This is a work of fantasy. It is not about real people, and if
it is, its not what they would do. (not that you are likely to know
them anyway). If you are under 18, go away, since I don’t like to get
in trouble. If you are turned off by perversion, what are you doing at
asstr? In other words, go away. If none of this applies to you, great!
Read on! Have fun! Let me know
what you like!
Oh, and I work hard on my writing…so guess what? Its mine.
That’s right boys and girls…its copyrighted…so if you want it? Just ask-
we’ll talk.
Dryad
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I love music, especially ballads. This story comes from
the song "Backseat of a Greyhound Bus" sung by Sara Evans. Somewhere
though, the story took a major lefthand turn. Read at your own risk. NOT
my usual story.
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Too Late (Mf, inc, rape, viol)
By Dryad
She sat tiredly looking out into the darkness. Her head
rested on the windowpane, her hand at her stomach.
Not much of a town to look at, a one stoplight town. It
must seem serene-- backstreet America at its finest-- but she knew better.
Even small towns could hide big secrets. She felt herself get misty-eyed
and cursed the hormones running rampant through her system. She was glad
to be leaving! She was finally escaping!
It took careful planning. No, they didn’t like her, but they didn’t
want her gone. She felt the tears slide out beneath her clenched lids. No
more self-pity, she thought, her hand rubbing slowly against the tight confines
of her dress.
Her father bought it for her to wear when they went to church
each Sunday. Everyone thought it was so nice how her father was taking
care of her. She laughed to herself. They never heard him yelling what a
cheap slut she was, just like her mother, his face purple with rage. Never
heard the joke he’d make when no one else was around.
“Fucking slut. Closest you’ll be to cherries from now on!” and
he’d laugh maniacally. She’d blush and turn away.
She knew the story though no one thought she did. Her mom ran
away right after Connie was born. By the time she was 13, Connie knew why
and sure as hell didn’t blame her.
Her father was well respected in town. Martin was an elder at
the church, ran a fine business. She guessed he was handsome in his way:
tall, dark hair and crystal blue eyes that could charm the southern ladies
even when she always saw their cold depths. The old ladies would say, “My,
imagine, raising that little girl, all on his own!” as they fanned themselves
while sitting on the park benches. He was the golden bachelor and even with
Connie, women lined up to try and drag him down the aisle.
Not that it worked. Everyone thought it was because he was heartbroken.
She snorted to herself. They obviously never heard his ranting about her
mother. No, her father had a secret. Mom didn’t leave because she was
a tramp, as most of the town thought. Mom left because she was scared. Hell,
she ran just like Connie was running now.
Connie pulled herself out of her reverie suddenly. A sharp pain,
but then she’d been feeling those Braxton-Hicks forever. It was long enough
to see they were out in the middle of nowhere. She stood up and headed for
the bathroom, squeezing just barely through the door. Ever since entering
her third trimester, she’d needed to pee incessantly. Her father thought
it was amusing, “pushing out the sin” so she could be clean enough to bear
the bastard child.
Like he had any room to talk.
After sitting back down and ignoring some older women’s stares,
she closed her eyes again.
It was her thirteenth birthday. Her dad had given her a
cake. She couldn’t be sure but she thought she’d gotten a new bike that year.
But after she had gone to bed, and the lights were off, he came to her.
“You look just like your tramp mother, Cunnie.” He chuckled. It
was the first time he used it but it was far from the last. “My guess is,
you’ll be just like her too. You like to fuck?”
Connie kept her eyes closed, hoping it was just a bad dream and
it wasn’t really her daddy talking to her like this. A sudden harsh
slap against her face let her know that it wasn’t.
“You answer me, cunt, when I talk to you!” His eyes glowed in
the near darkness.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about Daddy!” She cried, her
hand coming up to touch her face.
“Well then, I guess you’re about to find out, aren’t you!”
Her underwear were ripped down her legs. Her father bruising her thighs as
his fingers tightened on her skin.
She shuddered in memory then opened her eyes to dispel the memory.
He had taken her ruthlessly and violently, always making sure any marks he
made were easily hidden.
Her stomach clenched in another Braxton. It’s because I’m upset,
she thought to herself.
It went like that all through high school. Her father let
her be active. He did, after all, have a reputation to uphold, but nights….nights
were where he would wreak his vengeance on the last piece of her mother he
had.
She thought she would escape when she went to college. Her grades
were good and it wouldn’t look right if Martin’s daughter didn’t attend college.
Excited, she started applying for schools, good schools, as far from home
as she could get.
It was February when she found out. She was already three
months along. She knew it wasn’t her boyfriend’s. She was raised a good Christian
girl, and good girls didn’t do THAT. It took her some time to reconcile
herself to whose it really was. Many hours of prayer, begging and pleading.
She couldn’t let her child be born into the environment she put
up with for so long. It was then she cursed herself for not telling someone,
for not running away sooner. She steeled herself. It wasn’t her fault but
she would fix it.
So she started saving money. She knew it would take some time.
Martin never did trust her. She held off saying anything but she was about
5 months along when her father noticed the changes in her body. First, he
was vicious, beating her while she curled up tightly trying to protect herself
and the baby.
Then he changed.
“I said you were a no good slut, just like your mom. Who knocked
you up? Or don’t you know, you fucking cunt?”
She refused to answer, refused to give him the pleasure of knowing
it was him.
It was June though, at the prom no less, that her boyfriend found
out. She felt badly. Maybe she should have told him. Perhaps he would have
believed her. She knew he was hurt.
“How could you do this?? I loved you! I can’t believe I didn’t
know! Who? Who was it!?” but she never said. She cried out she was sorry,
and ran out.
Before long everyone knew. The same old ladies commented that
if Martin had married, perhaps his daughter would’ve learned some restraint,
and isn’t it such a shame about these young girls nowadays?
The town hated her. She could feel the eyes follow her down the
street until she stopped going out all together. That was, until tonight.
Her father wouldn’t expect her to leave so close to her due date and where
would she go in the middle of August? She bought herself a ticket and
carried a worn suitcase. Not many things she’d wanted to keep; the memories
were bad enough. But she did bring the baby quilt and clothes the women from
the church had sweetly made for her, praising her for at least keeping the
child. A postcard from her mother, the only thing she had from her, postmarked
Memphis, TN. She knew if she could find her, her mother would understand.
Another Braxton. She went to the bathroom to relieve the pressure
she felt building. Instead of the urine she thought would come out, a warm,
slightly sticky liquid rushed out into the bowl. “No, not now!” she cried
to herself. She wasn’t far enough away yet. She’d waited too long.
But it was too late, as another contraction bore down on her,
twisting her insides as though a giant hand was trying to wring the baby
out of her.
Connie stumbled out of the bathroom, where a few of the older
women were waiting, having heard her cry out.
“What is it honey?” one gentle grandmotherly type asked her.
“M-m-mmy water just broke.”
“Oh my goodness!” She exclaimed, telling one of the other women
to rush to the front and tell the driver.
“Sweetie, didn’t you feel the contractions?” the woman asked,
concerned.
“I thought they were more Braxton-Hicks.”
“How close are they?” she watched Connie’s face contort as another
contraction took over her body.
“Oh, my! That close! They’ll never get here in time!” she paused
then called out without hope, “Is there a Doctor or Nurse on the bus?”
The Bus slowed and pulled over to the side of the road, as the
driver called back to his station, asking for emergency personnel.
“My name is Mona, honey. I know you’re scared. What’s your name?”
She murmured to Connie between contractions.
“Connie.” She answered.
“Connie, I’m sorry there isn’t a doctor here, but I’ve had
4 children myself and I’m probably the best you’re going to get right now.
First, lets lay you out on this back seat. It’s the largest.” She held Connie’s
elbow and arm as she staggered to the seat.
She turned and called out to the bus riders. “Does anyone have
any blankets? How about water? You guys have seen this enough on TV, you
know what I need!”
She turned back to Connie. “You’ll be okay, sweetie.”
“Oooohhhh my god! It huuurrrtts!” Connie whimpered. Mona
stroked her hair, already wet with sweat. She caught Mona’s hand and began
to squeeze it tightly. “Don’t let my father find me…” she whispered.
Right then and there, Mona knew what had happened. She didn’t
know Connie, didn’t have any preconceived notions of her father. But she
knew.
“That isn’t going to happen sweetie. Now, I know you’re embarrassed,
but I’m going to have to look and see how close you are. Are you going to
be okay with that?”
Connie nodded her head shakily, mouthing “Thank you,” as another
contraction hit.
“Guys! I’m gonna need some shoe laces, some sort of knife, and
if you’ve got it, some liquor, the stronger the better!” Mona hollered out.
“Whatcha need the liquor for, lady? The blood too much for ya?”
Some smart ass commented.
“Just don’t you go looking at it, Harry. You’re for sure gonna
pass out, and I’ve got my hands full. I need it to sterilize whatever we
find to cut the cord with.”
“Ma’am, here’s my Swiss army knife. Is that good?” A blushing
younger man answered as he covered his face on one side with his hand.
“That would be perfect, young man. Thank you. Come on, Harry,”
Mona badgered the older man who was giving her a hard time. “I know for a
fact you have a pint of the Colonel with you. I’ll buy you more when this
is all over.”
“Damnedest thing you ever were woman, for sniffing out liquor
on a man.” He muttered a he got the bottle out of his coat and grudgingly
handed it over. “Now don’t you go wasting it now, Mona!”
Some of the other women brought some blankets, some the kind you
would find on an airplane, some children’s blanket, and a half knitted afghan.
Mona draped Connie’s legs, and flipped her skirt up. After
her water broke, Connie hadn’t bothered with her underwear, as they had gotten
soaked.
“My goodness! The heads crowned!” she looked at Connie, then called
to the driver, “How long before help comes?”
“Another 45 minutes is what they said. There’s been a huge wreck
on I-40, a bit north of here.”
“This baby ain’t gonna wait that long!” she hollered back. “Do
you have any of those fancy heat retaining blankets? Those silvery space
looking things?”
“Yeah. YEAH! I have one in the first aid kit. Lemme get it.”
“AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!” Connie’s scream interrupted.
“Okay sweetie. I know you don’t feel like you can but you need
to breath. This baby isn’t going to wait. So when you the next contraction
hits, you need to push, push as hard as you can, okay?”
Connie nodded, panting in pain. One of the women brought
over a water bottle, soaked a handkerchief and began to wipe down her face.
“Thank you.” She said, breathless.
Connie was squeezing someone’s hand when the next contraction
came and panting, she pushed. She could feel the pressure then it released
slightly.
“Okay sweetie. Now you’re baby’s head’s out. We’re gonna turn
it slightly. Make it easier to deliver its body, and clear out some of the
liquid.”
“Where are the shoelaces guys? I’m gonna need ‘em here in a minute!”
Mona hollered out.
“Thank you.” Connie managed to get out before her next contraction.
Her eyes gleamed in the half-light that the bus afforded.
“One last big push, sweetie, and you’ll have your new little baby.”
“Miss Mona, would these ribbons work? I took them from my little
girl’s hair.”
Mona sighed in relief. She knew she had to cut the cord, and without
something to tie the ends, she was going to have trouble.
Just then, the baby slid out, warm and wet and slimy. Connie
groaned as the final push relaxed her.
Mona caught the baby, and smiled at the beautifully formed little
thing. “Connie, you have a beautiful daughter! Now the part I hate.” She
picked the baby up and swatted her bottom. The little girl gave out a lusty
cry of outrage. “I’m sorry sweetheart, but you need to get the liquid out
of your lungs…and I don’t have anything to suction it with.” Quickly, Mona
laid the baby in her own lap then used the ribbons to tie off a section of
the umbilical cord. One of the women poured the good Tennessee whiskey on
the knife and cut it. Mona wrapped the baby in the silver foil before handing
her to Connie.
In the mean time, Connie was working on ridding her body of what
was left and watching her baby. She WAS beautiful. A full head of hair,
not hugely surprising, since she was told she had had one as well. Still
crying her woes to the world, she stuck her fist in her mouth, muffling the
sounds. Connie reached out her hand to touch her baby’s hair as she was being
taken care of.
Then, suddenly, she was laying in her arms. “Hi Emma. Welcome
to the world.” She whispered, her eyes shining brightly.
“She’s just beautiful. Just like her Momma.” Mona answered. After
all the times she’d heard how she was like her own mother, all the horrible
insults, the cruelty, here was something pure, something wonderful.
And she smiled.
The End
Copyright Dryad ([email protected]) 2003