Ward Fulton - The Violated Virgin

Suzanne felt a slow flush creeping up her neck, and then her face was scarlet, and she dropped her eyes, hoping that no one would notice or comment. Inside her, she recognized her own reactions, the feeling she had that morning in the bathtub as she visualized herself being violated by the three boys. Despite the fear, there had been a strong element of earthy satisfaction from the experience. She had enjoyed it, and she knew she would want it to happen again. Maybe not under the same frightening conditions, but definitely the physical reactions she found more than usually stimulating. And she knew it was because the boys were different from any she had socialized with before. Her Grosse Pointe boyfriends were knowledgeable in the social graces; their speech and manners were sophisticated; their enforced respect of her was a barrier to the type of harsh physical manhandling she had endured the last two days in her apartment. And yet despite their lack of refinement, they had touched a pagan spark buried deep within her, a spark now flaring with a consuming passion that excited her responses at the very thought of it happening again.

"Tell me, Suzanne, you have made contact with one family, I believe?"

The instructor was addressing her again. Oh, God, she hoped no one would observe her flushed condition.

She nodded.

"There have been young men in the family?"

"Yes, two brothers," she replied, a little hesitantly. "One is sixteen, I think, the other about two years older."

"Have you felt any desire on their part to deepen their contact with you, maybe an indelicate suggestion, or have they been keeping their distance?"

She flushed. "I… I wouldn't let them…" she began, and the instructor cut her short.

"I'm not intimating that you would," he said brusquely. "But you can tell whether there might be the desire on their part."

"I would think that perhaps they might," she said slowly. "But on every occasion I have talked with them while their mother was present.

They're not particularly well educated, though the younger one seems to have some promise. I feel he shows more potential than his older brother, who's just a little hood, I'd say."

The instructor smiled. "Thank you, Suzanne. We'll be interested in hearing more when you've completed your study of this family."

Suzanne smiled, and looked down at her books again. She felt humiliated at even having to discuss the boys, yet she knew it was only her conscience bothering her; no one knew about what had happened. No one but Yvonne and Carole, and she knew they wouldn't talk.

The class ended, and she stumbled to the door, thankful to get out of the close confines of the room and out into the fresh air. She took a deep breath and began walking back to her apartment. She saw Carole in the distance, and they waved at each other. Then as she turned the corner on to Hancock, she saw a familiar figure in blue jeans and a dirty shirt, lounging against the concrete abutment surrounding the campus. Her heart almost stopped, but she continued walking, biting her lips in fear.

"Hi, Suzanne," said Donald, his young face breaking into a broad smile.

"You okay today?"

"Yes, but no thanks to you," she snapped, walking past him. He fell into step with her, and she glared at him.

"Donald, if you don't leave me alone, I'm going to call the police," she said uncertainly. "And what's more, I'll speak to your mother about what's happened."

Donald giggled. "That won't help. Ted's already told her we screwed you."

"He… he what?" she gasped, stopping in her tracks and staring at him disbelievingly.

"It's true. He doesn't care."

"And you do, I suppose?"

He paused awkwardly.

"I… I like you, Suzanne. You know that, don't you? I'm really sorry about everything, but I still like you. I'd like to do it again with you, just you and me, nice and quiet."

"You're a degenerate, like your brother," she snapped heatedly. "So don't try and sweet talk me now." She paused, her chest heaving with emotion. "What did your mother say?"

Donald laughed. "She said he'd better watch out, that was all. She doesn't care. She's too busy makin' out with her own boyfriends. She fucks around quite a bit."

Suzanne gasped. "In your house? With you boys there?"

"Sure. What's wrong with that?"

"Well, if you don't know, there's no sense telling you," said Suzanne, pushing past him. "Goodbye, Donald, and don't try to follow me. I never want to see you again."

He stood still, looking at her retreating form walking quickly up the sidewalk.

"Hey."

She stopped, and looked back.

"See ya." He waved and grinned at her. With beating heart, Suzanne turned and almost ran the rest of the way back to her apartment. She let herself in, slammed the door, and locked it. Then she collapsed on the couch, her body shaking.

Oh, God, she murmured to herself, oh what'll I do if they come back?

She closed her eyes and rested until her heart had quieted down and her limbs had stopped shaking.

The gall of that boy! And telling their mother what they had done. What sort of people were they? Were they completely lacking in moral scruples? Had they no sense of decency at all? And yet he had confessed he liked her and wanted to be with her again, just the two of them. She was right. She had sensed a quality of tenderness in him before, and she knew that taken away from his brother, his mother and his environment, Donald could well shape into a worthwhile man. But did she care? Did she really care what happened to this teenage rapist who had forced himself upon her in much the same fashion as his brother and the colored boy? No, she didn't; but she couldn't deny the response she felt in her loins for him.

She was reminded of Yvonne's frank discussion about Jeff, about men's sex appeal and the size of their organs. Donald's penis was definitely appealing to her. Unlike the gross size and thickness of his brother, or Clayton's massive dark-skinned shaft, Donald's penis was smooth, white and sensual-looking. While he might not have displayed as much animal ferocity as the others, he had a technique which she found immensely satisfying, and the penetration of his organ was infinitely fulfilling for her. If she could only get Donald away from the others, away from his present environment… Suzanne shook her head and sat up, wiping her eyes. This was ridiculous, she thought; it was Sam she really wanted. Sam was the man of her dreams, the one she loved, and so what was this perverse fantasy over a slum boy whose only appeal lay in the seven inches of hard flesh he projected between his legs? Sam had just as much, she felt sure, and Sam would certainly be tender, gentle and when aroused, probably just as forcefully aggressive to appeal to her animal instincts. Yes, Sam it was; not Donald. But when the hell was he coming home? Oh, Sam, Sam…

She walked into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her burning face. She patted herself dry, and felt better. She went over to the desk, opened her books, and began to study.

The sun had just dipped below the skyline when Suzanne realized she had been sitting at her desk for several hours, absorbed in her work. The clatter of footsteps on the stairs broke into her thoughts, and she felt a pang of apprehension until she realized it must be a woman; the noise of heels was unmistakable.

"Hey, Suzanne, you home?"

Carole's cheerful voice rang out, and Suzanne walked quickly over to the door, unlocked it, and let the girl in.

"Wow, I'm bushed," she said, collapsing on the couch as Suzanne closed the door and locked it again. "How are you feeling today?"

Suzanne grinned. "Oh, I'm fine."

"Any sign of those monsters?"

"No, but I ran into Donald on campus. He must've been waiting to talk to me. He said he wanted us to ball again, just him and me."