There's "Rape" and There's R{ap}e

When he pulled out of me he settled back on his heels and saw the blood coming out of my cunt and soaking into the bed. He said. "Well, waddaya know. A middle-aged virgin. No wonder you've been such a bitch these last few days. Shit girlie, you really did need a good fucking, didn't you? Real lucky for you I came along."

{ ----- }

"Girlie, that's no way to show your appreciation for me giving you the fucking that you've needed so long," he said as he started to flip me over. He got me positioned with my face down in the bed and my knees under my hips, my ass raised up above them.

I knew what was coming. I'd been fucked in the ass before, and with the right guy and the right preparation I'd found it pleasant enough. But I knew that this guy wasn't going to lube me up or take any time stretching me out, just as I knew that, as much as I was { ----- } still trying to resist him, I wasn't going to loosen up any myself. { ----- } So, I started moving my hips around as much as I could, while at the same time rubbing my head back and forth, trying to free the cord that held the gag.

Fortunately, Rude Bastard was so focused on trying to get his meat into my moving ass that he wasn't paying any attention to my head. It took a lot of his strength, but he finally got my ass slowed down enough that he could ram his cock against it. He started pushing as hard as he could, and each shove caused a flash of pain as my sphincter was stretched under his assault. I tried not to focus on that, though, as I was finally starting to make progress with the rope around my gag.

Trying to get into my tight, dry ass must have been hurting Rude Bastard too, because he pulled back and I heard him hock a loogey. He must have done this into his hand and then rubbed it on his dick, because after he had gotten my ass back under control I felt the slime when his cock rammed up against it. He then tensed all of his muscles and gave a huge shove just as I was spitting the gag out of my mouth. { ----- }.

I passed out again.

When I came to, I was in a hospital bed with what looked like a doctor, a nurse and two cops standing beside it. I must have made some sound, because they all turned to look at me.

"Ms. Pierce," said the doctor looking guy, "I'm Dr. Bronfmann. You're in St Jude's hospital. Do you know why you're in the hospital?"

"I was raped," I croaked. That scream must have done a number on my throat.

"That's what we figured, given your condition," said the female cop. "The guy we're holding said you had invited him up and asked him for some rough sex, and that things must have gotten out of hand due to the drinking."

"We weren't buying his story given your condition," said the male cop. "But it will make our job much easier now that you've said that."

As the male cop left the room I heard Dr. Bronfmann telling his nurse to get a rape crisis team up here, STAT. I turned my head toward the female cop and asked her what had happened.

"Do you recall that you'd ordered room service?"

"Yeah, I did. That's how the guy got into my room. He pretended to be room service, and when I looked out the peephole I saw the cart, so I let him in."

The cop scribbled something in her notebook then said, "Well, it seems that the real room service guy was just outside your door when he heard what he described as," she flipped a couple of pages back in her notebook, then continued, "a quote blood-curdling scream unquote. He didn't have a passkey but the room service guys do have little two-way radios, so he got on the horn and told them he needed security ASAP. He says he was banging on the door, but nobody would answer. It took security a few minutes to get there, and when they walked in there they saw," again she consulted her notebook, "a quote, big guy on top of this woman screwing her in the ass, and a lot of blood on the bed, unquote. They restrained the male and called the house doctor, the hotel manager and 911 in that order. 911 sent my partner and me and an ambulance. You were out cold from the time that hotel security found you until about 3 minutes ago."

"How badly am I hurt?" I croaked.

The cop stepped back and said, "Doctor."

"Ms. Pierce, you've been hurt badly, and I'm speaking only as the trauma specialist for this hospital, not as a psychologist. So far you've been worked on by a gynecologist, a proctologist, a neurologist, as well as by me. You've had an MRI for your head, X-rays of your rib cage, temporary sutures in your vagina and rectum, three units of blood and lots of painkillers, which is about all we can do for your two broken ribs. We haven't done anything yet for the hairline fracture in your left zygomatic bone -- that's your left cheekbone { ----- }. We'll leave the issue of what to do about that for one of our plastic surgeons to look at in the morning. Also, as a precaution, we have started you on an aggressive regimen of anti-virals in case your assailant is infected with HIV."

"What!" I squeaked at this last bit of information.

The female cop stepped back into my field of vision. "Up until you said rape, we have held this scumbag," once again the notebook, "Michael G. Cowan, of Atlanta, GA, on suspicion. We didn't want to book him for rape and get sued if you backed up his story about drunken rough sex gone wrong. As soon as you said the word, my partner stepped out to order his arrest on charges of rape, forcible sodomy and, if our Captain will go for it, mayhem. Otherwise we'll add the toughest assault charge we can get our Captain to throw at him plus any others that you can give us when we take your formal statement.

"Anyway, now that he's under arrest, as part of the intake process Mr. Cowan is going to give us a saliva sample whether he wants it or not, and we should know shortly whether he is infected with HIV."

I'm glad that they had shot me full of painkillers, and not just for the deadening of my bruised and battered body. The thought that this asshole might have given me AIDS was just about more than I could take.

The doctor must have noticed this because he said, "Ms. Pierce, we bring HIV-free babies out of HIV-positive mothers every week in this hospital. We've had over 20 years of dealing with this mess, and while we're far short of a vaccine or a cure, we've made a lot of progress in killing it when it's caught very early and slowing it down, often dramatically, when we can't kill it. I haven't sugar coated anything I've told you up to this point so I ask you, please, to trust me on this and not to start grieving over something that may not even be a problem."

"Doctor," the cop said, "would you mind if I had a minute alone with your patient?" It was nicely phrased, but clearly not a request.

"Certainly," he said. "Ms. Pierce, I must return to the ER now. There is a call button clipped to your gown beside your right hand. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to use it. We have a rape crisis team on its way up here now. They will start working with you as soon as Officer Hicks leaves."

Turning to the cop he said, "Officer Hicks, if they're not waiting outside when you are ready to go, please call a nurse. I don't want Ms. Pierce left alone before the team gets here."

Once the doctor had left, Officer Hicks turned to me. "Ms. Pierce, we don't have much time and there is something I need to clear up now, so listen carefully. After they got the asshole out of there and sent you off to the hospital, Glenn -- that's my partner, Officer Barnes -- and I did an inventory of your room. You had a computer on the table. Do you recall that?"

"Oh, shit! Yes, I'd forgotten all about it. Jeremy's story was open on it, and a lot of my other erotic stories were stored on the hard drive."

"'Oh, shit' is right, Counselor. As you probably know, putting the victim on trial is a standard defense in a rape case. That sort of thing could complicate this case a lot. I don't like complications in cases where the scumbag defendant is clearly guilty.

"Right now you and I are the only ones who know what I just told you. Glenn didn't see the computer until later, and no one else has heard this conversation. So, Counselor, I now regret to officially inform you that it appears that in your scuffles with Mr. Cowan your computer was completely trashed. Whatever was on its hard drive is almost certainly not recoverable.

"Whatever else you may have been doing that evening, it would be helpful if your own memory does not include writing a rape fantasy story for somebody named Jeremy or any other erotic stories. Do I make myself clear?"

"Quite clear, Officer Hicks," I said. "And thank you from the bottom of my heart for everything that you've done for me."

* * *

My name is still Jasmine Pierce and I'm now 37 years old. Fourteen months have gone by since Michael G. Cowan, of Atlanta, GA raped me. I wrote the above, even resurrecting that stupid story that I had written for Jeremy, partly as therapy and partly to prepare myself for Cowan's trial next month. Next week I'm going to have to decide whether to agree with the prosecutor's recommendation to skip the trial and give Cowan a plea deal that will put him in prison for 15 years for sure, or to go to trial and roll the dice for a life sentence. I honestly don't know which way I'll go on that.

I'm still suffering the effect of Cowan's rape; probably always will to some extent. On the less bad side (I've yet to find a good side unless perhaps it is the care and concern of my doctors and some of the cops who have worked my case, especially Officer Hicks), Cowan was not HIV positive and he did not get me pregnant.

The damage to my vagina was fairly easily repaired. It turns out that long-standing practices used to restore virginities in places like Brazil and India worked well for me. The gynecologist who patched me up even said that if I ever married someone looking for a virgin or had kids and wanted to be tightened back up after giving birth, he'd give me a repeat customer discount. Not much chance of either, but I appreciated his gesture.

The ribs healed on their own, as ribs do, and the hairline fracture in my cheekbone did not require surgery.

On the more bad side, the injuries to my rectum and anus were not so easy to fix. Fortunately, there's plenty that they can remove down there before you miss it, so they were able to snip and clip and sew me back together, and I'm now back to shitting normally.

But there has been no more anal sex or, for that matter, any kind of sex for me since I got out of the hospital. I'm still working with my therapist on that. She thinks that my fantasy about becoming a lesbian might actually be a sign of progress.

It is too early, I think, to say whether I will ever be as good a trial lawyer as I was before this happened. It helps that I never forget that my clients are willing to pay big bucks for results, and that they'll yank their business the minute they don't get them, however sympathetic they might (or might not) be to what dulled my abilities.

But I find myself going into the courtroom more on edge than before, and having to really rein myself in when cross-examining males who I think are assholes or who might be dismissive of me because I'm a female. I have to keep reminding myself: "Revenge is a dish best served cold," and "The point is to win the case, not to humiliate the assholes."

I haven't played poker since last January. I probably never will.

Nor have I written any more erotic stories beyond the re-creation of the fragment of that one I was writing for Jeremy when Cowan raped me.

I own a dog now, a stray bitch that just showed up at my house one day needing some food, a bath and someone to love her. We get along pretty well.

* *

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.