Ward Fulton - The Violated Virgin

"Sure. I always stare at groovy chicks."

Suzanne flushed.

"I am not a groovy chick," she snapped, sorry for her words the moment she uttered them; she knew she sounded pompous and puritanical.

Jeff laughed and stood up.

"You said it," he murmured, and wandered off back into the pool table area of the bar.

Suzanne bit her lip and wanted to burst into tears. She knew how idiotic she must have sounded; but she couldn't help it. She was conscious of his sexuality across the table; she was aware of his reputation, and something in her responded. She knew that she wanted him, she wanted to find out if those rumors about his penis size were true, she wanted him to fuck her. Fuck… Fuck… yes, she wanted that. She wanted him to…

With a toss of her head, she rose and made her way quickly out of the bar, knowing that if she stayed she might either burst into tears or spend the afternoon, get drunk and go home with Jeff and…

Her mind was a mixture of frustration and self-loathing as she walked up Woodward Avenue and turned down Forest Avenue to the campus, suddenly realizing that unless she hurried she would be late for her sociology class. Damn. What was wrong with her today? She knew what was wrong, and the slight tenderness in her crotch reminded her with every step she took. Oh, God, what if those little bastards came back?

She sat through class hardly hearing a word, her mind filled with the memory of the night before. Ted's words again rang in her ears: "You're a good lay. Good enough for a second helping." Did he mean that, or was he just trying to scare her? She finally decided he was only trying to frighten her enough to keep her mouth shut; obviously they wouldn't be back. It had been one of those rare opportunities, and even they would realize that she wouldn't even open the door to them again. So it was just an experience; and even though her ravenous mounting sexuality kept hinting that it had been wonderful, that she had felt it was something she would want again and again, she deeply regretted that it hadn't been Sam who bad been the first. She had always wanted to go to her marriage bed a virgin; now it was impossible. She'd have to make up some story for Sam; maybe she could tell him she'd done a lot of horseback riding and broken her hymen that way. Or maybe at gym class, or riding a bicycle. No, he'd never believe that. Or would he? She knew Sam loved her; at least, she felt he did. Oh, please, let him love me.

I need him so much. Sam… Sam…

"Suzanne, is something wrong?"

She looked up to see her instructor standing next to her, a look of concern on his kindly face. She started, and then realized the class was empty, and she had been sitting there, tears streaming down her face, unaware that the others had left. Embarrassedly she wiped her cheeks, tried to smile, and stumbled to her feet.

"No, no, nothing," she said quietly. "I'm all right. Honest. I was just …" She paused, and then fled from the room.

She hurried back to the apartment, and climbed the stairs with her pulse racing. She knew Donald and Ted would be waiting outside her door; she knew it. She stared as she turned the top of the stairs and saw the empty hallway. With a sigh of relief, she unlocked the door, entered, and locked it behind her; then she collapsed into a chair and sobbed for ten minutes.

She finally composed herself, went to the bathroom and washed her face.

She stared at herself in the mirror and tried to smile. She was being ridiculous, she knew; nothing could change what had happened, and she was just thankful that she had not suffered any grievous harm. She remembered reading of rape cases where the woman was beaten, her face scarred and her body slashed; at least all they did was have their way sexually, and looking back, she knew it hadn't been as bad as she had thought at the time. She knew she had enjoyed it, really and truly enjoyed the act; but then she knew that was only normal. After all, what girl wouldn't enjoy having intercourse with a young man as well endowed as Ted? Any young man, for that matter.

She patted her face dry, put on some lipstick, combed her hair, and decided that she was feeling much better. She went into the living room, got out her notes, and began studying.

She had her writings about the family she had been studying, Donald's family, Ted's family; oh, God, how could she possibly continue on that subject? Every time she thought about it, she would remember. Maybe the best thing would be to destroy that project and start another. There were plenty of families in the area that she could investigate without being plagued with unpleasant memories.

She was just about to rip the pages into pieces and put them in the wastebasket when she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs and her heart jumped. She knew those footsteps; they had the youthful ring of a young boy, and she knew it could only be Donald. Petrified, she froze at the desk, waiting.

The footsteps grew louder, and then stopped outside her door. A second later, the gentle knock sounded like a thunderclap to her ears. She dropped her pencil and whirled around in her chair, facing the door.

Her heart was beating unnaturally loud, and her hands began to tremble.

She knew if she remained quiet, he would probably go away; but what if he had been watching the building and had seen her come in? What if he knew she was there? He might continue banging on her door and there might be a scene, and he might say something which… Oh, God.

"Who is it?" Her voice was nervous and quavering.

There was a second of silence, and then she heard Donald's voice.

"It's me, Donald. I want to talk to you."

"Go away."

"Please, Suzanne. I have to talk to you. It's important."

What on earth could there be so important to this boy? She knew it was a trick to get her to open the door.

"Donald, you go away and leave me alone or I'll call the police."

She heard him laugh softly.

"You wouldn't do that; you know that. Come on, I mean it, Suzanne. I got something to tell you."

She rose from the desk and walked over to the door, pausing a moment, her handle on the knob. She could hear his heavy breathing on the other side.

"What is it? You can tell me from there."

"No, I want to come in and talk to you. I want to tell you how sorry I am about what happened."

There was a note of contrition in his voice, and she pictured his fresh, youthful face, his large innocent eyes. Maybe he did want to talk; maybe he was sorry.

"All right, Donald, but if there's any trouble, I'm going to call the police. I mean it."

There was a click as she unlocked the door, turned the handle and pulled. Donald was standing outside, and as their eyes met, she saw that he must be sorry; there was an expression of abject sorrow on his young face.

"Come in."

Slowly he walked in; she shut the door, and stood staring at him, somewhat defiantly. He shifted from one foot to the other awkwardly, and grinned at her.

"Well, what do you want to talk about, Donald?"

He moved over to the couch and looked at her.

"You mind if I sit down?"

She shook her head and walked over to the large chair and slowly sat down, staring at him curiously.

"I want to say I'm sorry about yesterday," Donald began, looking down at the floor, and playing with his hands. "It was Ted, you know that, don't you? He's a real horny one, and once he gets going, nothing stops him."

Suzanne sniffed. "Obviously you've been with him before when he's…"

She paused, not wanting to say the words.

He nodded. "Sure. We've screwed girls together before, but he always starts it. He's been around longer'n I have, and I really don't think about it as much as he does. He told me that's all he likes to do: fuck girls. I guess he does it every day."