Author: Thinking Horndog
Title: You Want Me To WHAT?
Part: 2 of 8
Universe: You Want Me To WHAT?
Summary: Desperation will make you do crazy things.  I was tired of doing
without, and I figured women owed me, so I decided to rape one.  I planned it
all very carefully, and it went off like clockwork -- but then the weird shit
started to happen...

Keywords: MF oral noncon cons rom

You Want Me To WHAT?

Chapter 2

	I waited two weeks before going to the restaurant again -- two weeks
of utter silence.  Two weeks of nothing on TV about the mad restaurant rapist
-- nothing on radio, nothing in the newspapers.  Nothing.  I went to dinner
on a Thursday night and waited for the cops to stand over my table.  Nothing.
All I could figure was that the woman had put her clothes back on and walked
out of there without telling anyone -- which was insane, in my book!

	The next week, I went in on Tuesday afternoon; yeah, I had a death
wish.  A true sociopath would never have gone back there again, but I think I
wanted to get caught.  I'd been there maybe ten minutes when my victim came
into the room and headed for the bathroom, scanning the room as she passed.
I made sure I was looking elsewhere.

	She was back out in no time; I think she went through the door,
turned around, and walked back out.  She passed again headed back to wherever
her table was in another dining room.

	Fifteen minutes later, she was back for a second pass -- well a
second in my presence, anyway.  I continued to eat, apparently unconcerned,
but my brain was whirling.  The next time, some redheaded girl came charging
after her and stopped her at the beginning of the hallway and said, "Crystal,
what is it with you and the Ladies Room?  Do you have an infection or
something?  You've been up six times!"

	I was dumbfounded!  Maybe this Crystal thought I would pull that
stupid stunt again?  Maybe she thought she could catch me!  Maybe she had a
gun...    Maybe...  'I'm never eating here again!' I swore...

	But I went back, the next Tuesday.  It was almost five when I walked
in -- and she was there, alone.  I made certain I was parked a good distance
away and in a poor direction for her to be able to see me -- and I watched
her get up and go to the Ladies six times while I sat there.

	I was fascinated.  I HAD to know what in the Hell she had on her
mind...  I went out to my car and I got organized as best I could.  This
wasn't going to be perfect; it wasn't going to be smooth.  It was going to be
scary.  I tried to run various scenarios through my head, but ended up open,
empty, only prepared to react.

	She came out at eight.  God knew how long she had been homesteading
in there.  Head down, she went to her car; I waited until she was moving and
started mine and caught up about a block away.  From there, I tailed her,
varying my distance, turning my fog lamps on or off while out of sight on
corners or whatever to change how the car looked in her mirrors.

	She lived in a none-too-prosperous apartment block a couple of miles
away; 'Shit,' I thought, 'no chance they don't have cameras.'  I pulled on a
hoodie and a ball cap, which made me look like a convenience store robber.
Ah, well.  I shoved some stuff in a couple of plastic bags and carried them
inside -- that got me through the lobby; I watched her punch for the elevator
and made my way to the stairs -- there were only three floors.  In the
stairwell, I dropped the hoodie and shoved it in another bag, but kept the
cap; I waited until she came out of the elevator on the second floor and
turned down the hall toward her apartment (I HOPED it was her apartment!)
before coming out of the stairwell, then I walked the hall behind her, head
down, and passed her as she turned to unlock her door.  Flashing a quick look
for cameras, I doubled back and caught her going inside -- hopefully out of
full view of a surveillance camera.  The old push and trip was a lot harder
with a bunch of plastic bags in my hands but at least her door closed on it's
own...  She had a living room carpet, too -- I got a rug burn on my left hand
but managed to maintain control of things.  Sitting on her ass, puffing, with
my hand over her eyes, I said, "Now, can you tell me what the FUCK you are up
to?"

	"The bag is in my purse."

	I could NOT believe my ears!  "Where is the gun, knife, mace, or
whatever you have on you that was supposed to keep this from happening?" I
asked.

	"I don't have anything.  Where's your stuff?"

	"Well, the gun's in a bag somewhere, but I have the knife.  That okay
with you?"

	"Uh huh."

	"Good."  I wanted to rub my face but I was out of hands.  "Hang on."
I stretched and got her purse strap and dragged it over to me.  It was in
there -- the heavy black cloth bag with the mouth hole.  "You keep weird
souvenirs.  Lift your head."  She did and I covered her head with the bag and
tugged the drawstring tight -- and tied it.  "Now, WHY do you keep weird
souvenirs?  Why do you spend Tuesdays in that restaurant, going to the
bathroom every fifteen minutes?  Is there a camera now?  Did you have a gun
stashed or something?  Was there a police stakeout I didn't see?"

	She was quiet for a while, then:  "Do you remember that long rambling
speech you made?  The one about a perfect world?"

	"Yeah."

	"In a perfect world I would have a boyfriend with a big dick like
yours, fucking me.  In this one, I don't."

	A sat back on her and scratched my head.  "Am I on candid camera?"

	"I never really expected you to come here.  Are you here to rape me
again?"

	"Well, no -- I was more curious."

	"Oh."

	"You're telling me that you have been continually returning to the
place where I raped you because you want to be raped again?" I asked,
incredulous.

	"I would settle for that."

	"I don't think you're quite sane, Honey."

	"I'm not alone.  I don't think you're a serial rapist, either."

	"Well, you're right," I quipped, "I have no idea how to rape cereal
-- but I succeeded with a woman once.  That makes me a hardened sex
offender."

	"Somehow, I'm not as scared as last time."

	"I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.  Maybe I have to
kill you now."  My head was beginning to hurt.  There were permutations and
combinations...  "How long until the cops arrive?"

	"Forever, probably.  Someone would have to call them."

	"Someone may have already.  How good is the video surveillance?  See?
There are too many variables -- things are out of control."  I needed to get
out of there -- this chick was nuts!

	"In the first place, I doubt that our security guard noticed
anything," she said reasonably.  "In the second, you haven't raped me yet."

	"You're lying there with a bag over your head and I'm sitting on you
-- it's assault, at least!" I objected.

	"IF someone shows up."

	"Yeah, well..."

	"If the cops show, they'll come busting through the door like John
Wayne, right?" she said reasonably.  "We'll probably get something like,
'Police!  Open up!'"

	"Okay..."

	"So if that happens, you'll have to pull the bag off.  I'll answer
the door and tell them my boyfriend tripped and dropped the groceries.
You'll have the gun, of course."

	"They'll want to look around," I objected.

	"You can hide the gun under the couch cushions or something."

	"You will have seen me.  THEY will have seen me!"  This was madness!
What had I been thinking?

	"Look, I'm trying here!" she whined.  "Besides, none of that stuff is
gonna happen, anyway!"

	"Well, what do YOU think we ought to do?"  I might as well ask...

	"I think we ought to wait.  If the cops are coming, they'll be here
in forty-five minutes, tops.  If they don't show, you have all night!"

	"Wait?  Like this?"

	"No!"  Her voice was scornful.  "You brought all that Velcro and
stuff, right?  You need to secure me and pick up your bags and make things
neat for the grocery story.  Then we can wait on the couch and you can molest
me a little.  When the cops don't show up, you can molest me a lot!"

	"This is..."  I had no words.  "Who's in charge here, anyway?"

	"You asked me for an opinion...  You have the gun and the knife and
stuff, right?  You're in charge."

	"This is fucked up...  Okay, stick your hands out above your head."
I zip-tied them.  "Let's get you up and onto the couch."  I helped her get up
and settled on the couch, then went around collecting my fake groceries and
putting everything -- well, everything but the gun -- into one bag.  Then I
went around behind the couch and put my hands on her shoulders.  "Tell me why
I'm here."

	"You want to rape me again?"

	"No, that's not it.  I want to know why you're acting crazy and going
to the Ladies Room at that restaurant every ten minutes for hours on end," I
clarified.

	"I was looking for you!"

	"Well, why?  Why on Earth would you go looking for a rapist?"  This
chick's head was on absolutely backwards!

	"Maybe I should start from the beginning," she replied quietly.
"First, you're behind me and you have the weapons, right?  You should undo my
wrists because it'll slow us down if the cops come."

	I leaned up and slipped the knife between her wrists, freeing her,
The zip-tie went flying and I cursed.  "Sit!"  I found the damned thing and
stuffed it in my bag.  "Now what?"  How come I wasn't in control here?

	"Let me take my bra off.  You might as well play and if the cops
show, we'll have an excuse for me yelling, 'Just a minute!' before getting
the door."

	I rubbed my face.  "It's not about what you COULD do -- it's about
what you WILL do -- which is yell, 'Help!  Police!  Rape!'"

	"If I convince you that's what's going to happen, you have to kill
me, right?  Can't we work on something better?"

	"Confusing the shit out of me isn't safe, either!" I argued.

	"Hang on..."  She waved her hand.  "How about this?  You put a
hundred bucks on the table and if I yell rape you insist that I'm a
prostitute!"

	"And this helps me, how?"  I'd STILL be a sex offender!

	"I'm TRYING here!"

	"...And it's STILL not clear why!" I rasped.  "Okay, take it off."

	She did that thing women do where they undo their bra and pull it out
a blouse sleeve -- pretty easy, since her blouse was sleeveless.  "Okay,
they're all yours."

	"Why are you doing this?"

	"Well, if the cops come, you should get SOMETHING!" she burst out.

	"No, I mean in general.  The basic question."  I reached down and
undid two buttons and slid a hand inside her blouse.  The tit inside felt
fucking marvelous!

	"Okay.  You did what you did and you left -- and I was scared -- VERY
scared!  But you were thorough and you left nothing and I was naked in the
Ladies Room and screaming and making a fuss after you were gone would only
embarrass me, so I put on my clothes and peed and fixed my makeup and left.
Then I sat around and cried for a couple of days -- but part of it was
embarrassment and humiliation."

	After a moment, I realized that there was a reason for her pause.
"Why?"

	"Because even though I was scared spitless, it was GOOD!  Did you
notice that I wasn't dry?  I came, TWICE!  You didn't hurt me -- you NEVER
hurt me -- you made my nipples burn and you excited me and I was scared but
things were always clear -- you were there for pleasure, and as long as I was
good, that's what I got!  You put that thing in me and you drove me up the
wall, all the time apologizing for traumatizing me and telling me how good it
was!  Rapists are brutal -- you were kind of matter-of-fact.  You made it
clear that you weren't there to enjoy the violence -- you just wanted sex.
You didn't whipsaw me around and make me jump through hoops or hit me or
anything -- you just felt me up and had me suck you and then fucked me!  You
had everything all thought out and organized and there were reasons for
everything and you TOLD me what they were..."

	"This is all rationalization," I told her.  "A psychiatrist would
tell you you're weaving a fantasy around it.  Rape is a crime of violence..."

	"Then you're not a rapist."

	"Generally, men who put a bag over a woman's head, terrorize them and
fuck them are called rapists," I argued.

	"Is it important to you that you BE a rapist?" she shot back.

	"No, I feel really bad about it," I replied, "but it's done."

	"You can't rape the willing."

	"You'd be the first that WAS willing!" I retorted.  "Why couldn't you
just carry a sign that said you were?  I could have passed on all that
stuff..."

	"Okay, I wasn't, at the start..."

	"In my experience, no woman ever is."

	"And that's why you did what you did, right?  Because nothing else
works?"

	"This isn't about me -- I'm asking about YOU!"  Dammit!  How did she
come to THAT conclusion?

	"The point is, I never told anyone about it.  And the more I thought
about it, the less I was bothered by the fact that things didn't exactly
start out romantic..."

	"They never GOT romantic!" I argued.  "I, well, I used you!"

	"I've been used -- and it starts out with being lied to, generally.
What you did was more like -- I don't know.  There was a path, a process.
Every step of the way, there was an either-or decision.  As long as I made
this decision, we would continue, but if I made that decision, the process
ended.  I always knew the options and I always knew the consequences.  It was
kind of like being stopped for speeding; when the blue lights come on, you
either pull over or you try to outrun the cop.  If you try to out run the
cop, chances are, you'll either be arrested or end up dead, so you pull over.
He wants to see your license and insurance and registration -- and if they're
all right, you move on to ticketing, but if they aren't, you go to jail...
Maybe you get a warning, or maybe you get a fine -- and maybe you fight it,
or maybe you just pay.  It's all cut and dried."

	"So..."

	"So you're not a rapist.  You're a guy who meets women in unusual,
attention-getting ways."

	"Honey, you're wearing a bag over your head, telling me this..."

	"And you're playing with my nipple -- and you're not squeezing it
real hard or trying to pull it off and you haven't cut me up with that knife
or hit me or kicked me...  You're a nice guy who is into anonymous sex." she
insisted.

	"Now, we've agreed that I have a rapist's basic motivations," I
pointed out.

	"You're angry with women in general," Crystal agreed.  "Well, I'm
angry with men in general!  Can I rape you?"

	"Uh, we'll talk about it sometime, maybe."  'Weird, weird, weird...'
"Why are you angry with men?"

	"Remember how that afternoon you kept talking about how lucky my
boyfriend is?  I don't HAVE a boyfriend!  The best I've got is a guy who
shows up unannounced in strange places with a bag..."

	"So you want to date?"  I was nonplussed to say the least!

	"Well, we could..."