Author's note: Some words, including 'hugely' occur far too often in the story. The story is intended to portray the written version of a verbal narrative, and the character "talks that way." The author understands the value of variety in written and spoken words, and practices it. Hugely.
Alternate ending. Pick up from the "has very little if any conscience" paragraph about six from the end of the story. Not as much sex, but hopefully a good story. Ends happily (ever after) unlike the other version.
I could hear her mmmphing though the gag over and over, "No. No. No." I looked at her and she was begging me desperately with her eyes, please don't do this to me. But she was naked and tied up quite wonderfully, her pussy was wet and glistening, I'd already felt how warm and smooth like silk she felt, and a hard cock has very little if any conscience.
But it was rape. She didn't want me to have sex with her. She didn't want me rubbing my cock right up against her either. She knew what that would do to me, knew Bob was setting me up to rape her, having already tasted it, making it too much for a mortal to resist, taking their fill of that wonderful brew. I closed my eyes. I teetered back and forth, eyes closed. Marcie was soundless, holding her breath, hoping and praying. Was I who she thought I was, or was I just another male, someone else to prove something to Bob's ego by taking it from her, someone else to... rape her like Troy did.
I was going to hate myself for the rest of my life, I just knew. Yeah, this sort of chance comes once in a lifetime. Never going to come again. But there was only one real answer, and I knew it. This wasn't sex, this was rape. I wasn't a rapist. Even if it haunted me when I was ninety-three, and it would, dammit, dammit, DAMMIT! Someday, someone special would come for me, I'd have a sex life and we'd screw like rabbits if I could talk her into it, but not here. Not now.
I wondered who was the best hand-surgeon in town. I'd be finding out tomorrow, because I was going to beat my hands bloody and broken against some wall in frustration tonight. And howl like a wolf. With a look of agony, feeling like I'd rather lose a limb, I couldn't even climb off, I just fell off the bed. It hurt so bad to pull away. With badly shaking hands I untied the straps from her knees and pulled the tape off her mouth. "Thank you." was her heart-felt whisper. "Now go. Take your clothes and get dressed outside the room. You can't get me out of the cuffs without a key. I'm so proud of you. I can't thank you enough. I can see what this must feel like to you. I'll be ok now. Run before you change your mind."
She was right. I did what she said. Ran.
I didn't go straight home. I parked the car in our driveway, walked to the store three blocks away, got two beers. Drank them both before the first block home. Decided I had something better to do with my hands besides making myself require surgery. Beating of hands of some type, yes, but not against a concrete wall. It wouldn't help. But I felt relieved I had managed to walk, to crawl, to run away from Marcie.
I felt better, calmer by the time I got home (most of that was likely the beer). Proud of myself, too. Yeah, I was going to regret this for the rest of my life, but I could be regretting something much, much worse.
Dad was home and still working at his desk in the family room as I came home. I had to pass him on the way upstairs. I think he could smell the beer but he stayed cool about it. He knew I had driven up a half-hour ago, and the beer on my breath was fresh.
"Bad night?" He prompted.
"Yes, well, no, Dad." I gave a little cry inside. "Actually, you'd be really proud of me. I'm just not happy about it."
That got a raised eyebrow but no more. Award winner - coolest dad of the millennium. "OK. You're in for the night, though. Hand me your keys and go to bed." Well, I guess he did smell the beer. I handed him the keys and headed upstairs. I thought I heard him say quietly as I passed up the stairs: "I'm glad. Good work, son."
Yes. I beat off for about three hours. Actually, it was about three minutes. And then I came. And came, and came, and came. About twice what I normally did. So hard it hurt. And then I cleaned it up. And then, with the door closed and the fan going to drown out the noise, I beat my pillow into a bloody pulp. It didn't help. Finally, exhausted, I fell asleep.
Mom came into the room and woke me. I looked at the clock; it was a quarter past ten. "Bill, you've got a visitor at the front door, and from the looks of things you'd better hurry." Her voice had the strangest tone to it. I got dressed and hurried downstairs.
I didn't know what to expect, but had three or so good contenders. Fortunately it was Marcie. She looked awful: t-shirt, floor-length silk print bohemian skirt, barefoot, eyes that had been crying for several hours, car parked out on the street hugely packed with stuff. She saw me at the door and flung herself at me, started crying some more. I could sense my mom somewhere behind me, probably my dad too. Marcie wrapped her arms around me and squeezed so hard she caused minor breathing problems.
"Hold me, Bill, just please hold me for a while. I need to feel safe. Just hold me." I did. She cried with a few breaks, not saying anything, just standing there, for nearly fifteen minutes. She just kept crying. I kept looking when I could into those big beautiful green eyes, full of tears, in the midst of that beautiful face.
Finally she pulled it back together enough to stop crying. I took her hand and we started walking. I knew she needed to talk, knew what it would be about, and wanted to be about six miles away from my parents. She told me what happened to her after I ran.
Bob finally came up a while after I had left. He had uncuffed everything but one wrist, left her that way all night, slept beside her, even woke her up one time to cuff her back up and have sex with her. She bided her time, and when in the morning, around 8, he finally let that last wrist go she uncorked both barrels. Said she was through, that inviting me to use her was the last straw. She grabbed all her, as she put it, "slut clothes" and everything else out of his house she wanted, threw it in the back of her car. She said she was going to take all this out to the middle of the desert, burn it to cinders then put it out by pissing on the ashes.
On the last trip out, in the kitchen as she was leaving, Bob reminded her to be careful, there were a lot of pictures of her that it'd be unfortunate if they ever got out. She said she nearly grabbed a steak knife, but managed to hold off. She reminded him icily and with total candor that he'd better keep those pictures safe. If that happened she'd personally guarantee they'd never find his body. It wouldn't matter to her what happened to her; he'd be dead. He looked like he wanted to stop her from leaving. She did grab the steak knife, waved it at him as she moved into the front yard, then threw it into the door jamb so hard the tip left a visible mark in the wood. And she was gone. She knew now she had been so stupid. Barbara had been right all along. And she just needed to be somewhere safe for a little while, and here in my arms was the safest spot she knew. And she started crying again, holding me tight, having me hold her in my arms, crying her heart out all over again. "He wanted to blackmail me! I gave him everything! Why? WHY???"
Finally she ran out of tears. We walked back to the house. She brightened up a bit. You could tell she was forcing it, but whatever. Probably worried my parents might be watching. Probably right. We stopped at the curb by her car. I was pretty sure too that my mom and dad were watching from inside the house. She grabbed me by both hands, thanked me very much, shyly went up on tiptoes and gave me a quick peck on the cheek, then quickly almost-ran to the driver's door of her car, got in it, and without a backward glance drove away.
I watched as she turned the corner at the end of the street and was gone. I stood there for about three minutes then went back in the house. My parents were nowhere to be found. Back to the bedroom. Close the door. Turn on the fan. Lay there in a daze, wondering what had just happened. Beat the pillow some more.
I stuck around the house the next day, just in case Marcie decided to come back. No such luck. As I lay down and went to sleep, yeah, I was kicking myself for passing her up, but still wouldn't change the decision. No matter how much it hurt. And it would hurt. Even more it would hurt when she went back to Bob like she had several times before, he'd be back to leaving her tied up naked in the middle of the desert and having her wear micro-miniskirts and all that before too long. Nothing I could do about it. But she was even more beautiful, flawless really, when she was naked than she was even in those micro-miniskirts. But not for me. Maybe someday I'd find someone like her. Hopefully. Sleep wasn't coming, but after another part of me did, sleep finally found me. Dammit, I thought as I drifted off to sleep, too late now. Nice guys, as it turns out, do finish last.
About 3 PM the next day Marcie's car pulled back up in front of the house. She got out, but I was in my bedroom which faced the back yard and didn't know. I'd been lying around, moping if the truth be known. Mourning was more the way I thought of it, but I decided to go out later in the evening and start getting back into living my life. But the doorbell rang, and I started throwing on a t-shirt and heading downstairs, just in case. My mom got to the front door long in front of me.
It was Marcie. She was beautiful, in a short green above-the-knee skirt and unreasonably tight matching top with a jacket, no hose, heels. I'd seen most of it on her plenty of times at school, but didn't know she had a jacket to go with it. The top would have shown off her chest pretty well, but the jacket ruined all that. Her legs were tanned, tight, and awesome as always. I remembered the skirt was pretty close to the top of her knees when she was standing but got severely dangerous when she sat down. Marcie asked my mom if I was home.
My mom answered that she could hear me coming downstairs, and then asked her why (thanks, Mom!), As I hit the bottom of the stairs I heard her tell my mom that she was going out to see a new movie, and wondered if I was available to go with her? Hearing me, Mom stepped out of the way so she could ask me herself. Of course I could. I smiled apologetically and said I'd need a few minutes (especially after the glare from Mom) to change. She looked so nice and my ratty jeans shorts and t-shirt wouldn't do at all. I think we both saw the minor smile flit over my mom's lips and she gently nodded. I went back upstairs for better clothes. Unknown to me, my mom sat down with Marcie on the front porch while she waited. I found out what happened a little later.
"You're Marcie, right?" My mom started. Marcie nodded. In my mom's deadpan voice, she bluntly asked the young lady, "Ok, well, tell me more about yourself and what is your intentions regarding my son?"
I was so glad I wasn't there. I'd have died. Moved to Africa. To the moon.
Marcie was caught by the forthrightness too. She stammered for a few seconds, reeling with it before she recovered. "My name is Marcie East. I am, well, was, a classmate of Bill's..." She told her about her mom and the airline she worked for, and where they lived. She stopped before answering mom's second question. It took more than a few seconds to put her thoughts together right; she hadn't seen this coming in her wildest dreams. "Saturday night Bill helped me out of a really bad situation, and I don't know, but he's a gentleman and a good person and I'd like to know him better. It's not like we're dating or anything..." (Mom could hear the catch in her voice at that part) "But he's a rare find, and I'd like to get to know him better."
Mom thought about it for a second. "What does he think about it?"
"You'd have to ask him. I don't know, we've never talked about it..." Her voice got wistful. "But it'd be nice."
Mom smiled reassuringly, patted Marcie's hand. "You'd better hit him over the head with it. He's like his father, kinda slow to see these things." With another smile mom stood up, ending the inquisition, to Marcie's great relief. "I'll go check on how he's doing. I hope you two enjoy the movie."
Mom went upstairs to my room to find me. You see, I know from watching them with my older sister, the Shelton Family Bureau of Investigation was not chopped liver. I figured after Sunday morning Dad and Mom made a few inquiries and had a rough idea of who Marcie was. Mom caught me as I was buttoning up my shirt (nice pants. Dress shoes. Anti-perspirant. Combed hair) and hurrying out my bedroom door. "William..." she stopped me. I wasn't sure at all I wanted to hear this, depending on what was about to be said, but I knew hugely well what would happen if I blew by, and off, my mom.
"Mom?" I asked. I don't think I managed to hide the impatience.
"I've not known you to do this, but you're not leading that young lady on, are you?"
"MOM!!!!!!!" Marcie probably heard that out on the porch.
After a few seconds, I answered her. "She's not my girlfriend, we're just friends. I don't know..." That was a lie, I'd grab her in a second. "We're just hanging out and see what happens. She had a bad breakup Saturday night. For all I know I'm just her rebound cushion." I still couldn't believe, once the crisis has passed, that someone like Marcie East would even look at someone like me. But if she just needed an anchor for a little while, then for as long as she needed it I could be her anchor. It'd be nice while it lasted to be around her.
Mom looked at me, rolled her eyes, nodded the nod that mothers everywhere do when they know things are not as they are explained but are willing to go with it for the moment. She concluded she was right to warn Marcie about me not getting things. When a very shapely girl your son's age shows up in a minidress to talk to him, she might have more on her mind than just conversation. Then again, she and my father had done some discreet checking into Marcie and hadn't found any red flags. Actually, from what they found she seemed pretty nice. "Uh huh. Your plans for tonight?"
"Food at Ricardo's maybe, if that's ok with Marcie. The movie, maybe hang out a while" (mom's eyebrows went up) "afterward, I don't know." I was really getting antsy to get out the door for an ever-increasing number of reasons.
"OK. Curfew is at 1 AM. See you later."
I gave her a hug then fled past her. "Bye Mom! Love you!"
We drove our own cars back to Marcie's house then she hopped in the passenger seat of mine. Her perfume was wonderful, floral, and her skirt did what was expected when she sat down beside me. She had left the jacket in her own car, which I was grateful for and a little nervous about. The top was hugely tight, and she filled it out perfectly. "Ricardo's for a quick bite first sound ok?" I asked, nervous.
She grabbed my hands. My heart rate went into overdrive and my cock firmed up in a second. "If you want, Bill, but I was hoping for other things. My mom is out on a flight until tomorrow at 3, and I'd be ok with skipping the meal and the movie. You passed up something you really wanted on Saturday night, and I'd like to make you very, very glad you did."
We did. She did. It was incredible. She came and once she had settled back down she urged me to keep going until I did the same. She was beautiful in the semi-darkness, golden hair falling around her face, chest rising and falling, kissing hard, almost desperately, sweat breaking out between her gorgeous breasts as time passed. Yeah, she made me very happy about Saturday night.
We did go see the movie afterward. It was ok, I think. I don't actually remember any of it.
Marcie called me late the next morning, asked if we could talk. Uh oh. But I said I was happy to, told mom I was going to Denny's because Marcie wanted to talk about something. Mom didn't even lift an eyebrow, and she didn't get in the way.
Marcie asked me, and said I could say no and she wouldn't hold it against me, but she had a problem. Bob had all those pictures of her. He'd wait for a few more days, expect this to be like all the other times, after about four days she'd go crawling back to him, but once Bob decided not to wait any longer there was no way to know what he’d do. But she didn't know exactly where he kept them all, but she had to get them away from Bob somehow.
I told her the first part was easy, told her about the portable hard drive. Which led to the story about me looking at all the pictures, which she was hugely unhappy at Bob about. Which led to me telling her that there was a video of her getting attacked in the canyon and I had seen it, which led to me telling her who it was. She was glad it was someone who was long, long gone, and hated Bob even more when she heard he had set it all up. "Yeah. I bet he got his rocks off on that for weeks!" She exclaimed bitterly.
I knew what the hard drive looked like, but had no idea where it was. If it were on his desk, it'd be easy to grab, but if he hid it somewhere it might be a problem. We figured it'd be somewhere in his room, but it'd be more than a grab-and-dash. Marcie still had a key to his house, but how would we get him out of it for the hour or so I might need?
Bob didn't have a job, and we couldn't be sure any time he left how long or where he'd be going. Unless… and Marcie really didn't like that idea. No way in hell. He'd had plenty of her, and he'd had the last of her he was going to get. She said the thought of him touching her made her skin crawl like a thousand roaches. She asked me if I'd ever seen an old movie, the original one, called "I Spit on Your Grave", specifically the bathtub scene. I told her no, I'd never seen that movie, but we could probably rent it if she thought it would help me steal the drive. She laughed, kissed me on the cheek, said that wouldn't be necessary, maybe someday later. I was a little bewildered, but she changed the subject so I let it go.
She finally calmed down and accepted that there, realistically, wasn't any other way to be sure he'd be out of his house long enough. She'd need at least one beer, maybe two to pull it off, and probably psychotherapy afterward, but she'd do it. She'd find a way. It's not like she didn't know how to go crawling back to him; she'd done that often enough. Then she thought about how good it would be when he realized what she’d done it to him and that brightened her up considerably. Once I had gotten the hard drive (and formatted his laptop for good measure), I'd text her. We'd make it looked like it was from her mom, and Marcie could use that as an excuse to run Bob out the door.
As we walked away I wondered where exactly we stood. I'd sort of expected something like this. We'd slept with each other once, sure, but maybe she was just using me to get the hard drive, and her life back, I wondered about it, didn't know, hell, even if she dropped me like a rock right after, but it didn't matter, She really did need that hard drive. If it all fell apart as soon as she got it, then it wasn't real to begin with. I'd survived before, I'd survive again. What did someone like her see in me anyway?
It looked like the best night was two days away. She begged me to have sex with her the day before. "I need it so I know what the difference is. So I can remember why I'm doing it." She didn't have to try that hard to get me into her bed. Looking willing and pointing in the right direction would have been quite enough. It was good, relaxing, fun.
The next afternoon she called him. She insisted I be in the room when she called him. "Bob, it's Marcie. You busy?" You could tell he'd been waiting for this phone call. She told him she needed him, needed to feel him inside of her, needed to cum, no rope, no chains, just him and her, that she was sorry for all the things she said, that her mom would be leaving in about an hour, would he please, please come by, she'd be good, she'd make it worth it to him, she promised. Please?" He assured her he would.
She hung up the phone. Her voice got granite-hard. "Good. So I can fuck you over like you've done so many times to me,” (she managed to both spit and scream the rest of it) “you ignorant, worthless, selfish bastard."
I left to get in position, she got ready. She insisted later on telling me the complete story. I told her it didn't matter, but she didn't want any secrets or questions between us.
She was waiting at the door for him in a short silk robe. He came in, pushed the robe off her shoulders, so it fell to the floor leaving her naked. She had expected that; she knew it'd be expected of her. She put herself into the whiny apologetic please-I'm-sorry mode and the only thing that kept her from throwing up was knowing what was going on at his house. Knowing that, it was downright enjoyable.
She took him upstairs to her bedroom, helped him out of all his clothes, complimented him on his cock, which actually was only about average. He started to push her down on the bed, but she stopped him. "No, I want to do something special. Do this for me. Lay down on the bed like your arms and legs are tied to the corners and leave them there, and let me please you. After a second, he did so. It left his cock standing straight up like a tent stake. She smiled at him, eased onto the bed, took him in her mouth, started going up and down on him. This needed to last as much as an hour, so she couldn't just let him bang her and be done. Besides, if she was lucky and I was fast, she might get away with just a blow job, but it if things ran long other things would be inevitable and unavoidable. She took her time, tried to be good, imagined how he'd feel when he realized the hard drive was gone and she had it. She smiled as she went up and down on him, he misinterpreted the reason.
He reached down and tried to grab her hair, but she ran him off. "Like you're tied up, ok? You can't get loose. I'm making you feel good, aren't I? For me." And he relented and she went back to work. Fifteen minutes down.
She couldn't do a whole bunch more of this or he'd come. She went up and started nibbling on his neck, playing with his chest hair. Sensing he was getting impatient, she knew she couldn't go back to the blow job. Shit, shit, shit. She climbed up and positioned herself right over his member, still smiling at him, still acting her part. Still no text. Damn. She slid herself down and started pumping on him. He really liked that. She went slow. Forty minutes. Bob suddenly had enough, and he rolled Marcie underneath him and started taking her the old-fashioned way. Marcie decided not to argue, but played the part of enjoying it. He pounded harder and harder and then he tensed up and she felt him squirting inside of her. She felt sick, hadn't planned to let that happen, but it was now too late. Fifty minutes. Two minutes later, while he was still laying on top of her, in her, recovering, she got my text message. We'd adjusted her phone book to make it look like it was from her mom, saying her flight was cancelled and she was coming home and asking Marcie to have dinner ready. Marcie flew into a tizzy and apologized all over herself, but she had about twenty minutes and needed to clean up before her mom got home and packed Bob up and ran him out the door.
I found her in her bedroom. Passing the bathroom I noticed three douche balls in the bathroom, all looking to be recently and repeatedly used. She was in her bedroom in just a t-shirt, sitting at her desk, actually just kind of staring blankly at the wall. I put the portable drive on the desk in front of her and told her that I had some trouble finding it, but everything had gone as planned. She kissed me and told me she would never be able to thank me enough.
I asked her if she was done with me, now that she was safe. She stopped, looked at me hugely hurt and bewildered. "Where in the world did that come from?"
I shrugged. "You're beautiful, you're safe now, and you can have anyone you want. Why would you want me?"
First her hands went to her face. I think she was laughing, maybe a little hysterically, which settled down to a little quiet crying. "William Randolph Shelton, your mother was right: you're clueless." A little anger crept into her voice. "You've got a great future in front of you. You are headed straight for an engineering degree. You've got a dad and a mom who love you, who protect you, something that as sure as hell, at least the dad part, would be a new experience for me. You are a good person, an excellent person, a man. A real, honest-to-god man. Saturday all you wanted to do was to have sex with me, when I couldn't have stopped you, and you walked away. YOU WALKED AWAY. You protected me." She was starting to get hugely emotional, puffing as she spoke to keep from crying. She waved her hand at the portable drive. "You've been so very good to me, dressed up and taken me to dinner, you've rescued me from Bob, you've given me my life back." She started sobbing. "It's the funniest thing, you saying that, because I can't believe you want to be around me."
"Oh that's stupid. You're smart and beautiful. Why wouldn't I want to be around you?"
She broke into a full cry, and I could see underneath it was more anger than I had ever seen. I realized I had just hit a huge landmine, and better get ready for the shockwave. Her voice was a graveyard whisper. "You've seen what's on that drive. You know what I've done." She shook her head then hid her face in her hands, crying more. "You know, for once in my life I feel safe in someone's arms, someone not my mother, a guy. For once in my life I start to think that someone wants more from me than to just get laid." The anger was rising. She was looking at the wall in front of her, not daring to look in my eyes. The bitterness became huge in her voice.
"Maybe if I smile a lot, and be sweet, and be good, I won't lose you too soon. Maybe if I sleep with you and do anything you want in bed, like I let Bob leave me naked and tied up in the middle of the desert for FUCKING HOURS you won't leave me..." and she lost it, went over the edge. She was slamming her hands on the desk, something primal deep, so hard the portable drive bounced from where I had placed it and on to the carpet. She was pretty much screaming between raspy sobs now.
"Maybe I'll be good enough that you'll want to stay with me and want to love me. But nobody does." Still pounding, faster now. A metal can of pens and pencils joined the portable drive on the carpeting. "I work out hard, I keep my shape, I look good, I do everything they want in bed. But all they want is the sex, they don't want me." Every word was punctuated by a vicious slam on the desk now. "Nobody. Wants. *Me*!" With that, at last, she stopped pounding, head hanging down in shame. "Not Bob, not Jim, not Carl, not Nick."
And then in a strangled voice in a dead calm silence as the last defense crumbled: "and not my father." She put her head down and cried, shattered, shaking, bitter oceans of tears between gasping breaths. She cried for about ten minutes, shaking and rocking, wailing her bitterness with huge gasps of air. I wanted to hold her, to comfort her, but didn't dare. She finally started to calm down a little. "I just want to be loved." She whispered, almost too low to be heard, "Is it really that much to ask? Please, God, I think I've finally found somebody good. Please God don't let him leave me too."
I came up behind her, pulled her out of the chair and into my arms. She ran her arms around me and continued to cry. I think her nails were leaving imprints in my back, but I didn't care. It finally tapered off to occasional sobs. "I'm sorry. I've screwed up." She said, hardly daring but looking up into my eyes to see what she was terrified was there. "I've scared you off, haven’t I? Now you'll leave me." She grabbed me tighter. The bitterness crept back in. "Just hold me for a while. I'll sleep with you one more time and then you can go."
She looked up at me. I nodded a 'no' to her, then I told her: "Fine. We won't sleep with each other any more. I don't know what will happen, but it's what my dad always told my sister. If you have to sleep with someone to keep them, they aren't worth having."
She got the hugest "what the fuck???" look on her face, hearing that from a male. It just didn't register. She just didn't hear what I just said. Nope, her life and reality did not include *that* concept. She'd heard about it, read it in books, fairy tales, but from the look on her face she didn't believe it applied in real life.
"But... but you're a guy, If I don't sleep with you I'll lose you."
I looked at her with a wry smile and nodded no again. “Not worth having.” I repeated.
"But you're a seventeen year old guy!" She wailed. "If you don't get your rocks off twice a week, you'll explode!"
"It's been six months, before Tuesday, since I've done anything with anyone."
She glared at me. Then it hit her. "Oh. That's... well."
I nodded yes. Then she countered: "But I *like* orgasms!"
"Me, too! I didn't say I wouldn't ever make love to you again. I sure hope not, you're hugely the best I've ever had. But you don't have to sleep with me to keep me."
I paused. "You know, I think that in-the-butt stuff is kinda gross, though. Don't expect that from me. I hope it's not a deal-breaker."
She smiled, almost laughed. "I think I can live with that." But then you could see on her face as she sobered up. "But what do you want from me then?" She whispered, bot quite daring to believe. "How do I keep you?"
"First off, I haven't said I love you, I haven't made any promises, I don't know. I think there may be something there, I'd like there to be something there, but if all there is to us is sex, I'm cheating myself and using you. Hasn't that been done way too much to you already? If I didn't think we might have a future, I'd be saying so, and staying away from you. But sex isn't love, love is more. Sex is part of it, but love is so much more." She was shaking her head in disbelief.
I paused to catch a breath. "My dad always says to never tell a girl you love her, unless you're willing to end the sentence with 'and I'll marry you and grow old with you.' It might happen with us, I'd sure like to find out, but to me it's a big word."
"I can live with that. So how do I keep you?"
"You be yourself, whoever she is, and I be myself, and we find out if we fit."
It hit her and she laughed a little bit. "Ok."
She still looked unsure, so I tried a different thought. "Ok, try this. It's another one of my dad's sayings: 'All you need is a good woman who will respect you, stay by your side, and love you and support you, and if you come right down to it the last three are somewhat optional.'" I paused for a second. "I think he's leaving off one more, she needs to be someone with whom you can fuck like rabbits," Marcie snickered at that. "but that's just me."
She looked and you could see her finally accept it. "If that's the case, William Shelton, then screw me hard right now. Here and now. Push me over the edge, then you cum deep inside me. Right here. Right now." She detached herself far enough to pull off her t-shirt, and she was naked underneath. "Now. I want you so, so bad. Yeah, let's check off that 'fuck like rabbits' part right now."
She got what she wanted.
A few hours later, as expected, Bob called her. She was so ready for this phone call, been hugely looking forward it. He told her someone had broken into his house and stole the hard drive that had all her pictures and even reformatted his hard drive. She'd be happy to know he didn't have them anymore, but he was scared someone might do something with them.
He got both barrels. She first called him a liar, said as far as she was concerned and for all she knew he still had every single one of them. It didn't matter, but if he truly didn't have them he'd better start praying they never got posted. If they got out, it would of course, ruin her reputation and she'd have nothing to lose, so she'd charge him with rape with the pictures as proof. How would he like to be labeled a sex offender for the rest of his life? She went on for a while. As she hung up the phone her parting shot is that it would be so unfortunate if someone had the pictures and tried to blackmail him with them.
Once the phone call was disconnected she giggled for ten minutes.
That was forty years and three kids ago. She transferred to go to my college, went after and got a psychology degree herself while civil engineering was explained to me. We stayed tight throughout school and married shortly after, by agreement settled somewhere far away from home. We had two sons with a daughter in between, the crises and fears and triumphs and hopes and a few but not too many sorrows. She watched Daisy interact with her daddy, who loved her with all his heart and was fully in all their lives. I was, as Daisy would tell me from time to time, right where a daddy should be, wrapped around his daughter's little finger.
Marcie would tear up some times about things like that, every so often go into a full cry, but the sex and the cooking got better for a while around then. Her demons were slowly exorcised, the cycle of her fears broken. Her worst nightmares that she had lived through never even occurred to her children. The kids are all adults now and out living their own lives and working on their own families; it's back to just Marcie and me again. She's kept her shape and figure and aged gracefully; I hope she feels the same about me. She worries about the gray slowly gathering in her hair. I point to my own and tell her that I won't complain if she doesn't. Besides, I tell her, I know how they all got there and I love her for it. Truth be known it looks pretty good on her, but you can't tell her that. We still "fuck like rabbits", just nowhere near as often, and more like slow rabbits. But it's still fun. I don't know if I could have done better but it would be very easy to do worse; if she feels differently she's never complained. I do everything I can, of course, to not give her grounds for that complaint.
About ten years ago, I got a frantic message from one of my friends back home. He told me I really needed to go look at this web site. I didn't much like the URL but I went there anyway, and it was an adult site, and it had pictures of Marcie, from Bob's stash of pictures. Marcie was thirty years older than that, and of course didn't look much like that at all now. I showed her, we both agreed as long as no one linked it back to her it was so long ago that she didn’t care if I didn’t. There were about a hundred to a hundred and twenty of them all told, from all over the collection. Marcie and I guessed that Bob must had a set of favorite pictures stashed away somewhere that we missed. At least he (or whoever) waited that long before releasing them. Besides, we had no clue where Bob was after this time, or if it was even him that posted, or more likely sold the pictures.
The pictures created their own little mini-phenomenon on the boards where they were available. I asked the friend who notified me if it was getting across town or widely known. He asked me how the hell should he know, it's not like people who did this sort of stuff had club meetings, but no, he'd found it on his own and as far as he knew nobody else he knew had seen them or realized who they were.
We monitored it for a while, it was spread across about four or five boards. We never responded and no one ever linked it back to her at all. Most of the comments posted about them assumed the pictures were recent. Everyone said she was beautiful, there were a few requests ostensibly from photographers who wanted to work with her, and one marriage request. A huge majority of the comments were just rude, what one would expect, and could be kindly characterized as drooling.
I thought back and shook my head. If you asked me Bob Hanscom is probably one of the stupidest men in the world and it looks like I am his polar opposite. I smiled. Nice guys don't always finish last.
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