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From: GMTorrey@hotmail.com (G.M. Torrey)
Subject: ASSM: The Rape Chroniciles, Part 1 by G.M. Torrey (new, rape, murder)
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The following is a work of fiction, intended to be read only by
adults. The author neither condones nor advocates such behavior as is
described in this story. 

The Rape Chronicles, Part One
By G.M. Torrey
Copyright 1998 by the author; all rights reserved
..
Prologue 

	I suppose I’m every woman’s worst nightmare, though it’s
usually too late by the time they realize it. 
	Not the rough-looking stranger who follows you to your car
three straight nights. Not the have-to-have-it type that will break
into the first available apartment in hopes of finding a woman alone. 
	No, I’m the one you should be scared of. 
	I’m not the sort of guy who immediately attracts glances when
he walks by. I’m not a great catch with a large bank account and a BMW
to match. Just a fellow who’s quite friendly, in a natural way. 
	You feel comfortable around him. Oh, you might go out once or
twice with him. But you know nothing’s going to happen. You have your
sights set higher. To your friends, you might even comment what a
wonderful guy he’ll be for the right woman, which, of course, you
aren’t. 
	That’s me. 
	Most of those nice guys stay that way. A few, like me, don’t.
	Of course, I’ve never abandoned or tried to change my outward
appearance. I’m quite good at it. 
	That’s bad news for you. Real bad news.
	This is my story. I dare you to read it. In fact, I hope you
don’t. That will make what I’ve loved to do for nearly 25 years no
more difficult. But if you do read it, I’ll make you a bet: You’ll go
back and wonder if you ever knew me. You might see my face, but
probably you won’t be able to put a name to it. Then, you’ll never
look at an honest, friendly guy the same way again. 
	You see, sometimes nice guys crack.
	It wasn’t my intent to be this way. I guess you can say it
just worked out that way, kind of like most aspects of life do,
despite our best planning and best intentions. 
	Proceed at the risk of your own peace of mind. This is my
story.

			^______________=

The First Time: A Golden Opportunity 
December 1973

	I didn’t really notice Cathy Chambers until the end of my
freshman fall semester.  She occupied the chair across the row from me
in Warren Lytle’s Spanish class. 
	My first 3 ½ months in college had been anything but
fulfilling. Zero dates. Lots of thanks, but no thanks. Lots of offers
to set me up with a butt-ugly roommate one had gotten stuck with on
opening day and would be rid of after the return from Christmas
vacation.
	The ancient dormitory I occupied with a fellow freshman from
New Mexico was no help. A tiny room uncomfortably bunking two. No
privacy. The roommate had a high voice and enjoyed the company of a
geeky looking guy studying for the ministry. Naïve I was then. Later,
I would call him queer. He was a bit too fascinated with the life of a
heterosexual who obviously wasn’t getting what he wanted. He irritated
the hell out of me. With his buddy, it was enough to make one flee to
the library for the night.
	Of course, the dorm had open showers. Not a chance to even
snatch a bit of personal relief. The women on campus were too
good-looking not to at least occasionally need a bit of alone-time. I
quickly decided that a sadist had set up the entire living quarters.
	But after two dozen or so turndowns my first semester, Cathy
really caught my eye.
	She had black hair, a fairly dark complexion and small
breasts. Although she wasn’t beautiful by any means, she had a
sculptured face that I found attractive. I detected a young woman much
like myself: out of place and looking for someone to share some fun
with.
	But I was tired and trying to survive those first few months
had taken the desire to be turned down again out of me. I decided to
just enjoy the friendly smile she gave me in the morning and to banter
about the class. I really liked Cathy and decided that a female friend
would be nice to have. All asking one out had done so far was to drive
me further into isolation.
	The morning of the final exam was different. I was seated,
plowing easily through the test, thanks to three years of high school
Spanish, when Cathy arrived a few minutes later, much to Dr. Lytle’s
obvious displeasure. I looked up from my paper as she took her copy of
the test and sat down.
	Her hair was wrapped back in a cloth, setting off that face I
found so fascinating. A tight white blouse made her breasts stand out
farther than normal. And her black slacks gave away the fact she had a
much-more shapely ass than she had ever shown before.
	A tight band formed around my stomach as my penis swelled to a
full erection.
	If the test hadn’t been such a breeze, I might have blown it.
Out of the corner of my eye, as I continued simultaneously zipping Dr.
Lytle’s exam and trying to calm my member down, I saw Cathy struggling
with the questions. She hadn’t found Spanish easy at all.
	I finished, signed the paper and before walking to the
professor’s desk, noticed that Cathy was not yet to the halfway point.
Lytle smiled as I handed him the paper, along with three other
students who wrapped up at the same time. He wished all of us a Merry
Christmas. We did likewise.
	From the hallway, through the open door, I looked one more
time at Cathy, hunched down over her paper and sighed. Bad mistake. I
should have asked her out. 
	Being my final exam for the semester, I returned to the dorm
room and prepared to return home, a four-hour car ride with a fellow
freshman from my hometown I had agreed to split the cost of gas with.
He was a living example of how a car made all the difference. I had
nothing to look forward but him talking about how grand the first
semester had been. Transportation and an off-campus apartment made our
experiences worlds apart.
	The roommate was off struggling with a calculus exam that he
was doomed to flunk. At least I would be rid of him the second
semester. He had decided to take up residence with his buddy. I had
been lucky enough to find another fellow, much like myself, to room
with the next semester. At least we could enjoy commiserating in each
other’s misery.
	I thought again of Cathy. Almost impulsively, I was walking
back across the campus to the foreign arts building, knowing that I
was too late and that I would probably be kicking myself next semester
for not at least showing her some interest.
	The door to Lytle’s classroom was still open. And Cathy, alone
except for the professor, was rising to turn in her paper, a look of
frustration on her face.
	My penis swelled again as I licked my dry mouth. Luck had
finally come my way. We’d get together the next semester. I found
myself wishing that my manhood would calm down. But then again, if it
hadn’t been for that, I probably would not have returned.
	Cathy smiled as she saw me sitting on a bench outside.
	‘‘What are you doing here?’’ she said with a laugh. ‘‘You
obviously aced it.’’
	I was a bit nervous, but convinced it didn’t show through.
‘‘Just waiting for you. Wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.’’
 	‘‘How nice! The same to you. That makes up for that damn
test.’’
	We both laughed. A good start.
	‘‘May I walk you out?’’ I asked.
	She smiled and nodded. Lytle walked out of the office,
obviously somewhat surprised to see me, and wished us both a good
holiday. We returned the wish.
	Chatting about the test and Dr. Lytle, a well-known Casper
Milquetoast who took separate vacations from his wife, we strolled
down the sidewalk towards the middle of the campus. I had not a clue
to where we were headed, concentrating mostly on when to let my
interest to see her next semester be known and trying to convince my
penis not to go totally out of control. It seemed to have a mind of
its own, far ahead of the situation.
	Finally, after a moment of quiet when the talk died, I told
her that I’d like to take her out the next semester.
	She smiled. I smiled.
	‘‘I’m not coming back next semester,’’ Cathy said.
	‘‘Really?’’ I said.
	‘‘I’ve decided to go the next three semesters to junior
college near home. I think that’s the best thing for me.’’ She paused.
‘‘But I really appreciate you asking. I’d love to if I was going to be
here.’’
	Close, but no cigar. Time to let her have an easy out, as well
as give myself one.
	‘‘Could you help me with something?’’ she asked suddenly.
	‘‘Sure,’’ I said. After all, I was a nice guy. Just one who
couldn’t get a date.
	‘‘I need to pack a couple of boxes at my girlfriend’s
apartment. Some stuff  I’ve kept over there. They’ll be kind of heavy
and I need a back stronger than mine to bring them down the steps.
I’ll pick them up on the way out.’’
	I smiled. ‘‘Sure.’’
	We chatted some more on the short walk to the off-campus
complex, mostly about nothing. The inevitable letdown, accompanied by
a slight feeling of foolishness, was setting in, but at least I could
be with her a few more minutes. My cock burned even harder. It
obviously hadn’t gotten the message.
	Cathy had the key to the second-story apartment and let us
both in without knocking. 
	‘‘Maybe you ought to see if everyone’s decent,’’ I said.
	She laughed. ‘‘She left yesterday. Won’t be back until next
month.’’
	The apartment was quite nice. ‘‘The stuff is in here,’’ Cathy
said, pointing towards the bedroom. ‘‘Hey, let me start getting it
together. See if she left us a couple of Cokes. I could use one.’’
	Cathy disappeared in the back. I opened the refrigerator. It
was bare.
	‘‘No such luck,’’ I called out. 
	‘‘Well, come on and let’s get this done,’’ she said. Somehow,
the friendliness had vanished from her voice. It sounded more like an
order to a peon. I felt myself grow angry.
	Sucker.
	In that split second, for what reason I wasn’t sure of, the
glistening sharp paring knife on the counter had an appeal. I stuck it
in my pocket. My cock responded with a sharp poke into the crotch of
my jeans.
	I walked into the bedroom. Cathy was tossing a large number of
books on the bed. 
	‘‘Cathy, any chance you’ll change your mind?’’
	She smiled slightly. ‘‘About what?’’
	‘‘I wish you’d come back next semester.’’
	‘‘That’s sweet. But my plans are pretty much laid in stone. My
boyfriend is going there and we’ve decided I’ll go there for three
semesters. Then, we’ll come back here.’’
	I felt my face harden in a manner I had never experienced.
‘‘Oh, you were being nice just saying you’d like to go out with me.’’
	Her face fell in slight embarrassment. ‘‘Look, I’m sorry. I
shouldn’t have said that.’’
	‘‘No, you shouldn’t have,’’ I said. With a deep breath, I
pulled out the knife.
	At first I couldn’t believe I had done it. Then, I couldn’t
believe I so enjoyed the expression on Cathy’s face.
	‘‘What are you doing?’’ she said with a gasp.
	It was set in stone. ‘‘Get undressed, Cathy.’’
	‘‘No!’’
	My calmness gave me a feeling of power. ‘‘Strip, Cathy.
Everything.’’
	As I later found out to be the rule, there is a routine:
first, they beg you not to. They promise not to tell anyone if you’ll
just leave. Then, like Cathy, they promise you prison. I ignored her.
	‘‘Strip, Cathy, or I’ll use this.’’
	The expression of resignation is unbelievable and
indescribable. Cathy displayed it as a tear rolled down her right
cheek as she began to unbutton her blouse. She delicately dropped it
to the floor, revealing a white sports bra. 
	‘‘Slacks,’’ I said.
	‘‘Please don’t.’’
	‘‘Cathy, you have no choice.’’ I loved the words. She knew
them to be the gospel.
	The slacks hesitantly came down, showing her white panties. 
	‘‘Step out of them.’’ She obeyed. 
	‘‘Now, your bra.’’
	As the bra was unclasped from the back and slid down her arms,
I couldn’t fully believe what was happening. But my burning cock
convinced it was true and made it plain that there was no turning
back.
	Her breasts curved upward nicely, much nicer looker unclad
than covered by clothing. She crossed her arms across her chest as I
leered.
	‘‘Take off your panties,’’ I said.
	‘‘This is your last chance to stop this,’’ she whispered, in
complete fright.
	‘‘Hey, you invited me into the apartment. Remember? I think
you really just want a little recreational intercourse. You know,
relieve the stress of the semester.’’
	‘‘No, you bastard,’’ she hissed. ‘‘You’re raping me. And if
you don’t go to prison, I’ll make sure my boyfriend gets you. He’ll
kill you.’’
	‘‘I’ll take the chance,’’ I said. ‘‘The way I see it, all is
in my favor. Now, get those panties off.’’
	With a look of hatred, she pulled down the underwear,
revealing a triangle full of rich, but neatly trimmed hair. 
	‘‘You’re quite pretty, Cathy,’’ I said. She brought her arms
down across her breasts, crossing her hands in front of her pelvis.
	It occurred to me that I might not be able to go any further.
But my penis had other ideas. I took two steps toward her. She
whimpered and bent over further in an attempt to hide herself.
	In my first violent act against a woman, I jerked the scarf
off her head. Her brunette hair fell down around her ears, quite
attractively. The desire between my legs went up another notch. I
reached over and swept the books off the bed. 
	The knife went up in front of Cathy’s face. ‘‘On the bed.’’
	Her mouth slightly open, I thought for a moment that she would
scream. But she spared me the split-second decision I would have had
to make, and instead, crawled onto the bed, still covering herself.
She buried her face in the pillows, only able to hear as I quickly
undressed. I stared at her shapely ass.
	‘‘I had a cousin. They sent him to prison for burglary,’’ she
said, whimpering. ‘‘Do you realize what’s going to happen when you get
there?’’
	‘‘Wishful thinking, Cathy,’’ I said as I pulled down my
underwear.
	My penis bulged upward in a seven-inch curve, never before
more erect. Cathy turned her head slightly and took it in, along with
its wide shank and full cap. She gasped.
	I waved the knife. ‘‘Spread your legs, Cathy.’’ Crying softly,
she raised her thighs and spread them apart. I crawled onto the bed
between her, knife still in hand, and guided my penis between her
legs.
	My inexperience probably showed, but her unwilling vagina was
overcome by my hardness, plus a couple of waves of the knife in front
of her face. The tightness was better than any self-stimulation I had
ever had. She closed her eyes as I felt her breasts. I finally treated
my lips to her right nipple, then her left. Cathy’s eyes popped open
with each application of suction. 
	I raised myself and stroked her deeply, through that
wonderfully silky smooth patch. On the 31st stroke, I felt an entire
semester of sexual frustration explode inside of her as she gasped
with the realization that I had succeeded in doing what she did not
want. 
	Cathy’s hesitation, as my semen ran down the side of  her
right thigh,  gave away the fact that she thought it might be over. I
quickly dissuaded her of that idea.
	‘‘That was very nice, Cathy,’’ I said. ‘‘Thank you.’’
	Her eyes narrowed. ‘‘You’re welcome.’’
	I smiled at her attempt at a con. ‘‘And you know what,
Cathy?’’
	‘‘What?’’ she asked quietly, but angrily.
	‘‘We’re going to do it again.’’
	Her whimpers did not stop me from penetrating her a second
time. Later, I would learn the joy of having the woman perform oral
sex and otherwise stroke me under duress. But today, my penis was on
automatic pilot. 
	After the second orgasm, we took a brief break, looking at
each other silently.
	Then, Cathy took and satisfied a third erection.
	I could have kept her there all day, but the clock beside the
bed said I had only an hour and a half to get out and meet my ride
home. But there was a definite problem. Cathy would be on the phone to
the police as soon as I left. I knew it. She had promised it.
	‘‘I hope you enjoy prison,’’ she said, reminding me again.
	I put the knife in front of her face. She didn’t seemed to be
really worried.
	‘‘You bastard,’’ she said. ‘‘You creepy little bastard. You
don’t have the guts. Beside, think about this: kill me and you’ll go
to the electric chair.’’
	I got off the bed and mulled over my options. If I took the
knife and disposed of it, there would be no evidence of force. But
there could be allegations. I might win that. But over the long haul I
would lose. Something told me that no matter what the police thought,
others would believe her.
	If I lost the allegations battle, I would go to prison, just
as Cathy said.
	‘‘Get dressed,’’ I said. 
	She rose from the bed, not sure of what was about to happen. I
began dressing, quickly. Her modesty gone, she stood in the nude and
studied me.
	‘‘You’re pathetic,’’ she said. 
	The words stung. ‘‘You might be right,’’ I said, sliding on my
loafers. ‘‘Look...''
	‘‘Don’t try to explain,’’ she said. ‘‘You and I both know what
you did. And you might get away with it. But you know something, you
might not.’’
	She obviously thought she was in control.
	The sight of her bra on the floor made it clear what I had to
do.
	To this day, I don’t remember much about the next few minutes,
except the tightness of the bra around her throat, stretching the
garment with a strength I never knew I had, and, finally, the eyes
rolling back in her lifeless body, still unclad.
	I took the knife with me and dropped it in an isolated drain
hole near the campus. The unwanted roommate had been in and left.  I
rode home with my companion in silence. He apologized for his own
quietness. That last exam had been preceded by an all-nighter. 
	I spent Christmas alone, in the company of my loner parents.
As usual, no one came over and we went nowhere. Five A’s and a B, of
course, were greeted by "Why not six A’s?’’ But I was accustomed to
that. Besides, it didn’t matter. The police would be at the door at
any minute. A good attorney might get me life in prison, rather than
death.
	But the blue uniforms never came. And I went back for my
spring semester. 
	Catherine Rene Chambers’ rape and murder was still front-page
news in the campus town. No suspects. Her body had gone undetected for
six days until the landlord checked out a strong smell. Nobody ever
connected me with her.
	That is, except for Dr. Warren Lytle. I never had a class with
him again, but would occasionally see him on campus and nod to him. He
always looked away. With his reputation as a flack, it was difficult
to know why or even know if he remembered me. Spanish majors always
laughed about his inability to remember them from semester to
semester. Maybe he knew, maybe he didn't. 
	Hey, I had done it. And as time went on, I realized I had
enjoyed it. A lot still to learn, but a field I had promise in. 
	But it would never happen again. From now on, things would
look up. Don’t look back, as my grandmother used to say. I didn’t
intend to. Cathy had asked for it. Lying, looking for a peon to haul
heavy boxes. I blacked it out and readied myself for a much-better
college life, full of the what I had wanted ever since I could
remember.  
	But I still allowed myself, on occasion, to bask in the
knowledge of knowing, without anyone else having a clue, that I had
scored six A’s and a B my first semester.
	Damn that psychology class.





	 
	
	 
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	 	


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