still looking to get out of the situation without being hurt.

Boy #1 said “Come on, we’ll take to the club” and his words suddenly provided a hope - “civilisation” I thought. The boys caught my arms and propelled me not roughly towards the other side of the development. James still had not moved and he was fortunate that he was found the following morning and taken to hospital suffering from concussion and hyperthermia. His huge photographic bag containing several valuable cameras, new and shot film with other photographic equipment had sat untouched throughout the incident. When I visited him in hospital, his first words were “Hi Mo, great news they found all my gear. Isn’t that great news” Little did he know how close he came to the Intensive Care Ward with those words! Yes.

The trip across the development site continued by the light of torches which most of the boys seemed to be carrying. I was both sobbing and cursing my shoes on the broken ground. We turned a corner and Boy#1 said “in here!”

“Here” appeared to be the doorway of on old small corner shop and I, without a thought walked through the shop past an old counter still in place, into a large back room beyond.

In the back room there was total darkness around us as the boys had crowded in with the torches pointing down and only illuminating our little tableau.

“This doesn’t look like a club” I said curiously - (go on smack the girl someone). Boy #1 turns to me and says “No we have to check you out before we go there”

I have worked on teaching practice with boys of this age and I know it was only 2 weeks in the last placement but I had regarded boys of this age as children.

I had thought the experience on top of the rubble was terror.

My mind just shut down.

I could not breathe.

There was a band around my chest getting tighter and tighter.

my tongue had turned into a sour, dry bundle of flesh stopping any potential conversation or argument.

There was a steady flow of tears down my cheeks and the only comfort was the little saltiness as they ran into my mouth.

My body was really shaking violently and my teeth started to chatter despite my tongue.

I tried to say something but nothing came.

Around me the boys were silent and with the torches now directed towards me I felt like a deer fixed in car headlights on the motorway. Transfixed. About to die.

I shook my head.

Boy#1 leaned in closer, I could smell curry.

In the gentlest of tones he said “We really don’t want to hurt you, you wouldn’t want that would you?”

Again I shook my head.

I felt as if someone was standing on my chest, my mind refused to work - a little frightened thing scuttled cowering into the dark, dark recess in the blackest depths of at the back of my mind and finding a tiny cupboard, crawled inside and shut it’s eyes tight - it was me!

I knew my body still shook and tears still flowed down my face. I couldn’t understand what was going on as the voices of the boys sounded as if I were underwater. I couldn’t really feel anything except the tightness in my chest and the knot in my stomach.

I wanted to wee. I was suddenly aware of the sensation and tried not to focus on it. Time had slowed down almost to a stop, everything seemed out of synch and still I stood there, shivering.

I realized there was a shape in front of me and somebody speaking and I struggled to listen.

It was Boy#1.

To this day, I could not describe him despite his role in entire episode - white, I know that, I think bristly hair, and a gentle voice.

I began to make sense of the words coming from the shape in front of me.

“Now we are not going to hurt you, we just want to check you out; right?”

I don’t know whether I nodded or not.

“Now don’t move while I see to this” He moved behind me and I felt fingers on my back and the bra just fell off my shoulders to the floor. I have seen boyfriends struggle for minutes with bra clasps and this one just opened.

The boys in front of directed their torches onto my body and less into my eyes.

Boy#1 moved round to my front again and stood facing me.

He then crouched down and I felt his fingers at my sides as he slid the panties down, over my hips and lying in a silken pool around my feet.

He was so close I could feel his breath on the tops of my legs.

He got up and stepped back - the hubbub behind rose and became more animated. Individual words penetrated without meaning until I heard him say. “She shaves it”.

I looked down my body; the pubic hair was still there! I then realised that, as usual, I had trimmed my bush into its usual rectangle - long enough to remain soft and short enough not to advertise its presence around swimwear and underwear.

Still saying nothing I raised my eyes to face the group.

Boy#1 moved back towards me and with his No .1 guaranteed sales pitch “Now we don’t want to hurt you.” gently took my arm and continued “just come over here! I’ll see you are all right”.

“Here” was to the corner of the room where I could now see an old double mattress on the floor.

I paused. he turned and said “You are not going to be difficult are you? We’ve been very nice so far.”

His words were sufficient to make me continue my shuffle across the room to the mattress. The other boys were making increasingly crude comments about me, my body and what they were going to do to me.

I reached the mattress and stopped, my terror increasing with every passing second, I could hear my heart beat pounding in my ears.

Boy#1 also stopped and turned to face me. His hands started to roam over my body; exploring my breasts, my sex and back to my breasts my butt and back to my breasts - he must have liked my breasts.

“Just lie down there and make yourself comfortable.” he said.