Chapter 4

Suzanne sat in the bathroom for almost an hour, trying to compose herself and wondering what to do, where to go and how she should plan her future. She knew she couldn't stay in the neighborhood; that was out of the question, she reasoned. And yet, if those boys wanted to find her, they had only to call her home anonymously and find her new address and then the whole horrible scene would start all over again.

Finally, she realized she was getting chilly, and reached for her robe, tied it around her and lay down on the couch, her hand over her eyes. Her body was still throbbing painfully, and she eased herself against the cushions, trying to relieve the ache.

Suddenly her nerves jangled with alarm as she heard the clatter of footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later a loud knock on the door, and Yvonne's throaty voice came filtering through.

"Hey, anyone home?"

"Come in, Yvonne," Suzanne called out thankfully, and as her friend walked in the door Suzanne felt the tears well up. Yvonne took one look and hurried over to her.

"Oh, baby, what's the matter?"

Suzanne reached for the other woman, buried her face in her shoulder, and sobbed hysterically. Yvonne remained silent, rocking the girl quietly in her arms until the crying spell had passed.

"Okay, you want to talk about it? Is it Sam?"

Suzanne wiped her eyes, and shook her head.

"No. No, it's not Sam. It's..." Her voice broke, and a fresh flood of tears cascaded down her cheeks. Her robe fell open, and Yvonne's eyes strayed down to her breasts.

"Good God, what's happened to you?" Instinctively the older woman put her hand out and touched the scratches and bruises on the smooth, firm white breasts. Then her face blanched. "Oh, no, don't tell me. Who was it?"

Suzanne looked away, flushing, her mind filled with confused thoughts.

"Come on, I know something's happened, and you look like you were raped by a regiment. Who was it, goddammit?"

Suzanne looked at Yvonne, and her lip trembled.

"It... it was that kid, Donald, you know. He and his brother and a colored boy. They all... they all..."

"Jesus Christ!"

Yvonne stood up and reached in her pocket for a cigarette, lit one and stood back, observing Suzanne. The cigarette trembled in her fingers, and her dark eyes were filled with anger.

"You want to talk about it?"

Suzanne nodded, sat up, and carefully related her experiences of the past two days, making sure to leave out nothing. When she had finished, Yvonne, who had walked to the window and was looking out, listening, turned to her and ground her cigarette in the ashtray.

"Well, there's not much you can do, I guess, except get the hell out of here," she said. "Those little bastards'll be back again, you know that. One thing: you're not staying here tonight. You come to our apartment. You can stay with me and Carole. You'll probably feel better with some decent company around."

She took Suzanne's hand and lifted her up. Suzanne rose and put her arms around Yvonne.

"Oh, Yvonne, I feel so dirty," she murmured. "They were so horrible, so mean."

"Oh, dear, I've just thought of something," said Yvonne. "Have you had a hot bath, and douched?"

Suzanne shook her head. "I just sat in the bathroom, trying to think," she replied. "I haven't done anything."

"Okay: first thing, you go lie in the bath for an hour, and douche real good. You sure as hell don't want to get pregnant at this stage of the game. You say they did come in you?"

Suzanne nodded. "Yes, they did. I could feel it shooting inside me and running out."

"You're not on the pill, I gather?"

Suzanne shook her head. "Why should I be? I've never done that with a guy before. I wanted to save myself for Sam. And now, oh, Yvonne, it's horrible."

"Yes, yes, I know, dear. Listen, perhaps you'd better come to our place now. You can use our bathroom, and I have a douche can which gets lots of use, let me assure you."

"No, I'll come down later," said Suzanne. "I'll bathe up here."

"Look, dumdum, they might just as easily come back now," Yvonne said. "Come on, come down right this minute. Lock your door behind you, and turn the lights out."

"All right. Are you sure Carole won't mind?"

Yvonne laughed loudly. "Of course not. Would you believe Carole started living with me after something similar happened to her, about a year ago? We both lived in a building over on Cass, and I figured it was safe enough, but I guess you never can tell. Carole was raped by a guy one night, and came running to me for help. She spent the night, and the next day she moved in. We've been sharing a place ever since. And believe me, there've been no more episodes like that in her life." Yvonne's face softened from its usual cynical demeanor. "You poor kid. Come on."

Suzanne looked at her friend, and smiled for the first time since the boys left the apartment.

"Thanks. I do appreciate this."

"Nonsense."

Yvonne put her arm around the girl's waist and they walked to the door. Suzanne took the key off the nail where she usually hung it and locked the door behind her. In silence they walked to Yvonne's apartment. As they entered, Carole was seated on the couch, reading.

"Hi." Then she saw the expression on their faces. "Oh, wow, what's wrong?"

"You remember one night something that happened to you?" said Yvonne, and Carole nodded, her face becoming grim, "Well, it happened to Suzanne. Not one, but three, all at the same time. One black, two white. Now that's what I call carrying integration too far." She tried to smile, but Carole's face remained impassive.

"Jesus. You going to call the police?"

Suzanne shook her head.

"That will only mean scandal, and it would be their word against mine. What can you do, really?" She sat down, and stared vaguely around the apartment. Carole whistled softly, and looked up at Yvonne.

"Men," Her voice spat out the word. "Who needs 'em?"

Yvonne nodded. "They're all animals, beasts," she agreed, "Thank God I can live without 'em."

Suzanne frowned, and stared up at Yvonne.

The sincerity and hate in the woman's voice was unmistakable.

"Yvonne, you... you..."

Yvonne grinned, reading her mind. "Oh, don't you believe all you hear, dear," she said lightly, some of her usual flipness returning. "I put on a good front, but believe me, the only cock I admire is the one on my father's farm in Upper Michigan, and all he does is make a lot of noise every morning. Which is what I do about men, just to keep them at arm's length."

Suzanne frowned, and decided not to pursue the matter further. She suddenly felt extremely weary, and the idea of a hot bath appealed to her.

"I'd like that bath now," she said. "Then I think I'd just as soon lie down. I'm worn out."

"Fucked out, you mean, dear," said Yvonne bluntly. "But don't worry. You'll be all right tomorrow, take it from me."

Suzanne stood up and slowly walked to the bathroom. Yvonne followed her in, and pointed to a towel behind the door. "You can use that towel," she said, "and the douche can's in the cupboard there. Make it nice 'n hot, and put a tablespoon of this in the water. The douche water, I mean." She reached for a box and handed it over. Suzanne looked at it. "Don't look so confused," said Yvonne, grinning. "It's plain old douche powder, but it'll kill anything that shouldn't be up that little twat of yours. It'll also soothe those tender spots, and they can get very tender, I know. I've had my share. Years ago, you understand." She laughed, and Suzanne smiled at her.

"You're a good friend," she said warmly. "Thanks."

Yvonne left, and Suzanne closed the door and began running the water into the tub. She mixed the douche powder and inserted the nozzle, feeling the hot water gushing into her vagina, reminding her of the penis that had been up there, that enormous, black cock which had given her such pleasure. What was she thinking? Pleasure? Yes, her mind echoed, yes, it did. It made you feel better than any sex you've ever had. You've ever had? You've only had sex since yesterday, and before then it was your finger doing the walking through that cavern of yours. Well, it was better than Ted, better than Donald, she admitted to herself. And there was such a perversity about it, especially considering her innate feelings about the blacks. Not that she was anti- Negro; she just didn't ever desire to have relations with one. The rest of him she didn't particularly like. But his penis was undoubtedly the best: long, thick, rigid, able to probe her very depths and give her satisfaction like she never dreamed possible. What was his name again? Clayton; that was it, Clayton with the big cock.

She lay back in the tub, letting the hot water lap around her neck, covering her completely and easing the soreness in her limbs, especially her thighs and her neck. Yes, those would be the places that ached the most. Her thighs from all the action with her legs, wrapping them around those sweating, fucking bodies and having those pricks ramming in and out of her. Carefully she put her finger down to her vulva and probed inside. It was tender, but not so bad as she thought it would be. Hell, why should it be? she reasoned. Nothing sharp had been put in there, only a soft tongue or a hard, smooth cock. But even too much of that can cause redness, soreness, swelling... swelling, oh God, she prayed she wasn't pregnant. But she remembered somewhere reading that a good hot bath and a douche will take care of any unwanted pregnancy. She had done that last night, and now again tonight. She was all right; she knew she was. She prayed she was.

Her fingers massaged her neck, the muscles on each side that had been given such a workout with sucking all that cock. She wondered how whores managed, doing it every night. Maybe they got used to it, or maybe there was a knack to sucking a penis without getting sore muscles in the neck.

She lay back, letting her arms float, and closed her eyes. The memory of the three boys was still vivid, and the more she relived those moments of horror, the more she admitted that there had been a satisfaction about it. After all, they weren't doing anything that she wouldn't have been doing with Sam, once they had been married; but then wasn't that being just old fashioned? She heard her mother's voice, telling her not once but many times that nice girls don't let boys have their way, not until after marriage. "Yes, my dear," Mrs. Delacorte had said. "All this talk today of sleeping around may sound very modern and clever, but let me tell you, getting pregnant isn't any fun. I remember when I was carrying you, how often I'd get sick in the mornings, and then when you arrived, let me tell you, having a baby is just about the worst experience any woman can endure. I've often thought the Lord might have thought up an easier way. Maybe one day science will provide the answer with incubators and computers. It certainly will save a lot of inconvenience, don't you think?"

Yes, maybe so, Suzanne had thought; but now she had experienced sex, she wondered if the good Lord didn't have the right idea after all. It was a wonderful feeling, and whether it had been Ted, or Donald, or Clayton, her body had responded, and she trembled again at the thought of their organs penetrating her and sending those exquisite feelings through her, and her orgasm had been something she could scarcely believe. Oh, how wonderful she had felt! Yet why couldn't it have been someone nice, a boy like Sam who loved her, and who treated her with tenderness and was gentle with sex, instead of that violence, with its ugly words, its revolting bestial overtones, like she was an animal there to be fucked and nothing more? Yet she had to admit she enjoyed it. There was something perverse in her nature, she decided, that wanted to be treated roughly, to be physically manhandled and taken bodily without regard to her sensitivities. In some ways, she wouldn't mind having sex again with those boys, but not in the same way, perhaps. Suzanne sat bolt upright in the tub, her eyes wide open at the thoughts; good grief, she thought, I'm sick, thinking things like that. Any self-respecting girl would never want that again; but then, how really self-respecting was she? Was it that perhaps she needed that type of sex to truly satisfy her, something loathsome to her previous ideas, something so different from what she had dreamed of...

"You all right in there?" Yvonne's voice came ringing through the door.

"Yes. Fine."

The door opened, and Yvonne peeked around at her.

"We're fixing supper," she said. "How long'll you be?"

"I'm ready to get out now," replied Suzanne, smiling. "And would you believe, I'm starving."

Yvonne sniffed in her best Eve Arden manner. "I know what you mean," she said cynically. "Nothing like a good fuck to work up an appetite."

"Yvonne!"

The door closed, and Suzanne smiled to herself. Yvonne was a nut, but a good friend, a sincere and true person.

She climbed out of the tub and stood, drying herself carefully, paying special attention to her crotch and her breasts. The marks had faded slightly, but her nipples were still very sore and tender. She slipped her robe on again and walked out into the living room. There was a smell of stew, and the small table in the kitchen was set for three. Carole was standing over the stove, stirring a large pot. Yvonne was opening three Cokes and pouring them into glasses.

"Well, feel better?"

Suzanne nodded. "Much. I still ache, though, and my breasts are sore."

Yvonne chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. Sounds like they really gave you a working over."

"They did."

"The bastards."

Carole tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder and turned, grinning. "Yvonne and I both know about the kids in this neighborhood. They look like sweet innocent little things, but they've been fucking their sisters since they could get a hard-on. And the girls are no better. I caught one the other day in the alley, blowing some man for a quarter."

Suzanne's eyes opened wide.

"Don't look so shocked. That's nothing to what really goes on around here." Carole laughed. "I've done a little research myself. I'm also taking sociology, remember."

Suzanne sat down and pursed her lips. "You know, I truly feel that if these people didn't live in such degraded surroundings, they'd have the chance to develop better, to have a more uplifting outlook on life. And sex," she added.

Yvonne snorted. "People are people," she snapped. "Just because the income's low and the area a slum doesn't necessarily mean people have to indulge in behavior like they do. It's not the finances or the neighborhood. It's what makes them tick inside. Take it from me. I've known lots of people from Grosse Pointe who do just the same, only perhaps with a little more finesse."

Suzanne nodded.

"I know. I've heard about the orgies they have, but at least there isn't the rough raw..." She groped for words, "... the bestial type of approach. Those kids handled me like I was just some object they could do what they pleased with. There was no hint of love, affection, or anything like that. It was pure animal sex, and nothing more. It's frightening."

Yvonne sat down and nodded. "Yup. I know. Would you believe when I was ten, I was gang-banged by four kids at school. They walked home with me; we lived quite a ways from school. This was up in that stinking little town in Upper Michigan where I was born. Anyway, the one guy, his name was Hank. I'll never forget him. He must've been around fourteen, real good-looking, and he had been paying me a lot of attention. He said I was the prettiest girl in school. I knew it was just because I sassed him back when he talked to me. I was pretty mature for my age, I guess. And I knew all about the birds and the bees, so I knew what he was hinting at all the time, but I wasn't giving them any chances. Hank even asked me once if I wanted to come home with him and play with his prick. He said it was the biggest in class. He wasn't lying about that, by the way. Jesus! I told him to quit talking like that or I'd report him to the teacher.

"Well, this afternoon, I'll never forget it, he walked me home, and these other three kids joined him. They were all about thirteen or fourteen, I guess. Hank started talking dirty, and then suddenly, just as we were passing old man Johnson's barn, they grabbed me, and whipped me inside before I could scream or shit or go blind or anything. They had my clothes off and were having at it before five minutes had passed. Two of them held me down while the others had their fun. I've never been so scared in my life. I bled like crazy, but that didn't stop them. They all got their rocks off, and then ran like hell, leaving me there.

"I kinda cleaned myself up as best I could, and limped home. I could hardly walk, my cunt was so sore. When I got home, I went to the bathroom and sat in a tub for hours, it seemed. When mother got home from work, I told her what had happened. She went to the principal of the school, and the boys were hauled up and all hell broke loose. Of course, they all denied it, and it was four of them against me. And that's where it ended. I was too young to get pregnant, thank God, and none of them had the clap, so after a few days, apart from a tender cunt, I was back to normal. But I've never forgotten that. Which is why I feel the way I do about men right now, I guess."

There was a silence. Throughout Yvonne's story, Carole had been watching her, her eyes filled with compassion. Suzanne gasped when Yvonne ended.

"You mean... nothing was done?"

Yvonne gave a short laugh. "Like I said, was their word against mine. Just like you and those bastards. If you go to the police, it will only mean scandal, and you couldn't prove anything. And they'd get their families to provide an alibi. No, little one, chalk it up to experience, just hope you haven't been knocked up, or got the clap or something, and let it go. Of course, if any of them come knocking at your door again, call the police first and don't open the door whatever you do. Better still, stick your head out the window and scream bloody murder. That'll scare 'em off."

Suzanne thought a moment.

"I guess I'd better get checked out by a doctor, just in case."

Yvonne shrugged. "If you want to. I'd wait a few days, though. You'll know if anything's wrong in that department. As for being pregnant, I don't have to tell you how to know about that." Her tone softened, and her hand came out and squeezed Suzanne's arm. "You poor kid. It's rough to go through something like that when you've been protected all your young life."

Suzanne grinned. "Well, we live and learn."

Carole brought over the food from the stove and placed it in the middle of the table.

"Okay, enough of this talk," she said lightly. "Time to eat. Dig in."

Thankfully, Suzanne helped herself to the stew, and began eating ravenously. For some reason, the horror of her experience had faded and she felt a warm glow, surrounded by her friends in a pleasant atmosphere where she knew she was safe. At least for the moment. But what about tomorrow?