Chapter 1

I was only fourteen the first time he molested me. He being my seventeen-year-old next-door neighbor. The two of us have nothing in common and although my parents and his parents are close friends, he and I were seldom in the same room together. I was glad for that. Whenever I did get near him he creeped me out. The way he looked at me always made me feel dirty. I didn’t understand why. What did I know? I was fourteen and a very naïve fourteen at that. My fifteenth birthday was still three weeks away. But even back then I knew there was something evil about him.

Jeff is a senior. He always gets out of school at two o’clock. His mother is always bragging about how smart he is. Apparently he only needed to take one class in order to graduate but he’s taking a couple of college level classes, too. Probably just to impress his parents. I see him sometimes when I come home from school. He’ll be shooting hoops in front of the garage or doing yard work. Our driveways are side by side and I always use the side door to our house. As he often does when he spots me coming home he stopped what he was doing and watched me with that strange, disturbing expression on his face. That fateful day, though, he put his basketball down and came toward me.

I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I don’t like him and I don’t trust him but it never occurred to me he’d actually have the nerve to do anything to me. He called my name and I stopped halfway down our driveway waiting to find out what he wants. He came to a stop in front of me with a very insincere smile on his face and said, “I want to show you something. Come here.”

With his hand on my shoulder he began guiding me toward the gate to his backyard. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to go with him. He scares me. I just didn’t know how to get out of it. Although I was uncomfortable the situation didn’t seem to call for panic. I didn’t want to overreact so I meekly let him steer me to and then through his back gate. As soon as the gate closed behind us he spun me around and pushed me up against the back of his house.

My back slammed into the house so hard it almost knocked the wind out of me. I looked up at his face, more afraid than ever now. But when I saw the evil look on his face fear turned to terror. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. But I didn’t try to get away. I just stood there shaking while he leered down at me.

It seemed like forever before he finally spoke. He looked me up and down and said, “You’re starting to turn into a little hottie, Cass. Yeah! Those little tits of yours are comin’ along just fine. But you know what they need? They’ll grow nice and big if you fertilize them.”

I had no idea what he was talking about but I knew he wasn’t supposed to be talking about my boobs. I remember what I was thinking earlier that day. I’ve been thinking it quite often in the last few months. I was thinking that they’ve grown quite a bit in the last year and I’d hate to have to admit it to anyone but I’m justifiably proud of them. When I turned fourteen a year earlier they weren’t much more than little cones on my chest. Now, three weeks before my fifteenth birthday they’re big enough to fill an AA cup bra and still growing. In any case, I had no intention of discussing my breasts with him!

I finally made a weak attempt to pull away from him but his grip tightened down on my shoulder and I gave in instantly. In a very shaky voice I asked, “What did you want to show me, Jeff?”

His evil grin widened and he said, “This.”

I watched in shock as his free hand unbuttoned his shorts and pushed them down. His underwear quickly followed and I stood there stunned as his hand closed around his hard ... thing, dick, whatever. He moved his hand up and down the hard shaft several times before saying, “See what I’m doing? I want you to do that. It feels so much better when a girl does it for me.”

I looked back up at his face, certain he had to have completely lost his mind. He must have found the look on my face amusing. He chuckled. But then he reached for my hand and guided it to his dick. I tried to pull my hand away but he’s a big, strong boy. I could have fought harder I suppose. I could have screamed for help. I could have fallen to the ground and ... I don’t know, anything but look back down in shocked silence and watch as he wrapped my small hand around his large dick and began moving it up and down the shaft.

I remember whispering, “What are you doing?! Why are you doing this?!”

He moaned in pleasure. In response, I assume to the touch of my hand. Then, in a strange, throaty voice he said, “You’ll see.”

I was only fourteen at the time this took place and as I already mentioned I was quite naïve. But I wasn’t totally ignorant. I had a basic knowledge of the difference between the sexes. I knew a little about sex and I knew about masturbation. I knew, or at least I assumed, it would be years before I’d be an active participant. So I didn’t give it a lot of thought. Well, that’s only partly true. I wondered about it. I had a lot of questions but I was in no big hurry to have them answered. From the little I knew about sex at the time I thought everything about it was kind of icky. I wasn’t anxious to have anything to do with it.

His hand began to speed up and he swore under his breath. The next thing I knew something hot and slimy shot out of the end of his dick and landed on my throat and the underside of my chin. I jerked my head back suddenly, hitting the wall behind me so hard I saw flashing lights and stars. But I never lost sight of the dick in my hand and all the white stuff shooting out of the hole in the end. The second spurt and the three or four that followed all landed on my chest. The last one was much weaker and only made it as far as the front of my skirt. The spurting stopped but before he let me take my hand away more of that stuff oozed out of him and down onto my hand.

He finally sighed loudly and released my hand. I jerked it free, holding it out away from my body and staring in disgust at the slime coating my fingers. He was breathing deeply, almost panting as he reached up and began to rub the thick cream into my blouse. As he did he said, “To get the most out of this you really should take off your blouse and bra. You rub this stuff into your tits and they’ll get nice and big. It’s good for your skin, too.”

The bleachy smell was disgusting. More than anything I wanted to puke. I tried to pull away again but he wouldn’t let me. Not yet. Not until he rubbed all that goop into my blouse over my boobs. He started to let me go finally but then he noticed the spot on my belly and reached down to rub that in, too. Then he smiled and rubbed his sticky hand all over my face.

He finally let me go and I turned and ran out of there like I was on fire. I nearly had a nervous breakdown as I dug through my purse for my key. I listened for him, terrified he’d change his mind and come after me. But he didn’t and I finally got my door open. I rushed inside and slammed the door, locking it behind me. That’s when the tears finally came. I felt so dirty! The terrible smell and the sticky mess he made of my blouse didn’t help. Worse yet, for some reason I felt guilty! I had no idea what sin or what crime I was guilty of committing but the feeling persisted. Reason and logic were never able to totally dispel that horrible feeling. To a lesser extent it persists still.

I glanced out the window but there was no sign of Jeff. I shuddered in revulsion and rushed to my room. I dropped my book bag and my purse on my bed and stood there for a long moment. I feared for a moment that I might go mad. I couldn’t control the thoughts and the disturbing images chasing each other through my mind.

I finally forced myself to take a few deep breaths. I’m not certain why but I remember the urgent need to hide the humiliating evidence of what just happened. I undressed quickly and all but ran down the hall to the laundry room. I was in such a hurry to sterilize my school clothes I had remained naked. I never go around the house without clothes or my robe, not even when I’m home alone! At some point it suddenly struck me that I’m in the laundry room naked. But I told myself that it’s only because I can’t put my robe on before showering and I have to get my clothing washed and dried before my parents come home.

To this day I don’t understand why. I had done nothing wrong. But for some reason I felt dirty deep down inside and I felt guilty, as though something I had done or said must have brought about my disgusting ordeal. My life from that day forward would have been so much easier if I had presented those clothes to my parents in their present condition and told them what happened. I suppose I thought Jeff has had his fun and would leave me alone from that moment on. If only! Washing my clothes and keeping my mouth shut would turn out to be a huge mistake.

I threw everything I was wearing that day in the washer and started it. I still felt nasty. I could still smell the strong, pungent odor of the thick, white cream he massaged into my neck and my blouse. My neck and chin feel sticky and to a lesser extent so do my breasts. That stuff must have penetrated through my blouse and bra. I went to the bathroom and took a long shower. I still felt dirty when I stepped out of the tub and I still seemed to be able to smell that awful stuff he sprayed me with. I put my deodorant on and when I still thought I detected the awful smell radiating from my neck and chest I spread more deodorant over those areas.

I eventually came to realize that my imagination was playing tricks on me. I returned to my room, put on a clean bra and pair of panties, shorts and a loose t-shirt. I could hear the washer still working on my soiled clothing. Suddenly I had a moment to catch my breath and reflect. Instead, however, I collapsed on my bed and began to cry like a baby. I don’t think I’d have felt any more violated if Jeff had actually raped me!

Well, okay. That’s silly. Of course it would have been worse if that molestation had turned into an actual rape. But I wasn’t thinking too clearly. I was extremely traumatized. Nothing remotely like that had ever happened to me before.

Eventually I cried myself out. I returned to the bathroom, washed my face, and then sat down at my desk and opened my book bag. I put all my homework on the desk and sat there staring at it for the longest time. No. That isn’t right. I was staring over it. I stared out my window at the side of Jeff’s house and tried to think about what I did wrong this afternoon and what I should have done differently. I remember being suspicious when he called me over. I remember being nervous. But he’s never assaulted me before. I had no reason to believe he’d do the terrible things he did.

I should have been thinking about what I was going to tell my parents when they get home. I vaguely remember how muddled my thinking was at that moment. It’s certainly understandable. I must have had some idea how stupid it is to let him get away with what he did, though. I’m an intelligent girl. But I can remember how repugnant the idea was of saying what happened to me out loud to anyone. I cringed at the very idea of telling anyone what he did to me. It’s just too embarrassing. And what will happen if I tell them? The Bakers are my parent’s best friends. What happens then? They won’t want to put their friend’s son in jail ... will they? If I tell anyone what happed it will just piss off Jeff and then what will he do to me? And of course I still feel as though somehow I must be at least partly responsible. And I feel soiled. More than anything else, though, I can’t stand the idea of my father knowing what Jeff did to me.

No. I have to keep this bottled up inside of me. All I can do now is be very careful never to be alone with that pervert again. It won’t be easy but what else can I do?

Things didn’t exactly turn out the way I planned.

For the next few weeks I managed to avoid him. I walked home on the opposite side of the street. As I approached my house I walked very slowly, listening for any sound and watching for any sign of movement from Jeff’s house. I was starting to think he may have realized what a terrible thing he did and how much trouble he could be in if I told. I almost convinced myself that he might even be avoiding me. I saw him around school from time to time, usually hanging around with a couple of his friends. But if he saw me he didn’t act like he even recognized me. Several times I saw him look in my direction but I got the impression he didn’t even see me.

I knew he was home most afternoons. His old car would be parked out by the curb in its usual place. I saw him occasionally in the evening when our parents were home but I never saw him outside when I got home from school.

The first week was the hardest for me. I knew I was acting differently. I was skittish and withdrawn and my parents noticed. In response to their numerous queries I continued to insist I was fine. I was far from fine, especially that first week. But I had almost returned to normal by the time my fifteenth birthday rolled around. I insisted I didn’t want a party, that I’ve grown too old for that sort of thing. So on Friday evening my parents took me out to a nice restaurant. They gave me a few gifts, nothing too extravagant. I wasn’t expecting much. I pretty much have everything already. Being an only child has its perks.

I warily approached the side door to my house after school the following Monday. As I always do now I looked around carefully before scurrying down my driveway. I don’t want to take a chance on getting trapped again. But I guess I wasn’t as careful as I should have been. Perhaps I was getting careless after three weeks. In any event I didn’t see him. I had no idea he was around until I was unlocking the side door.

Suddenly there he was. I still didn’t see him. Not at first. I felt a strong hand gripping my neck from the back and another came around to cover my mouth. I was still screaming into his hand when he growled in my ear, “Shut the fuck up, bitch. Do what you’re told and you won’t get hurt.”

So much for the silly idea that he realized he’d screwed up and was avoiding me. He slowly removed his hand from my mouth. He was waiting to see if I’d scream. I suppose I should have but there wasn’t anyone around to hear it and come to my aid and I was afraid if I did he’d hurt me, another foolish notion in retrospect.

He reached around me and finished unlocking the door but we didn’t go inside. He opened it, pulled my book back off my shoulders and tossed it into the entryway. My purse followed. Then he grabbed my key from my clenched fist and tossed it inside, too. He closed the door and guided me across our two driveways with his hand still firmly clamped down on the back of my neck like a vise.

We were halfway to his house when in a voice trembling in terror I meekly said, “Please don’t do this Jeff. If you do anything to me I’ll tell. They’ll put you in jail.”

He chuckled and gleefully pointed out, “You didn’t tell last time. I think you liked it. I figured chances were pretty high in my favor. I didn’t think there was more than a ten percent chance you’d rat me out. I was almost certain you’d go home and wash your clothes and keep our little secret. You didn’t tell. That’s how I know you liked it. I bet you’ve been diddling your little cunt every night since then thinking about what it felt like to have my cock in your little hand. Haven’t you, you little tease?”

“NO!! I never ... I don’t do that! I didn’t tell because our parents are friends. I didn’t want to ... I should have. I will if you do anything else. I swear it!”

“I don’t think so. I think you want this. You’re just a horny little bitch but you don’t want to admit it. You’re fuckin’ easy and you don’t even realize it!”

He’s delusional! How can you reason with someone like that?!

We had reached his door by then. He opened it and despite my far too feeble and far too late attempt to struggle with him he easily guided me inside and closed the door. Instead of fighting him I gave in. I don’t know why. I remember feeling so powerless, just like the first time he attacked me three weeks ago.

When I heard the door close behind me I felt as though my fate was sealed. He’s much bigger and much stronger than I am. I can’t fight him. There’s no one around who can hear me cry for help. All I can do now is whatever he wants me to do.

I let him guide me through the kitchen, up the stairs and down the hall to his bedroom in silence. He closed the door and gave me a shove toward the center of the room. I had just about made up my mind to do what he wants, or at least what I foolishly assume he wants, to masturbate him again and get it over with so I can get the hell out of there. He stepped back and said, “We’re going to do things a little differently today, Cass. Take your clothes off.”

When I didn’t move he said, “It’s for your own good, Cass.”

He didn’t explain why it’s for my own good but it doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t have believed him anyway.

I didn’t refuse. I didn’t say a word. But I have no intention of obeying his outrageous command. I simply stood there in a near stupor and waited to see what he’d do. Long seconds passed during which neither of us moved and neither of us spoke. It isn’t that I thought he’d give up and let me leave. It’s just that I know I can’t possibly do what he wants me to do. No boy has ever seen me wearing anything less than a modest two piece bathing suit. I’ve wanted a bikini for a while now but my mother insists I’m still too young. So as a general rule I’m the most covered up girl at the beach. The thought of undressing for him now, in his bedroom no less, I can’t even imagine it.

Unfortunately, Jeff has obviously been imagining me doing just that. This isn’t a spur of the moment abduction. He’s been planning this, probably since three weeks ago when he first molested me. When I continued to stand there without moving for long enough that he knew I wasn’t going to undress for him he moved closer. I’m still standing with my back to him. I heard him moving. I was afraid he was going to tear my clothes off. That wasn’t his plan, though. Instead I heard the whistling sound of something moving rapidly through the air and suddenly the backs of my thighs exploded with a pain unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. I screamed so loud I hurt my throat!

I spun around and stared at him in shock. He’s holding a long, thin, shiny metal rod in his hand. As I leaned over and reached back to massage the backs of my thighs he held the rod up as though to display his most prized possession and said, “It’s the old antenna off my car. I had to replace it but I dug it back out of the trash when it occurred to me it might come in handy. Makes a good little whip, doesn’t it?”

I continued to stare at him in shock. All I could think was, ‘He’s gone crazy!!’

The slightly manic smile suddenly disappeared from his face and he snarled, “Stand up straight!”

I ignored him at first. But when he raised his arm and drew it back to strike me with that rod again I suddenly snapped upright. I knew without even having to think about it he had won the battle of wills. I’d do anything to avoid experiencing that horrible pain again. I couldn’t imagine anything worse than that.

He slowly lowered his arm with a self-satisfied look on his face and asked, “Are you ready to start doing what you’re told like a good little cunt?”

In other words, am I ready to take my clothes off in front of him? Suddenly the possibility is a whole lot less unimaginable than it was a few minutes ago. The backs of my thighs still feel like they’re on fire. Even through the material of my skirt it was the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced. There’s only one possible answer to his question. I stared at the floor between us and whispered, “Yes. Please don’t hit me again.”

I reached for the top button of my blouse but he stopped me. “Wait! Not yet.”

I looked up in time to see him lean the antenna against the wall by his dresser and pick up a camera. I shook my head in disbelief. He’s going to take pictures!

But it’s even worse than that. He flipped out the LCD screen and turned it on. It’s a movie camera! My heart rate must have doubled when I realized he intends to record me while I undress. I shook my head and moaned, “Oh god! Please, Jeff! Please don’t!”

It was as if I’d never opened my mouth. He grinned, looked at my image on the LCD screen and said, “Okay. Go ahead. Take everything off.”

I stared at him for long enough that he cocked an eyebrow at me, covered the mic with his hand and asked, “Do I need to hit you with that thing again? It’s okay. I don’t mind. I kind of enjoyed that.”

I looked back down at the floor and my shaking hands returned to the top button of my blouse. He quietly ordered, “Look up. Look into the camera.”

I obeyed, of course. I raised my head and looked toward the camera. But I only saw a blur. For the first time since he ambushed me at my side door just ten or fifteen minutes ago I started crying. These weren’t the hysterical sobs of three weeks ago when I lay on my bed wishing I could die ... or kill him. Either option would have been acceptable. These were quiet tears of hopelessness. These were the tears of desperation that come when you surrender to the unthinkable. He didn’t seem to mind.