I was broke. Down and out. Completely without self-respect.
In order to pay my rent, I was forced to sell my only contact with the outside world, my car. However, the few hundred dollars it brought only delayed my descent into the bottom of the barrel of life by a few meaningless weeks. By the time my wallet was empty again, I was even worse off than before.
Even before I lost the ear, looking for another job seemed out of the question. Who would ever hire someone who radiated uselessness the way I did?
Holed up in my room, and drinking more everyday, I even gave up the game shows I had habitually watched. The happy faces of the winners were too much for, me. It hardly seemed fair that other people could experience joy when my life was so utterly lacking in it.
Day after day I stayed in bed, getting drunk, staring at the wallpaper and counting the repetition of its rosy design. My mind was saturated with unpleasantness and depression.
Of course, the more I thought about my plight, the more it all came back to that fateful night the car had broken down after the PTA meeting. The rape.
The rape was the beginning of all my bad luck. The opening door to the ruination of my life. My degradation as a woman.
Before the rape, my life had been peaceful and happy. There were no peak moments of exhilaration, but, on the other hand, no spirit-sapping lows either. Just an even keel that a person of my middle-class background was conditioned to expect.
Considering its pivotal position in my life, I was condemned to mentally re-live the rape over and over again. And, needless to say, the same issue came up repeatedly.
I had not resisted.
Don's lawyer had been right – I had let the rapist fuck me.
This was the key. And it went even beyond such elementary guilt. Even in his brutal accusations, the attorney still had not gotten to the truth that only I knew.
I had come.
Not once, but several times. What's more, I had actually begged for more.
Then there'd been those two cops who'd found me in the street with my throbbing crotch leaking all over the pavement. Not only had they assumed I was an easy piece of ass, I'd performed like one.
Then, of course, after the night of the rape I'd gone wild.
Having lesbian sex with the Avon lady, screwing my psychiatrist, whoring in an alley with a sailor, making love with my children.
Needless to say, this was not the Mary Randall who'd previously devoted her life to being a respectable wife and mother and upholding middle-class values. No, this was a degraded woman. A tramp. Damaged goods.
It was no longer surprising to me that my husband had filed for divorce. After all, when spoilage develops, you have to cut it away to protect the rest of the organism. He had to get rid of me to save the family.
As you can see, I was of the frame of mind that I deserved whatever had happened to me.
And, it had all started when I'd spread my legs and let the rapist fuck me. Had I fought for my virtue I would still have my self-respect.
But then, when I would get to the depths of despair, I would begin to rationalize. It was the only way I could save myself from suicide.
In an abrupt change in point of view, I would say to myself: the rapist's cock was so big. Could any woman have resisted it?
After all, Don's tool was only six inches long, even at its hardest. The rapist's had been almost twice that – and, brother, did he know how to use it. When he'd fucked me, all of my past sexual experiences had faded into insignificance. Suddenly I'd wanted more, more, more!
I had to face it. My rape had opened sexual doors for me that I hadn't even known existed. Following the experience, my libido had gone berserk. Far the first times in my life, I had not only participated in, but sought out, such deviations as adultery, lesbianism, prostitution. In the course of a few months, I had lived a lifetime of thrilling sex. And it had all started with rape.
Yes, rape had become the common denominator of my life. Like it or not, it was now the well-spring of my existence.
After repeatedly reaching this conclusion, I realized what I must do. When a certain point is reached, one can no longer despair over how they became the way they are. Regret eventually becomes a kind of illness, and the only cure is to accept reality.
Reality for me was that I was debased beyond redemption. As a woman I'd fallen to the point where I was only good for one thing – sex.
I might as well forget about being a respectable woman – a wife and mother. From now on, I was nothing but a cunt.
One night, after thinking about it all day, I finally accepted my fate, the inevitable.
Getting out of bed, I had decided to live my life as it was instead of depressing myself about what it had been. I was what I was, for better or worse.
Having no money for a cab, I walked all the way to the deserted neighborhood where it had all started. By the time I arrived, it was after midnight. I prayed I wasn't too late.
The same phone booth was there. Since I'd been there last, the telephone had been entirely ripped out, but I stepped inside anyway.
After all, it wasn't making a call I was interested in, but in giving the appearance of being trapped.
Rape bait!
Nothing happened at first, but I would linger as long as I had to. I wanted to be brutalized. God, how I wanted it!
Then, after about twenty minutes of anxious waiting, I heard the footsteps I craved. Because of a fog that had rolled in, their owner was shrouded, adding to the excitement.
My breath caught in my throat as the footsteps came closer. I could feel my pussy getting wet. Since I was wearing no panties the juice immediately began pouring down my thighs.
I couldn't see him until he was at the door of the phone booth. Then the shock of recognition shot through me like an orgasm.
The leering smile, the unshaven face. It was the same guy.
He pulled his cock out of his pants without saying a word and I immediately began to slobber over it.
"I knew you'd be back," he smugly said. My answer was to slump down in the booth, spreading my legs under my upraised skirt. My bare cunt popped out into the open, throbbing with desire.
"Rape me," I begged.
He laughed triumphantly and then grabbed me by the ankles. Pulling me out of the phone booth like a sack of garbage, he skidded my bare butt across the pavement until I was deposited in the stinking gutter – the perfect position fat a fallen woman like me.
He fell to his knees, pushing his pants down so his entire hairy, flexing crotch was showing. Even in the fog I could see all of his throbbing male equipment as though it were high noon.
What a cock! It was made for my cunt!
"Rape me! Rape me!"
Of course he was perfectly willing – but not without the rapist's foreplay. No, first he had to slap me around. Rip open my blouse and sadistically twist the nipples of my braless tits. Make me suffer.
In my physical agony, I loved it.
Then, at last, he got down to the main business of planting his cock in my cunt. The instant the head of his prick slipped between my pouting pussy lips I knew that this was the moment I'd been waiting for ever since it had happened the first time.
With my ass drenched with sewer water, I threw my legs around his waist and drew him into me. Inch after inch of phallic steel plunged like a sword up my tight cunt hole. At last we were fucking!
I was doing the number with the man of my dreams. Raped by the thug of my nightmares.
With his cock brutally fucking my cunt I felt like I had come full circle. Now the ordeal I had endured since our first encounter made sense.
He pounded away inside me. My pussy got tighter and tighter and his prick surged deeper and deeper. Finally his balls were churning against the lips of my cunt, rubbing them raw.
I started to come. Rape-orgasm was like a laxative, purging the last of the middle-class guilt from my system and washing it away.
I was free. Free to fuck. To be nothing but a cunt.
With my legs wrapped around the rapist, his cock in my pussy to the hilt, I was the woman I was born to be. All of the acquired characteristics I had accumulated over the years were gone.
The rapist was Adam and I was Eve. The gutter was the Garden of Eden. It was the beginning of time for me.