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Archive name: dixon1.txt (Mm/f-teen, drugs, statutory rape)
Authors name: Xainia Xanadoupolos (Address withheld)
Story title : Dixon Park 1: Kerry

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This work is copyrighted to the author (c) 2002.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  You may post freely to non-commercial
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Dixon Park 1: Kerry (Mm/f-teen, drugs, statutory rape)
by Xainia Xanadoupolos (Address withheld by request)

***

Dixon Park is a fictionalized version of the real thing 
in a respectable far west city. For the full effect, it 
is necessary to bear this in mind: although pure fantasy, 
it could be for real. The first story is about a teenager 
in a fit of depression and her subsequent rape.

***

Prologue

Everyone assumed that Dixon Park was a safe place for 
kids to play. This was chiefly because the swings, see-
saw, carousel, chutes and climbing frames, all the 
apparatus in the child recreation area, were clearly 
visible from the street, as were the neighboring benches 
where parents (and others) sat to watch the children at 
play.

"Who would dare try anything on with the children," any 
concerned citizen would ask, "in full view of people in 
the street?" And the street was always busy; most of the 
shops and offices were located along the northern length 
of Callister Street. And on the far side of the kids' 
recreation area was the sprawling trailer park with 
nearly a thousand mobile homes.

What everyone conveniently forgot was that there was much 
more to Dixon Park than the kids' playground and the 
trailer compound. There were the gardens, for a start, 
with all the little corners and hide-aways. The city was 
famous for its gardens - more than six acres of them 
stretching out to the east. There was a bandstand and 
auditorium in the center of the gardens where 
performances by local orchestras and pop groups were 
given at the weekends in the summer.

And of course there were the usual shelters, public 
toilet facilities, artificial quarries and hillocks. 
There was even a maze at one end of the garden; it was 
supposedly modeled on a famous English maze and had 
become a favorite spot for the young lovers of the town 
to do what young lovers do away from prying eyes.

There was a jogging circuit and a cycling track and an 
obstacle course with a 'wall of death' for skateboarders. 
And beyond all these features were places that were much 
more earthy (like the tool-sheds for the gardeners and 
park workers) or far more sinister (such as the ruins of 
the old frontier fort last used at the time of the Civil 
War, or the more modern communal incinerator, or the 
piece of waste ground on the far side of all these).

If folks had just sat down and thought about it for a 
moment, they would have decided that Dixon Park was not 
such a good place to let kids wander around freely on 
their own. There was a sinister side to the place. True, 
the last murder in the park was during the early days of 
the American involvement in the Vietnam War, the one 
before that was a gangland killing from the north during 
a practice black-out in WW2, and before that we have to 
go back to the Oklahoma migrations during the Great 
Depression, and that's about it.

There was a time when there was almost a murder a week in 
Central Park in New York, and a spell in Chicago when it 
looked as if murder was to be a daily attraction in the 
public parks.

There was a kidnapping in Dixon Park involving a girl of 
eight a long time ago, and there has been the occasional 
rape, mostly of hookers and their kind, at night. A 
lunatic who escaped from the local asylum ran amok for a 
morning, but did little more than frighten the kids at 
play, and an armed robber was shot dead by the police. 
There has been the occasional flasher or streaker. But 
that's about it. Folks begin to get complacent and 
careless when crime statistics take a dip. You need 
regular doses of felony to keep society on its toes.

And that's why the undercurrent in Dixon Park goes 
largely unnoticed - because it isn't a whirlpool, more 
like a cesspool, and goes on day, by day, prosaically 
eating away at the very substance and fibre, moral bone 
and muscle and sinew and fiber that constitutes the 
essential life structure of society. But we have to take 
the good and the mediocre among the bad, for that is what 
real life is all about. The tales of Dixon Park are told 
to underscore this fact. Dixon Park is a slice of life.

Kerry...

Kerry was bored. It was not simply that it was Saturday. 
Although she hated Saturdays because there was no school 
classes and all her friends went home on Friday afternoon 
and would not be back until Monday morning. Nor was it 
the ennui accompanying the idleness of Saturdays, nor the 
kind that is born of sameness and repetition, although 
her life had become little more than dull, boring 
routine. 

Part of the problem was that, in her senior school, she 
was the only one in her grade whose periods had not yet 
arrived, although she suspected Eloise Gerraint and 
Marjorie Thew were lying about theirs having started, but 
they were a good year younger than her. She had become 
disillusioned with life. She was tired of having under-
developed breasts and very little pubic hair, for these 
are the most important things in the universe to a 
teenager. And her allowance was rapidly running out and 
her expenses were running rampant.

With everything mounting up against her, Kerry was tired 
of living! And apart from everything else, she had become 
aware of a growing need for some kind of emotional and 
sexual statement to be made in her life. For a couple of 
years now, a fire had been smouldering in the deepest 
recesses of her most personal places, and she had 
developed a feeling of helplessness, because there was 
nothing she could do about it other than daydream about 
Miss Peel, the gorgeous American literature teacher. All 
the girls in The Mary Vane had a crush on Miss Peel, even 
the kids in the lower school.

She had to be bored out of her mind, she decided, for why 
else would she be wandering about Dixon Park on a 
Saturday morning? She stopped and looked back at the path 
she had taken; it snaked through the gardens, slipped by 
the edge of the jogging circuit and skirted the simulated 
medieval maze. She could see the children at play in the 
recreation area: little molecules of agitated movement 
against the grey of the asphalt and the green of the 
grass; she could not help but compare it with the regular 
oscilloscope pulse of the joggers.

The open-air swimming pool was not yet in use; in early 
spring there was deadness about it. The bandstand and 
surrounding auditorium were empty and the upturned seats 
gave the whole area a neglected look. 'In life we are in 
the midst of death!' There was no formal religious 
worship at The Mary Vane, but there were various church 
groups, and Kerry flitted from one to the other in the 
hope of finding something to pacify the growing disquiet 
inside her. So far, they had only aggravated the burden. 
The scene around her mirrored her sense of gloom.

"This has to be the most boring spot on planet earth!"

She sighed and veered off in the direction of the old 
fortress. It was a complete wilderness there. The place 
was supposed to be haunted. The inhabitants had been 
slaughtered in some uprising by the local tribes in the 
middle of the nineteenth century. The women and young 
girls had been lined up and systematically raped by the 
braves before being killed; some were even raped to 
death. Even the babies died in the massacre.

The ghosts of the victims, and the spirits of their 
killers, were said to appear in all their gore to the 
unsuspecting, and not necessarily at night. As a 
consequence, few local people ever ventured near the 
place. But it served to give the city a sense of history 
and identity, and did little to dilute the innate racial 
discrimination against the so-called Native Americans.. 

"But ghosts! If only!" Kerry grumbled. "At least a bloody 
spook or two would relieve the tedium!" And she sank 
deeper into her depression. "A chap could become mentally 
unbalanced in a place like this." A 'chap' was schoolgirl 
slang for a student in the senior high section of The 
Mary Vane College for superior young ladies. She 
regretted even thinking of mental imbalance, for it 
reminded her of her mother.

She was roused by the sound of raised voices from beyond 
the ruins. It was not the clamour of a ghostly battle or 
even a violent flesh and blood argument with the 
possibility of mayhem and murder - more a difference of 
opinion, but nevertheless heated. 

"We've waited long enough." Recognizable words came from 
the babble, ricocheting towards Kerry. "They're not going 
to come now! I think we've been set us and I say we get 
the fuck out of it!"

"Cooool it, Vince!" This voice was more mature, much 
slower, and a lot less irate. "People have been half an 
hour late before."

"Half an hour is for ever when you're holding stuff as 
hot as this. Christ, Mac! A deal is a deal. And Colombian 
coke is coke."

Kerry was undecided. She did not want to retrace her 
route through Dixon Park. She made to walk away at a 
tangent. A mobile telephone rang twice. And for some 
reason she stopped.

"Yeah!"

The voices had been familiar; it was not that she 
recognized to whom they belonged, it was more as if she 
knew the 'kind' of voices they were. It was like 
recognizing the character represented in a charade, or 
the country of origin suggested by the voice assumed by 
an actor.

"Where the fucking hell are you?" There was a torrent of 
rude words. "We've been waiting here with the stuff for 
you!" There was a strained silence. "You can't be!" There 
was tacit anger in the words. "We are at Bleachers 
Fields! We've been here for hours! Christ! We are 
standing next to the old ammonia plant. It's marked right 
here on the map! Somewhere!" 

"They say they're at Bleachers." It was addressed away 
from the telephone. The response from the other voice was 
a string of foul oaths. "They also say that they can only 
raise half the money!" 

Obviously the echo was addressed to the telephone. "What 
d'yooo mean, you can only get half the money?" It was the 
older voice. There was another burst of cursing. "Christ 
man! What d'yooo want us to do? Measure you out half a 
pound of crack? Jeeesus, man! We have ten pounds of the 
stuff. This is top grade powder, man. Brought all the way 
up from Frisco."

There was an inaudible exchange, then the young voice was 
raised again, obviously speaking on the phone. 

"You know what happens if pigs catch us with this? It 
isn't picnic mayonnaise, man! This was a special favour 
to Menvil, and now you're telling us he can't pay!" There 
was more violent swearing. "We coulda got rid of this on 
the streets of Frisco, man! Dopes are lining up for this 
kinda stuff! Anywhere, man!" There was a long silence. 
"Of course it's pure! Do you think we'd handle shit. This 
is one hundred per cent Colombian coke at its best!"

Kerry could feel the ice coursing through her arteries, 
the muscles of her stomach wrenching. This was serious 
drug stuff that was being discussed. The boredom washed 
from her. It was replaced by intense rage and hatred. Her 
mother had been a hopeless addict and was now a vegetable 
in a private asylum for the insane, put there by yellow 
snow, devil dust, adulterated cocaine.

Her anger for her mother's condition erupted and made her 
want to go on to confront these people, tear their eyes 
out. Her hatred had seeded revenge, at least in her 
imagination. But there was also an intense fear. Kerry's 
dread was willing her to run for her life from the scene. 
She became aware of a strange thing: the sexual 
turbulence inside her had increased dramatically. 

She did not run. The voices fell silent as she appeared 
from the corner of the old stonewalls. The two black men, 
one as old as Kerry's father, the other about the same 
age as her older brother, loitered alongside a peculiarly 
faded green and blue transit van of Japanese manufacture 
that had seen better days. They gaped at her. The younger 
man had a stupid expression on his face. He was still 
speaking into the telephone.

"Hi ya, honey!" he called out. He had a hand clasped over 
the mouthpiece. "Come over here, will ya!" His jaw 
flopped as he appraised her young body. "Settle an 
argument!"

Kerry looked about. She hesitated, then approached the 
two men cautiously. Her senses were quickened, but deep 
inside her there was an awful disquiet, butterflies 
fluttered in her stomach. Quiet, firm resolution, 
however, fixed itself in her mind, and she determined, 
somehow or other, at whatever cost to herself, she would 
wreak revenge for her mother's condition on these two 
creatures. "It may not be much of a blow to the 
international drug trade," she decided, "but it'll be one 
small step for me!"

The younger man grinned at her hesitance. "We don't mean 
to eat ya!" He giggled. "Mind ya, I wouldn't say no to a 
bite!" He looked her up and down with undisguised lust. 
"Ya look good enough to take out to dinner!" He laughed. 
"Say, where is this place?" he asked when she seemed 
about to walk away. He waved his free hand in the air. 
"This is Bleachers Field isn't it?"

"No it isn't," replied Kerry. "Bleachers are on the north 
side of the city." She indicated the direction with her 
arm. "That way! This is the old Frontier Fortress in 
Dixon Park."

The younger man's face fell. He swore savagely. The older 
man looked momentarily concerned. Kerry tried to describe 
the two of them to herself in the way she fully intended 
to describe them to the police. The older man was a 
ringer for Eddie Murphy as he appeared in his last film, 
and the younger one reminded her of the teenager in a 
popular television comedy series with Bill Cosby.

She did not blind herself to the fact that both were more 
than just presentably handsome; they were both extremely 
sexy. It was the younger one who spoke again into the 
telephone. He had turned away and lowered his voice to a 
whisper, but Kerry could still make out the words, "Yeah, 
do that! Ten-K-five-fifty! Catcha! Is Menvil about?" He 
wriggled his hips in the knowledge that the girl was 
appraising him as possible sexual material.

The older man had let himself pay some attention to the 
newcomer. His eyes drifted up and down her figure, and he 
seemed pleased with what he saw. He fastened his 
attention on her legs and the short skirt, then pointed 
at the school badge embroidered in gold thread on her 
handkerchief pocket.

"What the MV stand for, sweetheart?" he asked when she 
made to move away again.

Kerry turned again to face the man. "Mary Vane!" Her 
voice trembled. There was almost a hypnotic quality in 
the man's gaze that threatened to undermine her 
determination to hate them both.

"Is that Latin or something?" he asked in a tone of voice 
which suggested he could not have cared less if it were a 
cure for piles. He slid down the side of the van to sit 
on the grass. It was simply a ploy to detain her.

"It's a school in the city!"

She felt the need to explain. Everyone in the state knew 
The Mary Vane. It was famous for its women graduates. The 
man's continued stare was doing weird things to her 
inside. Words disintegrated before she could voice them. 
She turned away again.

"You are going to be one swell looking broad," he said, 
"when you grow up." It was a calculated attempt to size 
her up.

In spite of herself, the conflict inside her and the 
designs rapidly taking shape in her mind, she could not 
decide whether she should be pleased with the slanted 
compliment - people often mistook her for a preteen. 
There was an extraordinary fascination generated by these 
two men which could upset her resolution. There was an 
uncommon excitement in talking to them.

She had heard stories, of course, circulating among the 
mainly white Caucasian majority of senior girls at 
school, about the endowment of black man and their 
insatiable and unequalled abilities in sex. It was little 
more than a reflex, but she glanced back at the man's 
crotch. He noticed the eye movement and smiled in 
satisfaction. He patted the grass.

"Sit down for a bit," he said. "Make yoooself 
comfortable." He pointed towards the communal 
incinerator. "What is that thing?" The question was asked 
in a further bid to get her to remain. "I've bin 
looookin' at it and wondering."

She gathered her wits. Words finally articulated 
themselves in proper order. She explained. Normally at 
the weekend, Friday evening till late on Sunday, there 
was a constant stream of traffic with people availing 
themselves of the opportunity to get rid of rubbish 
freely.

Today, for some obscure reason, the place was deserted. 
Usually at the weekend the flames leapt high from it like 
a biblical Gehenna, and blazoned out in the night; today 
a mere wisp of smoke crept from it, almost 
apologetically. With its stone parapet and earthen 
platform and the dome-like fuel reservoir, she had to 
confess it looked really weird, almost spooky, but in 
character with the surrounding wasteland.

The younger of the two black men concluded the telephone 
conversation. He snapped the instrument closed. He seemed 
neither pleased nor unhappy with the outcome. Almost 
apathetic, thought Kerry; it was as if he had become 
accustomed to disappointment and failure in his life. In 
that brief pause in time before he turned lustful eyes on 
her, she believed that he looked as depressed as she 
felt.

"Fetch our guest a Coke from the ice cooler," the older 
man suggested, then he raised his eyebrows at the girl. 
"Yooo'd like a Coke?" Then almost in the same breath he 
demanded of her, "Yoooo a virgin?"

Kerry took a sharp breath. She felt that she should have 
been resentful of the last question, if it had been a 
question rather than a statement of fact, asked by a much 
older stranger. In any other situation, asked by any 
other person, she would have turned and stalked away in 
her most haughty manner. Oddly, however, it animated her; 
it underscored her sexual hunger.

The question, it seemed, was addressed to the deepest 
feelings inside her. Her fingers played with the buttons 
of her black school jacket. By the time she decided to 
answer, the boy had presented her with a can of Pepsi 
Cola. The ring had already been pulled and a drinking 
straw had been inserted. The courtesy was noticed; her 
older brother would simply have thrown the can in her 
direction. Beads of cold liquid had formed on the metal.

She accepted the drink, wiped the perspiration from the 
metal and licked her finger sensuously. She undid the 
buttons of her jacket, and sat on the grass facing the 
two men. It was an action born of habit: all the girls at 
the Mary Vane undid the buttons of their school jackets 
before sitting down at their desks in class or at the 
meal table. Otherwise their school coats were constantly 
buttoned.

She nodded appreciation and assent at last. "Yes!" she 
replied in answer to the question. Then she decided to go 
along with the pretence. "I'm only twelve!" There was no 
way of telling whether they believed her or not.

Both men laughed. Both gazed at the exposed flesh of her 
thighs. Almost unconsciously she widened the gap between 
her knees. She was convinced that she had ensnared them.

"A perfect age," said the older man. "Like a single malt 
scotch." He leaned right over and stretched out his hand. 
"I'm Mac Jayson." He pronounced it almost as one word as 
a Scotsman would have said 'McTavish'. He took her hand 
and held it tightly, exerting pressure on her forefinger. 
"This is my business partner, Vince." He released her 
hand to allow the other man to shake it. "Vince Stairs." 
He laughed merrily. "Stairs as in 'flight' as in 'flight 
of fancy'."

Kerry could not avoid the feeling that he had made the 
'joke' several times before. She pulled deeply on the 
straw. The cola was sweet, much sweeter and cooler than 
from the machine in the recreation room at school. She 
suspected that the school was supplied with old, out-of-
date stock; certainly, on one occasion the machine served 
her a chocolate covered biscuit that had mould on it.

She could feel the sharp, almost sensual coldness 
penetrate all the way past her throat to her stomach. It 
added to the peculiar sensations she was already 
experiencing deep down inside herself and seemed to 
amplify the signals she was receiving from these two men. 
Both were looking at her expectantly.

Finally Mac Jayson asked, "What d'they call yoooo?"

Kerry introduced herself. Stairs threw a can of Budweiser 
at the other man, and pulled the ring on one for himself. 
He sat and referred again to the map. Significantly, 
there was a space between the two men.

"Kerry!" exclaimed Jayson. It was plainly a juvenile 
effort to break the prolonged silence. "That's a place in 
Ireland, isn't it?"

"I don't see any fortress here," Stairs grumbled. "I 
don't see any Dixon Park!" He mumbled to himself. 
"Fucking maps! You never know where you are with them!"

"Actually it is the ancient British word for Love," 
declared Kerry, then wondered if she had erred. Perhaps 
'love' should be left unmentioned under the 
circumstances. "It's an old Welsh word."

There was another embarrassingly protracted silence. 
Stairs threw the sheet across to Jayson. "Anyway, you 
were supposed to be the fucking navigator!"

"I can't read these things," complained the older man. He 
smiled mischievously. "I never could make head nor tail 
of them." He made a gurgling noise in his throat, then 
screeched his laughter. "I navigate by the stars!" He 
held the map at arms length.

"Let me see it," said Kerry. She moved to sit between the 
two men, and almost as soon as she shifted, the notion 
seeded itself that they had intended her to move, but she 
could not help herself. She spread the sheet over her 
thighs, studied it for several minutes, located Dixon 
Park and Bleachers Fields and indicated the places with 
her finger. "You are here," she said. "That's Dixon 
Park!" The finger traced the roads. "This is where you 
are: the old fortress. And you want to get to here. 
That's Bleachers!"

Vince took hold of her hand. "Let's see that again!" He 
pulled back and put pressure over her crotch. "Where are 
we?"

The older man showed interest. He put his arm across 
Kerry's shoulder and leaned over to peep down the front 
of her blouse.

"Kerry needs another drink," he said. There was a 
significant exchange of glances which the girl missed. 
"She must have finished this one!" He took the empty can.

She snickered. "Actually Kerry needs a pee!" 

She stood up. It was pure imagination, she was sure, for 
she never suffered from cramps, but she could have sworn 
that, for a split atom of a second, she had felt unsteady 
on her feet. Perhaps she had drunk the Pepsi too quickly.

"Behind the vehicle!" The old man grinned. "And we 
promise we won't look! There a bit of gorse there. And 
big dock leaves!"

When she returned she was still adjusting her skirt, 
brushing it down at the front and rear. She resumed her 
former position between the two men. The younger man 
presented her with a fresh can of Pepsi. He pulled the 
ring as soon as she sat and inserted the drinking straw. 
He made the action seem almost sexually perverted. She 
noted the discoloration on the end of the straw as it 
slipped into the opening. Mac returned his arm to her 
shoulder and slurped his beer. The younger man tried to 
fold up the map. He threw it aside and picked up his 
beer.

"Got a boyfriend?" Vince Stairs asked.

Before she could answer the other man grunted, "Must 
have! A great looking broad like this! Mus' be hovering 
around her like..." 

He had been about to say 'flies round a shit pot'. He 
sought a substitute. Stairs was familiar with the simile. 
He laughed.

"No, I don't have a boyfriend," replied Kerry. There was 
a touch of sadness in her voice. She appeared to 
brighten. She had no idea what made her say it. She 
looked from the one to the other and declared, "You pair 
won't be short of girl friends!"

"There's nothing going for us just now," said Stairs.

Again, in the brief space of time it took him to say the 
words, Kerry noticed the infinite sadness in the voice 
and on the boy's face. He brightened almost instantly. He 
and his companion studied the girl greedily. Jayson 
slipped his free hand under her open jacket to fondle her 
small breasts through the cotton shirt. She twitched with 
some surprise. Again she felt that some protest ought to 
have been made, and again she felt incapable of making 
it. She was shocked as much by the gentleness of the 
man's touch as by his incredible impudence.

"It would seem like that," he admitted. "We are at a low 
ebb at the moment." He grinned sheepishly and toyed with 
the petite ivory buttons of the white blouse. "Maybe you 
could help perk us up." He squeezed each breast in turn. 
He did it as if it were the most normal thing in the 
world. His touch was becoming less gentle and more 
demanding.

Kerry was utterly convinced at this point that she was in 
serious danger of being raped and possibly murdered. She 
knew that the proper thing was to get up and walk away, 
and screamed like hell if they did anything at all to 
impede her. She had never been with boys. She had heard 
the other girls at school talk about having their breasts 
fondled by boyfriends and big brothers. She had not 
realized it could be such a scintillating experience. She 
could see a station wagon nearly a mile away making its 
bumpy way towards the incinerator, and this gave her some 
kind of reassurance. She handed the half-empty second can 
to Vince Stairs. 

"I don't think I can drink any more."

A thousand different kinds of thrill were being generated 
inside her, all of them radiating from the man's kneading 
of her breast through the fine cotton material of her 
shirt and the pressure he was exerting on her hardened 
nipple. The last thing in the world she wanted was to 
have this delightful sensation brought to an end. She 
forced herself to look at the older man.

"You won't hurt me," she asked, "will you?"

"Of course not," the man assured her. He nodded Stairs' 
attention towards her skirt, already three quarters way 
along her thigh. "We wouldn't hurt a single hair of your 
pretty head!"

He kissed the side of her face as Vince caressed the 
inside of her thigh. Kerry felt her head lolling as if, 
quite without warning, it had become too heavy to be 
supported on her shoulders. A fire had been kindled in 
her womb and she was aware of the heat producing wetness 
where Stairs' fingers were beginning to probe. She was 
rapidly becoming incapable of coordinated thought and 
movement. The boy had brushed her skirt fully back to her 
hips and was rubbing the groove of her pudenda from her 
the front to her backside. Her thighs were splayed. She 
was distantly aware of his pulling at the waistband of 
her panties.

"Ease up, sweetheart," he said. "Let's get these off!"

She lifted her bottom. The slender garment was hauled 
over her legs. Stairs pocketed it. Jayson's fondling had 
become much rougher. He was pulling at her nipples. His 
face was very close hers. She knew that she had to be 
kissed by those heavy lips. A tongue invaded her mouth 
and she felt she was being choked.

"Do you want to fuck?" he asked when he pulled away. He 
was rolling a nipple between his finger and thumb.

She nodded. She looked to where the station wagon had now 
reached the incinerator. Two men and two boys were 
scampering around the vehicle. It was the length of a 
full football pitch away, but she could have vowed that 
she heard them talking about 'that girl between these two 
niggers'. She nodded again to indicate these people.

"They're looking at us!" It seemed a childishly simple 
statement to make, but having made it she felt she had to 
amplify it. Her speech seemed slightly slurred. After 
several abortive attempts, she gave up and leaned back 
into the black man's arm.

Neither man paid any attention to her stuttering 
inability to vocalize, but Jayson pulled his hand away 
from her breasts. Stairs pulled his fingers from her and 
brushed down her skirt. They sat for a while in silence 
and gazed across the empty space towards the incinerator. 
The men talked across her. She seemed able only to catch 
the odd word, and none of the words made any sense. 
Stairs presented his fingers to the older man to smell. 
Both nodded in satisfaction.

"Have you sucked a cock before?" The question came from 
outer space. She shook her head. "Have you any brothers?" 
The question came from the depths of the earth. She 
nodded. "And yoooo're still in possession of a cherry?" 
She did not understand. She felt sleepy. She wanted these 
black men to cuddle her and caress her.

Vince Stairs handed her the can of Pepsi and said, 
"Finish it, honey! It will help. I promise you!"

"We'll give it a coupla more minutes," decided Jayson, 
"then we'll move inside." His voice was serious, his 
breathing heavy. His hand was now rubbing the wetness on 
her crutch.

Kerry sipped the cola. The station wagon moved away from 
the incinerator, but another small truck and a pick-up 
had taken its place. Stairs rose first and helped the 
girl to her feet. She felt slightly disoriented.

"The rear door is open." The boy made the comment sound 
like an important announcement. "You go first honey. 
We'll follow in a minute." He snickered and rubbed his 
genitals. "We'll have to empty this."

Kerry stood unsteadily. She could hear the men relieve 
themselves on the other side. They were chattering and 
giggling now like silly schoolboys. She tried to clear 
her senses, but the feeling of strangeness and confusion 
persisted heightened by the fact that the side of the van 
as she leant against it seemed almost like glass to the 
touch rather than metal. 

"It's a kind of fibre-glass; it's like one of these see-
through mirrors in a shrink's office," explained Jayson 
when he correctly interpreted her puzzlement. He was 
having trouble with the zipper of his flies. "After a 
while, when your eyes grow accustomed to it, you'll be 
able to see out without being seen inside. Useful at 
times, for it makes it difficult for people to sneak up 
on us." 

He studied the girl curiously. She remained standing by 
the side of the vehicle, uncertainty written clearly on 
her face. That she was having serious second thoughts 
about her situation was clear. Not for the first time Mac 
Jayson had reservation about the so-called aphrodisiac 
stuff his younger partner used on females, but Vince was 
the scientist with a diploma in chemistry from night 
school!

"You wanta get into the van?" The question was more in 
the form of a command from Jayson. He did not wait for a 
reply. When she seemed about to turn away, he growled, 
"Get in the fucking van!" He lifted her and carried her. 
The thing that first struck her was that the sides of the 
vehicle appeared almost transparent, making the interior 
much brighter than she could have anticipated. The floor 
was thickly matted with a kind of woven plastic material.

Vince Stairs climbed in after them and pulled the doors 
closed. The two men sat on either side of the girl. Mac 
Jayson put an arm around her and pushed her back to lie 
on the padded floor. He kissed her, not just 
passionately, but aggressively. He undid the buttons of 
her shirt slowly, almost ritually and brushed the garment 
to either side. He pummeled her breasts while the younger 
man thrust his head between her thighs.

"Man!" exclaimed Stairs. "Look at the beautiful pussy we 
have here today." Like a kitten at a saucer of milk, he 
lapped her wetness and moaned ecstasy.

The men moved away from her slightly. They started to 
strip. Kerry had never seen naked men before, but there 
was an innate ability to appreciate masculine beauty. 
They may well be into drugs, but nothing of the trade 
showed on their athletic bodies. Both were erect. Kerry 
felt oddly relieved. She had heard the senior girls at 
school describing all black men as being hung like 
horses. She had seen horses at stud at home. These men 
were big in their erection, with testicles that appeared 
inflated, but they were what Kerry would have expected 
from the average male. Stairs slipped his fingers into 
her until he felt the obstruction. He finger fucked to 
the first knuckle for a minute.

"You gonna bust her?" he asked. "Or will I?"

Mac Jayson pushed him aside and positioned himself 
between her thighs. One hand kneaded her breast while his 
forefinger worked in and out her slopping opening. He 
studied the activity of both hands for a while, then 
looked into her glazed eyes.

"This will hurt a bit to begin with," he told her. He had 
two fingers inside her. "Just relax, sweetheart!" He 
presented his huge cock to the groove of her vulva and 
rubbed several times before introducing it between the 
fingers. "Just lie back and enjoy the ride of your life, 
honey!"

He slipped into her with difficulty. Her labia gripped 
him tightly in spite of the liberal lubrication. His 
glans eased against the membrane of her hymen. Kerry felt 
it stretching. She had heard horrific stories about girls 
being deflowered. Henna Jenners boasted about how she 
could not sit down for nearly a week because of the 
ripping pain she endured when her father's chauffeur 
raped her.

All the girls at school claimed that the first time was, 
by the very nature of the act, tearing a bit of your 
body, extremely, excruciatingly painful. Mac Jayson 
pulled back from her as if he intended to withdraw 
altogether, and Kerry felt a surge of disappointment. He 
thrust into her. She gasped at the sensation. And yelped. 
The man clasped a hand over her mouth. Needlessly. He 
crooned into her ear tunelessly.

"That's the bad part over. Your cherry has been popped, 
sweetheart. It starts to feel good from this point on."

Kerry could not believe it. She felt his full length slip 
into her body. The 'excruciating pain' she had braced 
herself for had been little more than the brushing aside 
of a delicate gossamer. She had experience more 
discomfort plucking her eyebrows or shaving the first 
downy hairs from her underarms. She was sure there had to 
be more. Were it not for the hardness thrusting back and 
forth inside her, which seemed, in a disinterested way, 
to satisfy the urgent need that had been ever-present 
with her for more than two years, she was sure she would 
be overwhelmed by a sense of anti-climax. She lay in a 
state of inertia under the black man as he bumped into 
her.

"For Christ's sake!" the man exclaimed impatiently. "Come 
on! Fuck with me, Kerry!"

"I don't know how to!"

Mac Jayson felt himself shrinking. He gaped stupidly at 
her. "Everyone knows how to fuck! Lift your hips to 
me..." He was about to pull away from her in disgust. He 
changed his mind and began to hammer mercilessly into 
her.

His coming afforded her the most peculiar sensation. His 
semen pulsed against the walls of her uterus. It was a 
kind of answer to what she had been seeking for a long 
time. She started lifting and dropping her hips. She 
clung to the black man. She wrapped her legs around him. 
She felt the cock inside her resurrecting and hardening 
and she rode in concert with his renewed action. 

"That's it baby, so sweet! Co-operate! Ride! Fuck with 
me! Beeeooootifoool!"

Every nerve ending in her body exploded as she raced 
blindly into her first ever orgasm. It was as if she were 
being tickled inside by a million feathers and pelted by 
a million snowballs, roasted on a spit and immersed in 
icy water, lifted on clouds and floating on warm tropical 
seas, all at the same time. Then the man shot another 
impregnating load into her. He lay embedded inside her 
for a long time before withdrawing and rolling to one 
side.

Vince Stairs appeared longer and thicker than the older 
man. He applied a thick jelly to his cock. He turned 
Kerry over roughly to lie on her front. She felt the 
ample cheeks of her buttocks being parted.

"Not the cleanest ass-hole," he complained. He wiped her 
with her skirt before leaning across over the girl and 
reprimanded her. "You got to learn how to wash yourself 
properly. You got shit on your ass-hole!"

Jayson laughed. "Where the fuck else would it be?"

"It will be on the end of my cock," complained the boy.

She felt the hardness being presented to her back 
opening. And the pressure as he pushed in. Then the most 
excruciating pain she could have imagined as the full 
length of his erection thrust into her. She screamed. A 
hand was clasped over her mouth. She was barely conscious 
of the hammering behind her and the tearing sensations 
inside her. She seemed to fade into senselessness.


There were five people in the room. All five faces were 
unfamiliar, two were apathetic and one was decidedly 
unfriendly.

"You were raped?" The unfriendly face asked for at least 
the third time. "Inside a transit vehicle? By two colored 
men?"

Kerry noticed that one of the faces was black. She 
instinctively looked in its direction. She nodded. She 
looked at the unfriendly face again and nodded. He was 
the only male present. The black face was one of the two 
that showed apathy. She had told her story several times 
to different people. She answered all the man's 
questions. Finally he withdrew. She had no way of telling 
whether he was satisfied or not.

"Did you actually see any drugs?" asked the black face. 
"Did you at any time take any drugs?"

Kerry had given whet she considered to be a good 
description of the two men. She had described the 
commercial van, both inside and exterior, and had given 
the number that was displayed on the license plates. She 
could tell the police where the men had come from and 
where they were destined for. She reported what she had 
heard of the telephone conversation. The black face 
nodded, and also withdrew.

"Dr. Petrie, here has to examine you and do a few 
tests..." It was a friendly face. The woman helped her to 
undress.

Dr. Petrie was the other apathetic face, apathetic, Kerry 
assumed, because she had done these tests so often, and 
perhaps increasingly apathetic at having to perform them 
on a Saturday afternoon. The woman probed into Kerry's 
vagina and anus. She drew blood from somewhere down there 
and asked Kerry to pee into a bowl. She took samples of 
skin and hair and asked her to spit onto a kind of 
blotting paper. Tubes were introduced to her vagina, her 
back passage and he throat. Kerry felt extremely sick and 
wanted to evacuate her bladder and her bowels and vomit 
all at the same time.

Kerry was finally driven back to the Mary Vane at half 
past eight on Saturday night. At half past nine, a 
policeman turned up at the school to tell her that Mac 
Jayson and Vince Stairs had been arrested and charged 
with the rape of a minor. They would also be charged with 
possession of illegal narcotics and unlicensed weapons. 
They would probably spend ten to twelve years in jail. 
Traces of an illegal substance had been found in her 
blood, but there was no doubt that it had been 
administered by the two men without her knowledge to 
reduce her resistance to the rape. Dr. Petrie's tests had 
indicated that she had not been made pregnant during the 
rapes. The policeman quoted the proverb: every cloud has 
a silver lining!

Kerry fell asleep late on Saturday night. Her Saturday 
morning depression had not entirely dissipated, but she 
consoled herself with the thought that she had made one 
small assault of the detestable trade that had made her 
mother a vegetable. She looked forward to Monday morning 
and the return of her friends. Her last thoughts as sleep 
overtook her were of Mac Jayson slipping the full blast 
of his masculinity into her.

She had a wet dream. When she woke on Sunday morning, she 
seriously considered going to church. Somehow she felt 
herself redeemed. She made a new resolution. She would 
never again walk alone through Dixon Park. She thought of 
the two black men, Mac Jayson and Vince Stairs, and 
wondered how long she would stick to her decision.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
anyway shape or form. 

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Kristen's collection - Directory 21