My gut is so big that I can't even see my feet, but I don't care. I'm flat on my back anyway. The people all around me are smiling at me and I'm in so God damned much pain that I wish they'd knock me out. Right now, I'm headed for surgery and I'm really worried about the guy who did this to me. Before they pulled me away from the bastard, he was on the floor and he wasn't moving at all. After the surgery, I'll be fine. I don't know about him. There will be no way for him to live this down. All of that macho man blather will go out the window when people hear that he was the one passed out on the floor and I was at least awake when he went down.

I'll bet right now you have the wrong idea in your head, don't you. It just goes to show how if you word something the wrong way, it gives people completely different ideas about what is actually going on.

Let me start at the beginning so I can make my story clearer.

My name is Mona Matthews. It used to be Mona Fullerton but I got married. If you had seen me three years ago, you'd never have imagined that I'd ever get married.

Three years ago, I was twenty two years old. I was in my second and final year of college. I know you're thinking that at twenty two I should have been in my fourth year or at least my third. Let me explain some things to you. Growing up, I wasn't exactly a part of one of those perfect nuclear families.

My family, the Fullertons, consisted of my mother, my father, my brother, Tommy and myself. Mom ran off with a slick salesman with a smooth line of shit, before I was five years old. The way I hear it, he told her she was beautiful and she deserved more than my dad could give her. He was supposed to be going places and he did. He took her to New York. He took her to Los Angeles and finally he took her to the bone orchard.

It turned out he made even less money than my dad did, but unlike my dad he also cheated on her. He was one of those guys for whom one woman was never going to be enough. When he saw my mom, he had to have her. Every guy who saw my mom wanted her. Unfortunately, they only wanted her temporarily. My mom's tits entered the room at least two seconds before the rest of her did.

Most guys saw them and were rendered temporarily insane. The salesman was no different. My mom really thought that she could have any guy she wanted. Her opinion of herself wasn't based on reality. She wasn't really that pretty. I should know, I look just like her. She was a short, chunky woman with big tits and delusions of grandeur. And so am I, except for the delusions of grandeur.

Anyway, once she found out that the guy was giving her a bunch of shit it was too late. She was stuck in another state and she had too much pride to be able to call my daddy to come and get her. That was even stupider because my dad would have gone after her in a heartbeat.

Why would he have done that you ask? It's simple, he loved the bitch. My daddy worked his ass off to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads, but it was never enough for my mom. She thought she was entitled to the finer things in life although she'd never once had a job and barely kept the house. By the time I was four, I knew every item on McDonald's menu because she was always calling my dad and telling him she was too tired to cook so he'd have to bring something home. I think that was why I was so chunky growing up. I'm a lot slimmer now because I eat better and I get more exercise too.

Even after what she did to him, running off with another man and leaving him with two kids to raise alone, my daddy would have taken her back. He loved that woman so much that he'd have done anything for her and suffered any indignity just to make her happy. What a sucker.

Anyway, the salesman's eyes kept wandering. That kind of man never stops looking for something new. Less than a year after she left us, he'd already taken up with another woman and they were arguing constantly. My brother, Tommy, told me about it once. He knew because she'd called home and asked Tommy if my dad was home. We think she was trying to bluff the salesman into thinking she was going to come home.

Tommy said the salesman told her to go ahead and get her fat ass out of his house. He was tired of fucking her anyway and he already had someone new. That was all Tommy heard before she started begging him to stay and put the phone down. Anyway, it was probably that same day that it happened. It must have been because we heard about it the next day.

It turned out that the for once the salesman hadn't been lying. He was messing around with someone else. And she, like my mom, had been married at the time. Only the new woman was married to one of those mob types. Someone kicked in the door while mom and the salesman were eating and shot both of them multiple times. The salesman learned a lesson about screwing the wrong woman and mom was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

At the time, I didn't really understand what had happened. I was only four when she left. I missed her for a few days but that was it. I was still loved and clothed and fed, so life went on. When I got older and heard about it, I became determined not to ever do the same things. My brother, Tommy, joined the Marines and left us when he turned eighteen. I haven't seen or heard from him since. My daddy barely lived long enough for me to turn eighteen, myself. He'd been trying to drink himself to death since mom left us and two weeks after my eighteenth birthday he collapsed.

The doctors were amazed that he'd lived as long as he had. His liver was so destroyed by the amount of alcohol he drank every night that he had to have been in constant pain for the last couple of years. I personally hope that there's no such thing as life after death. My daddy is too good a man to have him reunited with that bitch because they're both dead now. And I'm sure that's what he was hoping for.

Anyway, I moved in with my aunt. She was my father's sister and she'd hated my mother as much as I did. Unfortunately, as I've said, I look a lot like my mom and I'm sure Aunt Sally saw my mother every time she looked at me.

Aunt Sally had two sons. One, who was older than me at twenty and one, who, at eighteen, was my age.

Both of them were constantly trying to either catch me without my clothes or trying to sneak a feel. And they were my cousins. When I brought it up to my aunt, she immediately blamed me. She accused me of sticking my chest out to entice her two precious angels. I guess she thought that somehow my evil titties just leaped out and pressed themselves against her two innocent sons.

She was sure that I'd end up just like my mother. I realized then that staying there for very long wasn't an option. I got a job working in a mom and pop convenience store close to my aunt's home. It wasn't bad for a first job. Working with mom was brutal, she expected me to do everything. I had to run the counter, stock the shelves, sweep the floors and do everything she could think of. Working with pop was a lot better. He often gave me little bonuses and extras and hardly made me do anything.

Pop treated me really well. He was always hugging me whenever mom wasn't around and for an eighteen year old girl, I was pretty naïve. After I'd been there for a while, pop started buying me presents. He'd say that someone like me deserved pretty things. Little did I know that pop was setting me up. He took his time about it, but in less than a year pop got my cherry. I thought I was in love and I thought pop loved me too, until the night that mom caught us in the store room. Pop swore that I'd led him on and teased him beyond all reasonable expectation. According to him I was always bending over and wiggling my ass in his face or flashing my tits at him.

Naturally, mom believed him and I was history. And, of course, my aunt believed them when she called to ask why I'd been fired. My next job was working at a gas station doing the same thing. The only difference was that the station was owned by three brothers. This time I knew that I needed the job. I wanted to move away from my aunt's place. She was forcing me to go to church every Sunday and spend all day there. At the same time I never had any free time because I was always working, cleaning her house or cooking. I felt like a slave.

One of the men from the church asked me why I wasn't in school. At first I figured that it was his hustle. The school thing was his way of doing something for me so he could fuck me. By that time I figured, the guys who owned the station were all doing it, so what could it hurt.

He had me fill out a lot of financial aid papers and sent them in. To my surprise, he got me a hardship case scholarship. It paid for tuition, books and room and board as long as I kept my grades up to a certain level. I really didn't know what I wanted to study. I thought about business so maybe I could get a job as a secretary or something like that. Everyone thought it was a good idea. When I gave it further thought, I hated it. As a secretary I'd always have some guy who wanted to bend me over his desk. My job would never be about my skills so I had to come up with something else.

I finally decided to study automotive technology because while I worked at the gas station, I discovered that I loved cars. My bosses at the gas station thought it was funny as hell. My aunt looked at me and told me to pick something else because I was just picking that career field to be around men all the time. She was even more convinced that I was trying to follow in my mom's footsteps.

She told me I had two choices, either pick a different field or move out of her house. She didn't realize that with the room and board paid for, I'd be moving anyway and far sooner than she expected. I'd actually been planning on leaving the next day. I had to be there for freshman orientation and to be assigned to my room in the dorms. I ended up telling her to suck it. I did use exactly those words too. Unfortunately, she didn't understand what it meant.

My bosses were, of course, very unhappy about me leaving. Not because they couldn't replace me. I was sure they'd have one of their daughters or nieces in my place so fast the seat would still be warm from my ass when she sat down. But it meant an end to all the free pussy.

My first year of school was a struggle. I hadn't done well in high school so I had to take a lot of remedial classes. That first year, my schedule didn't include any technical classes. All I took were classes like English, History, Psychology and Math. I didn't have Algebra or Trig because my math scores were so low I needed to get a general math grade before I could be placed in a college level course.

My roommate, of course, came from an upper middle class family in the burbs. She introduced me to drinking and partying. I ended the first school year on scholarship probation. Scholarship probation isn't the same as academic probation. My grades were all solid C's. Some of them were earned the hard way with me cracking the books and trying my best to expand my brain.

Others were earned by me cracking my shirt and exposing my tits. Fuck English, I really don't care where the commas go. And who really uses semicolons anyway.

Even though I wasn't taking any of my technical classes yet, I got a break near the end of the school year. One of the instructors in the shop program was offering a special summer program. It involved working as assistants, getting cars ready for summer car shows and races. It meant a lot of washing cars and waxing them and detailing them. There was also some travel involved in getting cars to the different venues across the country.

I put in my application and my roommate looked at me like I was crazy. "Why the hell would you want to spend your summer washing cars?" she asked me. "It doesn't even pay very much."

It actually only paid fifty bucks a week. But it included room and board as well. That meant that I could continue to live in the dorm for the summer plus I'd have fifty dollars a week to start saving. For me it was a Godsend because if I didn't get it, I'd have to go back to my aunt and I was sure that she'd know what suck it meant by then.

I put in three separate applications. By the time I dropped the third one off the secretary stopped me before I left and told me to go into the office. Her boss wanted to talk to me.

That was the first time I saw Brandon Matthews. He was one of the professors for the automotive tech program. Hopefully, next semester I'd have one of his classes.

"Hi Mona," he said. He smiled at me. I was shocked. He actually looked at my eyes and not my tits. If I'd known that I was going to be in his office, I'd probably have worn something a bit more low cut. Maybe he can't see them I thought, so I pushed my shoulder back a bit. It didn't make any difference.

"Mona, I've already got two applications from you," he said. "Please tell me you weren't dropping off another one."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I really want to do this badly."

"Why?" he asked. "You could make more money working at Burger King for the summer."

"But I wouldn't be doing anything with cars," I said. "Plus if you look at the big picture, I'd make more but my expenses would be higher too, plus I wouldn't get to travel. With this program, I get to work around cars; that's a plus. I get to live in dorms and eat in the cafeteria, that's also a plus. It's the best possible situation for me."

"Okay Mona," he said. "I usually try to pick guys for these things that I've worked with, but I have to admire your persistence and the fact you said that working around cars was a plus. I'm not supposed to be making any decision until next week. But if you promise not to pester me with any more applications, you're on the team."

I was so happy I thought I'd bust. I didn't realize until later that it was a really special thing for me. I got home and told my roommate that I was on the team. "Oh Yay," she said. "You get to spend your summer as a wash monkey. Who knows by next year maybe you'll have graduated to grease monkey."

"What about the next year?" I asked. Even her sarcasm couldn't dampen my mood.

"Shit by the next year," she said. "All of the preliminaries will be over with; you'll be a full-fledged monkey-monkey." She laughed but I didn't think it was funny. Still there was just magic in the whole situation for me. I didn't have to go back to my aunt's house. I didn't have to work in a gas station or a convenience store where I had to fuck some guy to keep my job and I was secure for at least another year.

It didn't hit me until later that Mr. Matthews had looked at me and picked me based on something other than my tits or fucking me. He'd given me the job because I'd gone after it, I'd been persistent about it and he could tell that I really wanted to do it.

That summer was a magical time for me. I was a part of a team for the first time in my life. All of the other members of the team were guys. Surprisingly though, they treated me with respect. It was one of the strangest experiences of my life. It was like traveling with seven brothers. Only these guys treated me far better than my real brother ever had.

Don't get me wrong, they were all real guys. You could tell that by the way they treated and talked about the car show girls. It wasn't unusual for me to go looking for wax or supplies and come up behind them and catch snatches of conversations about the girls.

I'd hear, "Man did you see how Melissa's ass is popping out of those shorts?" and the other guy would reply. "Forget about her ass, I'd suck those tits for days." Then as soon as they saw me coming towards them, they'd quickly go back to a PG conversation. "Hi Mona," they'd both say with huge smiles. "Do you need any help?" Or "Mona, if I wash this car, would you wax it?"

I was probably the best waxer on the team. The guys' hands were too big to get inside the curves for some of the fine detail work. And there was also the fact that they were in too big of a hurry to get the job done. I liked to take my time and enjoy running my hands over the car. If I wasn't disturbed, I could wax for hours. I'd just be there in my own little world.

They really could have used that summer as one of those young adult sex movies. All they'd have needed was a deranged killer to start killing off the car show models and we'd have a hit. As we traveled from show to show and state to state, the guys got laid a lot. Early on, it was with women who'd be at the show and were impressed by the cars and the allure of the show. But as we kept doing the same shows with a lot of the car show models, the guys actually started getting lucky with them as well. That really didn't work as well as you'd expect. Most of those women were professional models and really nice girls, but they had to put their careers first and the average guy is simply not capable of watching his girlfriend or someone he's trying to claim, strut herself in front of a bunch of other guys on a regular basis.

You'll note that I said most of those women were professional models and really nice girls. There were also a few who were just flat out HOEfessional models who would fuck anything that wasn't nailed down, especially if it brought the chance for a few dollars or a photo session. Those girls broke a lot of hearts and laughed about it. But most of them got a reputation for being a bitch and by the middle of the summer none of the guys would touch them with someone else's dick.

So there I was in the midst of all of this debauchery, being treated like Rebecca from Sunnybrook Farm. By the middle of August, I was horny as hell. I wondered why everyone was getting laid except me. Sure, I'd never had a real boyfriend in my life, but I'd gotten pretty used to having regular sex. And though I'd never actually initiated it or looked for it, I kind of missed it.

So I asked one of my best friends on the tour, Joe Simpson, about it. "Joe, I know I'm not as pretty as the models," I began. "But I'm not exactly a troll and I do have a nice body. Maybe I'm not built like those models but everything I have is real and has a lot less mileage on it. Why hasn't anyone hit on me?"

Joe and I had always been able to talk about anything. He looked away from me so fast I thought someone had tied a string to his head and pulled it.

It took a lot of prodding and begging. He swore me to secrecy and then told me the truth. A lot of the guys on tour liked me. And a lot of the guys coming to the show asked about me too, especially the ones who were turned off by the overly made up model types and wanted something real. But professor Matthews had talked to the guys before the tour began and told the guys to treat me like I was his daughter. Not only were they all prohibited from laying a hand on me, they were instructed to make sure that no one else did either.

Everyone liked Professor Matthews, so they'd have done it for him just for him asking, but he'd also made it clear that if anyone didn't follow his rules regarding me, they'd be committing career suicide because not only would he not recommend them for anything, he'd give negative feedback on them and their skills whenever asked, forever.

So if you put two and two together, you could see why I was having a very lonely summer. Most of the guys liked Matthews and there was simply too much available pussy out there for anyone to risk messing with me.

Joe did tell me that I'd seriously affected a lot of the guys during the tour though.

"Mona, sometimes when you'd wash a car in a tank top or a T-shirt and you'd lean over the car with those big old titties trying to pop out of your shirt, I'd have to go take a shower," he said. "It's not like the models. Most of them are tiny little girls with fake tits that just don't move like yours. Those girls have more plastic in their bodies than the cars do and almost as much paint. Their smiles are as fake as their tits. But sometimes, I'd watch you waxing and the movement of your arms caused your ass to jiggle or worse cause those nipples to stick out. I'm telling you, if I wasn't afraid of what Matthews would do to my career, I'd have fucked you."

The funniest thing about it was that after having the conversation with Joe, I wasn't horny any more. As a matter of fact it was just the opposite. I started to realize that the guys I'd considered to be like brothers were just as bad as all the rest. I'd given them the benefit of the doubt because they hadn't made any moves on me and because we shared a love of cars. But in reality, they were just as bad as the other guys and maybe worse. These guys had so many hot, available women around them that most of them didn't value women at all. To them a nice car was something to be cherished and taken care of, but women were just another commodity to be used and tossed aside when you were done with it, like tire gel or car wax.

More and more my fantasies turned towards the only man who had ever treated me like more than that. Unfortunately, he was the worst person in the world for me to be hung up on.

Professor Matthews was what I considered a fool. He was just like my dad. He was so hung up on his wife that nothing would ever come between them. He didn't even travel with the tour. He just flew in for the major shows because he couldn't tear himself away from that bitch long enough. She'd come to a couple of the major shows with him. I hated her on sight. She didn't like or know anything about cars. I didn't even like the way she looked. She was thin to the point of being emaciated. Like one of those former runway models. The car show girls looked like aliens next to her. She was so tanned, she almost looked black and all of her clothes looked like they came straight out of a magazine. Even her shoes had patterns and she always looked like she was bored to death.

I guess if I had to be truthful, I was probably just jealous of her because Brandon Matthews followed her around like a lost puppy hanging on her every word. I hoped he ended up better than my dad did.

Fortunately, I didn't have to see her very often and the summer ended and with it the tour. I settled back into school and didn't run into Mr. Matthews again.

My second year of school was a disaster. There's no other word to describe it. As I've already said, I was on scholarship probation. I had to get my grades up or lose my scholarship. I tried, I really tried, but my academic foundation from high school was terrible. There were simply too many things that most students had learned that I hadn't. When the semester ended in January, my scholarship wasn't renewed. My only option was to get a job and try to pay my own way.

My classes were far more expensive than I'd ever thought. Couple that with the fact that, all of a sudden, I had more expenses than I'd ever dreamed of and you'll begin to see the problems I faced. At twenty two years old, I'd never been on my own. What might have seemed like good money when I was working in a gas station but living with my aunt was nowhere near enough to support myself and still go to school. Even when I got a roommate, it was sometimes a choice between paying my share of the rent and having enough money to buy food. I really began to miss my aunt. Even putting up with my cousins would have been better than what I was forced to endure.

By spring, my roommate had bailed on me and I couldn't afford the rent. I had enough money for food but I wasn't saving any and I didn't have a place to stay. I tried to find another job but on a college campus where every student is looking for a part time job, there simply weren't enough jobs to go around.

I thought I had gotten a break when one of the guys I'd worked with on the team the previous summer ran into me as he was coming out of a bar. He stayed in an apartment off campus and told me that I could sleep on his couch for a while.

I thought that I'd gotten lucky. I figured I'd keep his apartment clean and cook for him for a week or two. That would enable me to save up a couple of paychecks. I could use that money to get an apartment of my own and then find a good roommate.

He also thought that he got lucky. He didn't care about having his meals cooked or his apartment cleaned. He started hinting and rubbing against me. Finally he just came out and told me what he wanted. For the first time I started to balk.

"But what about what professor Matthews told you guys?" I asked him.

"Matthews doesn't matter anymore," he smirked. "He's a drunk, fuck him. He can barely remember his way to his classroom or his lab."

That put me into shock. I started thinking about it. I hadn't actually seen him in a long time. I wondered what could have sent him over the edge. In the back of my mind, I had an idea, but I hoped that I was wrong.

I gave in and let the guy have what he wanted. After all, it earned me a spot on a nice soft warm couch. But as he drooled and humped away at me, my mind was miles away. My plans to stay with him for a couple of weeks were also uprooted. The second night, he had a few friends over. They were really nerdy guys so I felt safe. I went out and told him that I'd be back by around midnight, thinking that his friends would be gone. When I got back most of them were drunk. He was also pissed at me. I wondered why he was pissed.

"Uhm, I need you to do me a favor," he said.

"Like what?" I asked.

"Like you did for me last night," he said. "No one will ever know."

I sighed. "As soon as your friends leave," I said, hoping they'd leave and we could just get it over with.

"That's not it," he said. "It's not me. It's them. Just hang out with us for a little bit and let's see what happens."

What happened was they got me drunk and fucked me. I don't remember any of it. I was never big on alcohol but even so, they might have put something in my drinks because I had no memory of anything that happened. I just woke up the next morning feeling awful. I was sore between my legs and I had a headache. My roommate couldn't even look me in the eye.

I didn't say a word. I just went to work since I couldn't afford to get fired as well. When I got back that night, he gave me the bad news. He'd offered to let me stay with him because he'd broken up with his girlfriend. They were getting back together so I had to leave the next day. I wanted to cry. It just seemed like I couldn't get a break.

After work the next day, I hung out at a bus stop for the whole night. I put my things in one of the large lockers and kept the key in my pocket. I kept getting up and checking the schedule every time one of the guards would come by. I had to find a place to stay.

The next night, after work, I was walking by a restaurant and a guy came running down the street after me. He was one of the guys from the impromptu party the other night. While he was talking to me, the guys that he'd been hanging out with came up behind us too. They asked me if I wanted to hang out with them and I told them no.

"Why not?" he asked. He actually looked hurt.

"You only want me to hang out with you so you can try to get me drunk and rape me again," I said, louder than they were comfortable with.

"That wasn't rape, you loved it," he snapped.

"I was so drunk that I couldn't object to it," I said. "Is that the only way you losers can get a girl?"

"No, I'll show you another way," he said. He grabbed my arm and pushed me into the alley. One of his friends grabbed my other arm and put his hand over my mouth so I couldn't scream. I kicked and bit and scratched at them but there were three of them and all of them were bigger than me.

They knocked me down onto the ground in the alley but I kept fighting. They started trying to pull my jeans down and then it happened. A voice came out of the darkness of the alley. "Hey, you assholes, leave that girl alone."

They looked up in surprise and ran off into the night. The man who'd yelled at them staggered over to me. He didn't look nearly as solid as he'd sounded. I think that if they'd gotten a good look at him, they probably wouldn't have stopped what they were doing.

I was so grateful for his help that I didn't care who he was, I wanted to hug him, drunk or not. Then I took a closer look at him and wanted to cry.

He looked like he hadn't shaved in three or four days. His clothes were disheveled and unkempt. He had a paper bag in one hand that obviously contained a bottle of liquor of some kind. But it was Brandon Matthews or what was left of him.

He fell down beside me in the muck of the alley. "Professor Matthews. Thanks," I said.

"M not a professor," he said. "My friend the Dean tol' me t' take some time off, maybe a month an' get it together r' else," he slurred.

"Well, you're still a professor to me and a hero," I said.

He gave a little salute and then stared at me. "You're cute," he slurred.