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From: mandible <" mandible"@deaths.door>
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Subject: assm: A SOUVENIR OF WAR
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A SOUVENIR OF WAR
BY mandible
	I'd heard about the rapist; that's why I had my dad's war souvenir with
me that night. But I didn't really expect to need it. I'd been carrying
it every day since the second rape.
	Dad called it 'the equalizer,' and Mom couldn't stand the sight of it.
She made him lock it up; but he slipped it to me before I left for
college. "You might need it," he'd whispered. "Some of those athletes
don't know what 'stop' means." I'd ruffled what was left of his hair and
told him I could take care of myself.
	I wasn't so sure when the creep stepped out in front of me. I mentally
kicked myself about a hundred times. Personally I don't think I'm all
that hot-looking, but I had a friend who used to go on about
breast-to-height ratios and buttock roundness and symmetry and how it
related to making guys hot. She claimed my ratios were just over the
'hot' line, and that most guys would rather do me than a skinny
moviestar. Anyway, I'm 5'2, brunette, and young, and I date whenever I
want.
	I'm rape bait, and I had dangled myself without a damn thought.
Suddenly there were dark empty classroom buildings between me and the
lighted road, and my short cut had gone sour. He held up his
switchblade; the same narrow blond clean-shaven face the other girls had
described grinned nastily at me.
	"Not a word, sister. One scream and you're wearin' scars." He'd cut the
first girl across the face when she screamed; the others had been quiet.
I didn't like his looks, but I had to try.
	"You don't want to do this," I told him softly. "It's not too late for
you to stop."
	He snickered. "Step back here in the shadows," he ordered, gesturing
with the knife. I sighed and obeyed, mentally saying goodbye to the cold
beers and warm friends waiting half a mile away. "Get the shirt off,
bitch." He put the knife up to my throat.
	I backed away and began slowly teasing up the edges of my shirt. He
stayed back, grinning that nasty grin. He wasn't a nice man. "You'll
regret this, man," I whispered fiercely. "My dad will hunt you down.
Probably skin you out for a trophy." The shirt came up over my braless
tits; the night air felt good and cool. Probably I should strip in
public more often, I thought wildly.
	His free hand came out and grabbed my right tit, squeezing roughly,
then pinching the nipple. "You've got lousy technique," I hissed. "Don't
pinch it off, appreciate it. Don't you ever date normally? You're not
ugly, what's your problem?" He slapped me, then grabbed my other tit. A
real tit man.
	"You've got the problem, not me, bitch. You all think you're so damn
hot, turning up your nose at us all -"
	"Excuse me, have you ever asked me for a date and been turned down?
I'll go out to lunch with anyone. Hell, I went to the show with my
German teacher, well, after I passed his class, ya know." I glared at
him, hands on hips and freshly pinched tits sticking out. Probably
looked pretty hot, as I look back. He actually looked shocked; I could
see him wince. But I was too naked and he couldn't stop. His knife poked
at me again.
	"Get the skirt off too, and the panties. You're the hottest girl on
this campus." He grinned tightly. We could see each other faintly in the
streetlights glow; to a passer-by we were in deep shadow. I stripped
slowly, realizing I was enjoying watching his face change. He looked for
a moment the way any man does when a woman strips for him. I felt sorry
for him, for a moment, the way he'd felt sorry for me. I could smell
dirt, like an open grave.
	"Look," I said, "you've had your feel and your strip-show, now let me
go. You're some woman's son, somebody's brother or cousin. You've only
scratched and raped, not killed. Stop while you can. Have pity on me,
man, I haven't done anything to you. I promise you, you'll regret doing
this for the rest of your life." 
	He glared at me, then stepped up and pushed me to my knees. He unzipped
and yanked out his cock. Pretty small, for a man his size, but big for
little me. He waved the knife; uncertainly I knelt and opened my mouth.
He jammed his cock in and moaned, then pulled it back out, grazing my
sharp little teeth. He pumped a few times, then pulled out and slapped
my face. "Open wider, bitch, you're bitin' me!" He pushed it back in and
I gaped, lips back from my teeth and eyes open wide. He still grazed
against my teeth, and he pulled my head back and began to slap me.
	I ducked and cried and struggled. "I can't open any wider! I'm just a
little girl, and I've never done that. You're too big, mister!" I
thought of the huge knob on the end of my friend Jesse's eight-inch
cock, and how easily that fit in my mouth. You're just not big enough,
mister.
	He stopped with his hand poised to slap, then stepped back and dropped
his pants around his ankles. He sneered at me as he shoved me back,
pinning my legs apart as he pointed the knife. "Don't do it, mister. I'm
warning you!" I cried as he began rubbing his cock on my pussy. I was
wet already from stripping, and he had the head of his cock inside me in
short order. With a grunt he drove it in deep.
	As he froze in horror I slapped the knife from his paralyzed hand. His
face went white; he made a tiny wail as he pulled his ruined cock out of
me. It was sliced down the middle into four sections and spouting blood.
He stared in horror, making an awful a-a-a-a noise.
	"Squeeze it VERY tight," I advised. "Otherwise it'll retract and
you'll, oops. Well, guess you'll bleed to death. Told you you'd regret
it, the rest of your life." I was gathering my clothes and purse in
horrible haste; he was on his knees clutching his groin in a pool of
blood. His screams were getting louder; I dressed on the run. I had my
skirt on and was struggling with the shirt when he stood up in the
bushes and screamed.
	"You've ruined me, bitch!" He came around the bushes, bareassed and
barehanded, and with blood spraying. I ran, topless and jiggling, with
him behind me for a few steps. I heard him fall and ran on a little
ways, looking back to see him kicking on the ground.
	"Twas beauty killed the beast," I called back to him as I got the shirt
on and ran out into the well-lighted roadway. I crossed at the light and
ran to the bar on the corner.
	Jesse and Fran and Bill were sitting at a table in the back. I waved
and went straight in the bathroom. I went in a stall and vomited, hard.
Green bile came up, and I saw stars. Tasted better than the creep's cock
had. I sat on the stool and pulled one leg up, reaching in deep between
my legs to bring out Dad's war souvenir. I washed it in the sink,
several times, very carefully, and put it in my purse. I washed the
blood from my thighs and tried to make my face normal. Didn't work,
because when I sat next to Jesse, he squinted at me and asked quickly,
"What's wrong?"
	I took his drink from his hand and drained it. "I just met the campus
rapist . . . and I think I killed him. Be very cool and don't start
yelling. You too, Bill." Fran grabbed my arm and asked if I was, you
know, all right. I drained her drink, too.
	"Killed him?" breathed Jesse. "How? Kung Fu?"
	So I brought out Dad's war souvenir and quietly showed it to my
friends, passing it under the table there in the bar. It's a homemade,
well-crafted piece, like a big hollow dildo two inches long made of
polished and lacquered bamboo. Inside are two razor blades, crossing
each other. "It's a whore's trick. If you don't pay once, next time
watch out." The rapist's penis had entered the hollow of the device as
it rode inside my vaginal canal and encountered the crossed razors. I
put it away and we drank several rounds of Bloody Marys in his memory.
	When we left the bar an hour later there were flashlights around the
bushes across the street, and a police cruiser came whizzing up with its
blue lights on. We mingled with the curious crowds, staggered away and
went on with our lives.

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