The Laundromat

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An encounter at a laundromat turns into something ugly.
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I was tossed out of my parents place on my 18th birthday and essentially homeless. I was couch surfing at friend's houses and what I owned was essentially what I had on my body and in a small pack I carried around.

A lot of the time, my problems come down to money, which probably isn't a surprise. What could be a surprise it exactly how a little money or just one more piece of clothing can make such a big difference in life.

For instance, at one point in my life out there, I was down to one pair of pants, two shirts and two pairs of underwear. Try to go into a laundromat and wash your clothes when you haven't got another pair of pants to put on. The only way to do it is go when other people aren't there, use your sleeping blankets to cover yourself and then go pantsless (and underwear free) for an hour and a half or so.

That's embarrassing at the best of times - but more than that it can be very, very dangerous for a woman alone. You become aware fast that you're always vulnerable to rape or abuse when you're anyplace alone by yourself though often you just don't have a choice. The fear kicks up a few notches when you're full-on commando and alone at an odd hour in a laundromat that isn't in the best part of town.

Back then $3 would buy a second pair of old jeans at the thrift store, but that $3 was also a meal or two. I was always hungry so the choice made itself. When your clothes were so dirty they wouldn't even let you in the store, though, you also had to spend $2 or more on doing laundry. For $3, or want of it, I opened up myself to possible embarrassment, arrest or rape at least every few weeks.

A trip to the laundry was terrifying. I'd had some bad confrontations in laundromats even during the day with people around, so I had zero doubt that if I ever got stumbled upon bottomless and defenseless, it could be bad. Whenever I could I'd try to do laundry at someone's house, but the longer you're out there, the less friends you have. Sometimes you just had to do it.

It was a Friday night in early spring. There was some event going on in town and just about everyone was as it. I figured it would be a good night to get the laundry out of the way. The laundromat was empty just like the streets when I got there, so I scraped up enough soap from where it had spread on tables and machines, put it into the wash along with every scrap of clothes I had, and put in my quarters to fire it up. I took the shot of going naked for a few minutes so I could do it all quick.

I wasn't interrupted, so I got bold. I took a sliver of soap I'd stolen out of my pack and used the laundry sink to take a whores shower. It was cold water only but I still enjoyed it more than I care to think about. (A real shower was something I hadn't enjoyed in a long while.)

I didn't have a towel at the time, and the blanket I slept on was in the drier with my other clothes, so I stood for a few more minutes in the warmth that had accumulated in the laundry during the day. It felt good. So good I momentarily forgot to be aware of my surroundings.

I turned around and he was there.

He wasn't a big man. Obviously a field worker. Even that many years ago we had immigrants who worked where they could on the farms. His look was blank. Not surprise. Not lust. He made no attempt to either come towards me or leave.

I was less reserved, making a jump for my pack where I had a knife large enough that it made an impression on most men when I flashed it. I had my hand in the pack and was groping for it when the man reached into his own bundle and pulled out a small blanket. He reached out with it as if to offer it to me, and when I didn't immediately accept it he put it on a washing machine between us and backed away.

The effect of the gesture was obvious and I took the blanket and wrapped it around myself. He smiled and pointed to an empty clothes washer. I stepped back to give him room and he moved forward and started stuffing his clothing inside.

I stood there with his blanket around me. It was not a large blanket and barely covered my ass when I wrapped it around my shoulders, but it was sufficient to cover myself and I was glad for it. Still, it was awkward to be standing here in his blanket while we washed our clothing.

He obviously didn't speak English, and I didn't speak a word of Spanish, so we sat quietly for a while and watched a dryer toss around my few belongings. Finally, he produced a small baggie from his pocket. Marijuana obviously. He quickly rolled a small joint and held it up as an offer. A man after my own heart. Even if I was bare assed I never turned down a good high.

There were "No smoking" signs all over the building -some also saying "no fumar" as a message to my new friend. We happily ignored them in both languages as he lit up the small cigarette and we passed it between us. By the time the joint was done we were both smiling and he had a twinkle in his eye.

I had a bag of chips that I pulled out of my bag and we split a coke from the machine. We were having a good time together. Not speaking a common language you'd think that might be hard, but pot is a universal language and it's just like that.

There were only a few chairs in the laundry - all near the window and not very comfortable - so I was sitting on one of the tables meant for folding laundry right under the sign that asked customers not to sit on the tables. I glanced over to see how my dryer was doing and when I glanced back I could see that my new friends eyes had slid south on me. I realized that the short blanket had shifted and my crotch was exposed. Given that I was sitting cross legged, it must have been quite a show for him.

I didn't want to embarrass him, but I still had at least a bit of the sense of modesty that had steadily faded over time while I lived on the streets. I casually shifted the blanket, and in doing so covered the cooch but in doing so I exposed a longer line of cleavage than one might see in even the most low cut blouse.

I attempted to shift the blanket around again, and then again, and found that the effect was like a game of x-rated peek-a-boo.

My stoned friend appreciated the show and I think he found humor in it. I found his lack of embarrassment that he was caught looking to be a bit refreshing as I knew he would do it, and at least he didn't hide it. I thought his manner non-threatening enough that I finally decided it didn't matter. The guy had already seen the full monty when he'd entered the laundromat in the first place, and what he'd missed in the full view he'd seen when I'd decided to sit indian style. I remember thinking with some amusement that from the angle he was at there, he'd probably seen farther into my vagina than I ever had.

I had nothing to do and nowhere to go, so I sat there and quietly felt his eyes checking out my vagina and I in turn did my best to ignore it. The more I tried to ignore it, the more obvious it got for both of us.

I finally laughed out of sheer embarrassment and moved my hands to cover myself and in doing so the blanket completely fell away from my shoulders. I must have looked adorable, because he himself got a bit embarrassed for the first time. (Not too embarrassed though, as when he shifted his own body I realized he had pinched a small tent in his well-worn chinos.)

I wasn't sure where to go next with all this - there was no ideal chit chat and I hate to sound racist, but the idea of any kind of sex activity with this little latino was out of the question. I was a product of the small little myopic town I lived in and considered the border crossers just one small step up the chain from the work horses that were still used in the fields to move men and small equipment around. I had seen him as a potential rapist - but could never see him as a potential lover.

That point made, it was an odd feeling for me knowing that my nakedness had inspired a hard-on for this little field hand. It should have been a red flag, but being stoned, I guess I looked at it without thinking about the possible ramifications.

He was small both in length and width - and it struck me odd that I could see the helmet of his cock so plainly even through the denim. (He had not put any white clothing in the laundry - I don't think he was wearing underwear.)

When I looked up into his eyes, I saw something that spooked me a bit that I hadn't seen before. A kind of yearning. He even touched himself lightly in a tender way. I felt like it was an invitation, but one easy enough to ignore. In the end he acted like he was covering himself just as I had.

The awkwardness was about all I could handle when the buzzer for my dryer finally buzzed. I realized about that time that my non-English speaking friend had never even started drying his laundry load and realized he was probably until he could wash the blanket he had loaned me. That was just heartbreakingly nice of him.

I knew I had to get dressed and after everything he'd seen anyway I felt like I would be better off just getting it over with. I unwrapped myself from the blanket and folded it over, doing my best not to appear either shy nor especially slutty as I handed the small cover to him.

He never stopped looking but somehow I never felt threatened or violated by it. I was high and I had stopped thinking in terms of him as dangerous. His little erection was still there and he still covered it with his hand, but I'd been watching and knew that his hand moved it around some whenever he thought I wasn't watching. Men are just like that and I tried to ignore it as I padded over and opened the dryer.

You know that feeling you get when you handle clean laundry? It smells nice. It feels warm. Now imagine it again but also imagine that you've just lived through an Iowa winter, that you hadn't been clean in a week, and that you had been standing naked in a public laundromat for a spell while a little illegal alternatively hid and showed off the tent pole he had going behind his zipper. The feeling of warmth, cleanliness and relative safety increased as I slipped on each piece of clothing.

I acted like I wasn't in a hurry though I really was. I didn't want to offend this little man who still hadn't put in the quarters to begin drying his laundry load. Other than the decision when I was pulling on my underwear of whether to face him and let my tits swing or face away and show him my asshole and maybe more (I chose to let them swing) it was not really that bad. I even put on my socks and shoes before my bra as was having just a bit of fun cockteasing the little guy.

The event seemed almost over. I just had to finish dressing and pack my few other things in my pack and it would be done. I should have known it wouldn't have been as easy as that.

I had just hooked my bra and started to spin it around so I could put the straps over my shoulders when I looked up and there was another man entering the building. He was calling out in Spanish to what was obviously his friend. He was probably asking his buddy if the laundry was all done, but when he saw my there topless the words dropped off with the surprise.

I was staring at him and hastened my movements to get my bra on and I reached for my pack to find it gone. I turned around to find my little friend looking not quite so friendly and my pack with all of my belongings including my knife was in there. He looked suddenly quite threatening as he reached in and pulled out the knife for himself.

By now it was perhaps 930 at night. Not an early hour or a late one for a laundry open until midnight, but on weekend evening the chance anyone else might come in that door soon were slim and I knew it. I was trapped and that was all there was too it. I knew that knife. It was sharp and I didn't want to find it sliding across my throat.

The two latinos looked at each other like they had caught something good and the newly arrived man puffed himself up a bit to look threatening. I felt my former friend come up behind me and he reached over and undid the hooks on my bra with a panache I didn't think he had in him.

I had been on the street for more a while. I had been beaten up pretty good once by a man who was too drunk to be anything but violent, and I had been chased by crazy townie boys once or twice. I had never been raped. I started to cry simply because I didn't know what else to do.

My bra was off but still on my arms, and my old friend had the point of the knife against the small of my back and a hand on my shoulder. He who was so cute but hard to communicate with earlier was making it painfully clear that his intent was to have me bend over with my head in the big dryer which I had opened when I was getting my stuff.

He pushed the knife into me so much that he did puncture me and I could feel a little blood run, but he didn't seem to care. I know he wanted me to get the message.

I didn't really have a choice so I put my upper body in the dryer and bent over. I couldn't see him or his asshole buddy, but I could hear the clinking of their big belt buckles being opened. There was no doubt that the intent was that they were both getting ready. There was even a rehearsed quality that made me believe this had been something they had done before.

I felt that erection he had been sporting throughout the evening on my ass. It didn't feel so small anymore. He and his buddy were both talking as the lewd words they used I didn't understand but they weren't hard to guess. I screamed but all that did was echo in the big dryer and hurt my ears. I felt his hand reaching around me to grab my breast. He did it with a force that let me know he didn't care if it hurt. He whispered words in my ear that I didn't know, but completely understood. The little tramp bitch was in trouble now.

After painful pulling on my nipples and squeezing hard on my tits until I was grunting in pain, he reached down around and began unbuttoning my pants. When they were nice and loose his hand dove down the back of my pants and his middle finger went hard and straight into my pussy.

I'm embarrassed to say it was a little wet, not because I found this exciting, but I had been sitting naked next to a man in an erection all night and it had affected me just a little bit. That made it so much worse.

I was humiliated, violated and petrified to the point of being immobile. This was really happening and I had always said I'd die before I let someone rape me, but there and then I couldn't even move.

I let him jam his fingers in me and he did it with an intent to hurt me. He pulled on my pubic hair and tore out a clump, and jammed as many fingers as he could get in without actually taking my pants down - a move I felt like he was working up to. He was licking my ear and fucking me with his hand and all the while that knife point was making small cuts in my back. He started to move the knife blade in and out like an obscene pantomime of a fuck.

I had already worked through it all in my mind. First him, then his buddy, I were very lucky they would leave me alive if I behaved. I gritted my teeth and opened my legs and even pushed back a bit so that his fingers would go in and not tear at me so hard. That knife he was using told me that I didn't really stand a chance once the seed was spent and they were done with me, but I had to hope.

His next move, though, was the one that brought me back out of my daze. It was so painful and obscene.

His fingers pulled out of my cunt and he pushed them first into my mouth, and then back into my pants. I thought he was going back into me, but instead with his index and middle finger he drove hard straight into my asshole.

It hurt so bad I screamed and kicked and even the point of the knife didn't stop me. As the knife cut a small slice out of my lower back I kicked and screamed and pushed. He had me literally by the seat of my pants at one point, and if he was attempting to stab me hard but I was moving quick and the knife kept glancing off me after making small nicks in my skin. I was rolling around to avoid the knife edge and thrashing around as my rectum screamed with pain. I did everything possible to get turned around so my face wasn't buried in the dry clothes and must have hit my head a dozen times hard enough to leave bumps and bruises.

And suddenly I was free.

I looked around and he was on his ass, his feet caught up in his pants which were pooled around the top of his cowboy boots. I glanced up to find his partner similarly attired, his pants down and his cock in his hand. The man was so intent on what he was flogging that it took him a moment to even realize what was happening.

The man on the ground took a swipe at me with my own knife but he was too far away to make it stick. I had a clear shot for the door and I took it, bleeding as I was from the cuts and naked from the waist up. I ran like hell, hit the street and kept going. I ran down the center of the street screaming for blocks. Finally a police cruiser saw me.

The cops in my small town were no friends of mine and the last time I had been in this car I had been wearing handcuffs, but this time they took me straight to an emergency center. I guess they called ahead, because there was a nurse with a sheet waiting for us to at least cover me as I made my way through the ER to an exam room. I know I bled all over their back seat, but for once they didn't take an opportunity to harass me.

I was given 32 stitches (19 for the longest cut, and a few each for small stab wounds that were maybe a 1/8th inch deep.) I then got a tetanus shot, the tops to a set of scrubs so that I wasn't half naked, and finally the third degree by the officers when the patch up was over.

I told them a version of the truth.(I omitted the pot, my naked stint, etc. but spared no details on where the latino man had put his fingers or how he managed to spur me to fight.) They pushed for more, asking me if I had been forced to orally copulate with either or both of the attackers and about rape and sodomy. No answer but the one they wanted seemed to satisfy.

When I refused a rape kit, they called in a social worker who tried to get me to admit that I had been raped as well. After repeating the same interrogation the cops had given me, I finally took her behind the curtain and dropped my pants to try to convince her that all was well. A mistake really because I guess my asshole was bleeding. (Probably a cut from the fuckers unkept finger nails.)

She kept trying - insisting that my identity would be protected, that I wouldn't have to testify in open court, etc. but I wasn't buying. She insisted on calling my next of kin(my mom - who promptly hung up) and then took me to an abused woman's shelter for the rest of the night.

The men were long gone from the laundromat by the time any cops got there. My few belongings were still in the dryer and they retrieved them for me, but they confiscated the knife for evidence.

As I've said, it was a small town. Word spread quick. This was Iowa long ago. The influx of immigrant hadn't really started yet, but the few that were in town either left quickly or were made to leave. (A drunken cop in a bar a few years later actually used the words "disposed of" which I don't care to think about, but he was a blowhard and wasn't serious. At least I hope not.)

Needless to say, no one in town believed me when I said that I hadn't been raped. Men looked at me different. Women in town tended to avoid me anyway, but now they looked from afar and whispered and clucked their poison at each other. Even a supposed friend told me he would have fought to the death rather than have some "beaners buttfuck her." (I guess the rumors from the cops included the news about the blood coming out of my ass. What a fun thing for the whole fucking town to know.)

The story really doesn't end there. When you've been through something like that it never really does. I was suddenly terrified of being on the streets and being alone. I tried shelters, but found they could be more dangerous than the streets quickly. (Back then the shelters for homeless were almost always coed, and there were some sick fucks who stayed in this places.)

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