Rape Read online

  "I'm hungry," I announced.

  Lorna gave me a long, satisfied look, like the cat who knows the mouse can't get away this time.

  We ate quietly discussing her problems with odd producers and parts and then I went through from the studio to the bathroom to take a shower.

  In the purifying warmth of the water, I wondered uneasily about the hitchhiker, but my thoughts were soon interrupted by the appearance of Lorna in a loosely tied bathrobe.

  "I've come to scrub your back," she declared-a frequent method of hers for getting what she wanted.

  "O.K." I bent to let her reach and she began to knead the soap into my back with her slim fingers.

  "You seem to get hairier every day," she said. "I'll soon feel as if I'm sleeping with a gorilla ... and how did you get these?"

  I glanced down at my hip to the small, fresh-looking scratches. A slight flush might have tinged my face at the thought of the lustful battle in the cornfield, but I answered coolly.

  "Oh. Probably at the club. Those bloody sharp table edges seem to be all over the place when you've had a couple of whiskies."

  I wasn't at all sure how Lorna would take the confession of a rape. Anyway the fewer people who knew, the better.

  And she wasn't really very interested in the cuts, although she allowed her fingers to run soothingly along them.

  "Let's see if you've any in front," she said, and, as I turned, smiling, she ran her finger tips over my hip until they brushed lightly against my testicles and ended by stroking gently my already half-erect penis.

  "No ... there aren't any," she murmured, smiling up into my face with the inviting gleam she could make appear in her eyes at will.

  "I think I'd like to have my back scrubbed," she announced, suddenly.

  She slipped out of the robe and I treated her body to a look from which familiarity could not completely obliterate admiration.

  Lorna had a fleshy, redheaded beauty. Her breasts were large without sagging and swept into a waist whose slimness accentuated them. Her hips were made to receive a man's weight and her thighs were heavy, shapely and altogether voluptuous. As she turned to hang up the bathrobe, her full, white buttocks were cheekily dimpled. She backed under the shower with me and as I soaped her back I felt her buttocks rubbing gently against my loins so that soon my erection was complete and massive. I leaned over her, soaping her breasts, my hands slipping over their bulbous expanses and her hands came behind her back, insinuated themselves between our bodies and began to stroke my penis with a tantalizing, butterfly touch. As I tweaked her nipples, I felt the tingling of nerves beginning in the lower part of my body. The nervous constriction in my chest was always absent when indulging with women with whom I was sexually familiar, but the dull ache of desire in my genitals was in no way diminished. As Lorna twisted to face me I clasped her tightly.

  We jogged and rubbed against each other for a few moments before Lorna slid, brushing her lips down my body as she did so, to her knees. Her lips closed suddenly and tightly over the head of my penis and I grabbed her sleek head and pushed it against me, shoving forward with my abdomen. Lorna encircled my hips with her arms, moving her soft lips over my organ, biting it gently, stabbing it with her tongue.

  My teeth gritting in a clench of passion, I looked down at her as she crouched beneath me, the shower splashing down on her beautiful white body, stringing her deep auburn hair close around her neck and shoulders, trying to gather and then rushing in torrents down the deep crevices between her breasts and her buttocks. Involuntarily I began to grunt, twining my legs together, wriggling my hips, but Lorna was not going to risk frustration. Her mouth wide, her china-blue eyes half open, she suddenly extricated herself from my flaming loins and rose up to me, pulling my head brutally down to hers.

  My hands slipped gently over her smooth, wet back to her buttocks, creased in tautness as she strained against me. Of one accord we moved, still entwined, out of the shower and, soaking wet, stretched out on a casual rug in a corner of the large room.

  I rolled heavily onto her cushioning body and her hips extended, her thighs opened wide to receive me. As I thrust my penis, wet from the shower, into her orifice, wet from desire, Lorna bit hard into my shoulder. The sudden sharp pain galvanised me into a furious brutal thrusting and Lorna groaned. She drew her thighs up to her breasts and then spread them out against the thick, soft wool of the rug. I forced myself right into her, my penis seeming heavy and apart from me with its solid, tingling ache. I raised myself slightly, spreading my knees so that they splayed on either side of her hips and Lorna's hand came down under her thighs to brush my testicles as they swung close to her filled vagina. Then, always as if nothing could satisfy her, she grasped my thighs pulling them furiously against her as my thrusting seemed to split her body.

  My penis, pulsing with tingling energy, seemed to be the only part of me really alive, filling her with my life and power, as she began to wriggle and groan, "Darling. Oh, darling, darling." She spread her legs even wider, a masochistic position, so that it must have hurt her apart from my great organ splitting up into her very belly. I stabbed and ground brutally, aware, as always of my slight detachment, my consciousness of the whole thing, as if I couldn't enter into it blindly. I always felt this way. But not Lorna. Her eyes were closed, mouth working, head and body straining and writhing.

  My penis seemed to grow thicker and heavier, aching as if it were filled with too much blood. I pulled her thighs up, forcing them up against my chest so that she was lying on only part of her back, her rump wriggling free from the rug against my testicles. I thrust my belly hard against her as my penis surged in and out wetly. Thrust, thrust, thrust. My mouth fell open and I began to gasp. This beautiful rounded woman was draining my soul down into my penis. She moaned long and low all the time now, working her hips furiously. Her moan broke up into a series of small, sharp groans and as, with a great straining which jerked my head back, I spurted into her, she convulsed in a long screaming groan, mixed with exclamations of fulfillment.

  I sank to the rug and Lorna rolled onto me, kissing me and whispering, "You darling."

  We lay heaving for some time, our bodies returning to normal from the furious struggle. Lorna moved off me after some minutes and lay on her stomach beside me, face cradled in her arms. My eyes wandered over the sleek, heavy lines of her body, the long curve of her back, sweeping into sudden protruding curve of buttocks, hollowed at the sides, rounding sharply into downy thighs.

  A little nucleus of desire, began, already, to reflame in the pit of my abdomen and I ran my hand down her back, savouring the wet, silky slipperiness. My fingers lingered in the small of her back, traced the tense line of a buttock, and explored the deep crease between the two orbs of flesh as they relaxed again.

  The immediate second time was always better, more agonizing. I climbed onto Loma's bottom and she began to quiver beneath me. I slipped my hand under her, stroking and fondling her breasts and kissing her back. Lorna spread her legs slowly, her buttocks forming a broad cushion for my hips.

  I slid my hands down from her breasts over the soft, tight flesh covering her ribs, lingered grasping a small handful of rubbery flesh at her navel and then coursed my fingers into the mass of red hair at her leg junction. She wriggled and I pulled her hips up so that she was in a kneeling position. Her head flopped sideways on the rug as I ranged myself kneeling against her .Gently I guided my penis into the openly inviting aperture which presented itself to me fleshily between her thighs. Loma spread her thighs wider and pushed her buttocks back at me as I entered into her to the hilt of my power. I clasped my hands around the front of her thighs where they creased into her hips and holding her fast against me, began a slow rhythmic piston movement as I watched her bottom swaying and pushing against my belly.

  Lorna's lips hung open again and her firm, rounded face was flushed and hot as I thrust faster. She drew her thighs in under her kneeling body, protruding her buttocks and
hips a little more so that I clove into her still farther. She gave sudden little explosions of breath-"Oh! Oh! Oooh!" as I rammed hard. My penis was throbbing like a waiting engine again and I gritted my teeth, marveling at sex's capacity. I slid my thumbs between her legs, stretching the lips of her vagina as my pulsing strokes grew rapid. I moved my hands up the broad splayed roundness of her hips and, gripping her waist, leaned heavily forward on her, flattening her breasts to the rug so that her hips automatically reared up, while her face contorted in passion.

  I watched in a fury of rushing feeling my penis wetly gliding into her and out again, with the lips of her vagina pulling away from her slightly, clutching at it until the next inward stroke. My head was hot and pounding. The terrible, uncontrollable corkscrew sensation grew in my belly. I began to grunt and groan. Lorna groaning also, almost in delirium, rammed her buttocks harder and harder against me as she drew to her climax. Our bodies smacked against each other in thuds and sucking noises. She spread her thighs still more until her crotch seemed a great open gulf. My head swam on my neck. The liquid heat rushed inside me as I gaspingly cried out. Lorna screamed. The hot fluid trembled an agonizingly long instant and then shattered from my body shooting up into Lorna, who was gasping for her very breath. The sperm burst in continual waves from my organ for what seemed an incredibly long time and then Lorna collapsed and I flopped forward onto her back.

  We lay gasping for some time before I rolled off her and stared at the ceiling. Her body still heaving, Lorna put her long, soft arms around me and buried her face in my neck with a purring smile.

  The outside room came back to me and I felt slightly cold. I realized, suddenly that the shower was still running and, indifferently, that the water had dried under the sweat of my body.

  We slept like logs that night and awakened late so that Lorna had to rush off to rehearsals immediately.

  I dressed lazily, cooked myself some eggs and bacon and picked up the morning paper. It was the sight of so many pieces of news in so many shapes and sizes that reminded me of the hitchhiker. I skimmed quickly through the pages, glancing down the columns, taking in every paragraph of news. I didn't know quite what I expected to see, but after reading from front to back I put it down with uneasiness lifted from my mind and settled to a morning's uninterrupted painting.

  My painting, my few critiques had said in varying terms, were unusually interesting in the undoubted sexual power of the images, which seemed even to embrace inanimate things. I was never clear how this conclusion was arrived at and it annoyed me that I could not refute it. And today, it seemed, my work took hold of me and manifested itself in savagery of stroke and colour. I found myself simmering on the extra pleasure to be gained from the forbiddenness of rape.

  But with the arrival of the evening paper my mental indulgence left me.

  It was a small paragraph at the foot of a page, glossed over, doubtless, by a police request that their investigations should not be hindered. Under the simple heading "Assault" it told in about ten lines that an 18-year-old girl had been attacked by a man in a field near Henfield, Sussex. Police, it said, were looking for a man-and there followed a description which would leave none of my friends in doubt as to the attacker's identity.

  I stood for some minutes, my mind a numbness refusing to function. Stories told by a reporter friend, had made me only too aware that the police gave away no more information than they felt necessary to help them. It might be that even now they were scenting their way towards me like slow old bloodhounds.

  The bitter fruit of my pleasure! How the hell had the girl remembered so exactly. I poured myself a stiff one and sat down. The worst then, had happened. She had blurted the story to a passer-by, her mother, had blurted it to somebody and started off a chain of events which might end in chains for me. Rather, I had started off a chain of events. The whisky had. I thought over the incident, wondering in a sudden mental vacuum if the ecstatic pleasure, the savage power, the fierce defloration of an untouched flower had been worth to me the trouble I was now in. And even then I was sufficiently a realist to see that for me there could be no question.

  -I got up and walked from one room to another trying to concentrate. I found it difficult to form any coherent thought but the thought of trial, prison, chains binding me-walls crowding in on me filled me with a horror which only action could to some extent dispel. I went into my bedroom, opened the wardrobe with nervous hands.

  I was aware that I had consciously to keep a grip on myself and not panic. I also had to act quickly. Only too many criminals, I knew, were caught because they made no effort to escape until the web of detection was spun around them. I took a set of shirts and ranged them on the bed. I was not going to sit around in the hope that police investigations would fail.

  Having packed my suitcase, I felt pleased at my short notice mobility. I sorted out passport, phoned the airport.

  In a few hours' time I was on a plane for Brussels. A note left for Lorna about my need for a change of air would come as no surprise. She was used to my whims.

  Brussels was not a city that inspired me, nor one in which I felt I could adequately get "lost," but from there I could travel incognito to Paris, without, if I knew the customs authorities, even getting my passport stamped. Once in Paris I could steer clear of the police, I was sure. I knew the city well, spoke near perfect French and could keep out of the way indefinitely.

  I slumped back in my comfortable seat with reflections of the future mingling with thoughts of my neighbour.

  I liked the smooth speed of air travel and I like the too-brief journeys. There was the homosexual dilettante on his way to Paris to escape the restrictions of the English law, who had sounded me ... the well-read widow on her way to spend a long dreamed of holiday in Italy, who had provided me with a fortnight of sexual bliss ... but my present companion was something really special.

  She was sitting on the window side and from my gangway seat I was able to study her at close range on the pretext of looking at the gloomy shapes of cloud through the window. I judged her to be Scandinavian with her blonde, pale, chiselled beauty. Her profile was strong and straight and her deep blue eyes had a profound, thoughtful look as she glanced inwards at the reading, eating, sleeping, thinking passengers in the warm brightly-lit plane. I could have leaned and kissed the clean, delicate skin framed tautly over her cheek, with an inclination of my head, so close were we sitting, and her sleek, blonde hair, which I itched to run my fingers through, exuded a faint perfume which mads my nostrils tingle.

  I could look down on the rounded mound of her sweat-covered breasts, cleaving slightly at the open top Of her suit and, letting my imagination vault, I was hard put to stop myself from reaching out and touching them.

  Outwardly unconcerned, I awaited my moment with eagerness. It came inevitably and, as she fumbled for a light, I snapped my lighter to her cigarette. Her deep eyes thanked me as she pursed her finely-drawn lips over my hand.

  "Will you have a cigarette?" she asked, courteously, noticing I wasn't smoking.

  "I don't smoke myself, thanks," I replied, "but I find a lighter such an excellent opening for one who likes to chat on journeys that I always carry it for other people."

  She laughed. "And who reaps the benefit?"

  "Nobody loses," I answered with a smile.

  She smiled back. "I take the bait."

  That was a fair beginning and we whiled away a pleasant hour in which I became more and more impressed with her poise and apparent maturity. As I listened to her warm voice, tinged very slightly with accent, I did nothing to hide the light which shows in the eyes of every man who's not afraid to let a woman see that she interests him-as a woman. She responded agreeably, but with some reserve-as, indeed, was fitting.

  She was Danish, it appeared, and was on her way to do a little business in Brussels before going on to Paris. We exchanged interested twinkles over the coincidence.

  She was interested in art an
d we discussed painters and their problems at some length.

  "Can you imitate well?" she suddenly asked me.

  I mentioned that at an exhibition in Kensington my work had been --likened to various painters but, and I smiled, had been accorded a sexual power which was unique.

  "Imitation is not the aim of my work any more than it is almost any painter's. Why do you ask?"

  "If you are good, I might have a job for you."

  "Working with you would give me great pleasure," I said.

  She would tell me no more and we began to arrange to meet in Paris in a few days' time when it occurred to me that I might easily risk a day or two in Brussels. In fact I began to forget the reason for my flight.

  On Olsa's recommendation-we were soon on good terms-I took a room at the hotel where she usually stayed not far from the Palais de Justice and the clot of big tourist restaurants which appear at first to be on the sea front, so broad is the avenue they overlook. It appeared that I should have her all to myself at least for the evening and, I hoped, for the night. After settling into rooms at opposite ends of a short, discreetly carpet-padded corridor, we went out to dine.