Mellissa, my best friend,
How long has it been, going on 20 years? But you’re still on my mind. As it was in our teens, I think of you when I learn a secret that has to be kept. The pact we made that day in Michael’s gazebo worked so well as we became women. You once told me, after you dumped Ralph, that being able to discuss it all safely with me meant the world to you. It does to me also, but I have an even stronger reason to share this secret with you.
Are you thinking, “What, nothing worth keeping secret happened to her after she left school?” That may be the case for both of us. The nicest thing about growing up is that it removes intimate authority. But in this one case, if anything happens to me in the next few years you at least will know the facts.
Here is the heart of my new secret: two months ago I was gang-raped. Sort of.
I can hear you: “Tell the cops!” But I didn’t want to do that on the scene and I don’t now. I have told no one anything except for this email to you, my friend most trusted even after all these years.
Here’s how it happened, blow-by-blow as we used to tell it.
I had to attend a conference in a hotel about 50 miles from the big city airport. The plane landed in late afternoon and I took the hotel limousine, not needing a car for this visit. Three men shared the ride with me. The driver told us that rush-hour traffic had already blocked the freeway but that he knew a fast back road, so we went winding through the hills on the scenic route. He was obviously a competent driver.
My three fellow passengers, strangers to me and to each other, were casually but not cheaply dressed in slacks and short sleeve shirts appropriate to summertime and to modern travel style. All three looked to be late thirtyish, like myself, but from their round belly’s, not very fit. Being my conservative self, I wore a frilly blouse, business skirt, pantyhose and pumps. After determining that we were all bound for the same conference, we introduced ourselves: first names only in this uncouth age.
They were Rick with a thin mustache, otherwise average; Justin, the tallest with a Roman nose and Cliff with the widest shoulders. Cliff was blond, the others dark. I wanted to discuss the conference subject but apparently a major baseball game deserved their full attention instead. So I sampled the hors d’oeuvres, leaned back and listened to their conversation, which was revealing despite the subject. Rick was the most aggressive, Justin the most intense and Cliff the quietest. Men’s views, however peculiar, are always interesting for what they notice. Rick told of an incident where the right fielder had chased a fly ball over the bleacher rail into the lap of a young woman who was obviously aroused by the contact, which fascinated the others, judging from their questions.
The journey was quickly passing. I had a distant impression of rocky hillside on the right and guardrail on the left when Rick jerked away from his new friends and said, “What the hell is that?”
All of us looked around to see what he meant. Suddenly something huge completely replaced our view of the road ahead. In the same instant a terrible metallic crash sounded and the car wrenched to the left with awful force. The men and I were thrown together onto the rear-facing seat. In the process my head scraped the hors d’oeuvres tray. I tasted potato salad for some time afterwards.
Briefly we were weightless. I started a scream. Then crashing and banging began. Now we rolled together like dice in a shaker. At some point a blow on the head knocked me silly. It didn’t put me out, just dazed me and left a sore lump above my right eye.
I became aware that the motion had stopped. I was on the floor of the car under groaning men. Their bodies seemed to be all knees, one pressing into my crotch and two others mashing my boobs. Wriggling freed my boobs but the other knee was more firmly lodged.
“What the hell was that?” one of them demanded.
Rick answered, “You didn’t see it? A boulder big as a house rolled down the hill right in front of us.”
“But … but where are we?”
“It went on down the hill and I think we went after it. Is everybody okay? Let’s get out of the car.”
The knee finally departed my crotch, but not before it gave me a tingle. It belonged to Cliff, whose big shoulders I thought might have had something to do with how tightly it was wedged. Nothing much hurt and I didn’t yet know about the lump on my head. Curiously, despite the potato salad on my face, I was not frightened nor even very upset, just relieved at being alive. Three friendly men nearby are very reassuring.
The car doors wouldn’t open but the whole front of the long vehicle was missing. They helped me over the top of the rear-facing seat. I was very aware of the hard hands pressing my butt and thighs. We emerged onto a narrow rocky streambed, now dry, spotted with clumps of faded bush and grass. Walls of rock, dotted with vegetation, rose high on either side of us. The car was a battered wreck: the rear two thirds, that is. From the driver’s partition forward the front was simply gone, the metal edges twisted and torn. All the window glass was missing. I wondered that no one had been cut.
Fingering an edge, Justin nodded sagely. “Not enough reinforcement when they lengthened it.”
In evident anguish Cliff said, “Yeah, but where’s the front — and the driver?”
Directly behind us a huge, orange boulder boxed us in, so big as to dam the stream if it were flowing. Rick went toward it, knelt and pointed to something extending from beneath the boulder, something the color of the car.
He sighed. “It looks like they’re both under there.”
“Good god!” said Cliff with a gulp.
Justin said solemnly, “At least he went quick.”
For a few seconds we look back and forth at each other, imagining the driver’s last seconds in the twisting, rolling and banging vehicle, then the quick end.
“Wonder if his air bag deployed,” said Justin.
Rick sniffed. “Lot of good it did if so!”
“Wait a minute!” Said Justin. “How’d that boulder get behind us?”
Rick shrugged. “Some of that down-the-hill motion was end-over-end.” He reached into his pocket and showed an empty hand. “Damn, lost my cell phone!”
Apparently so had the others. All three clambered back into the car and soon reappeared, clutching cell phones and briefcases.
Cliff even fetched out my purse and passed it to me, asking, “Should I go back for your shoes?”
They must have come off in the tumble. “Thanks, but they’d be no good on this gravel.”
I got out my cell phone and soon discovered along with the others that we had no signal here in the bottom of the gorge.
“Now what?” said Cliff, looking widely around.
From the still lingering dust and disturbed vegetation it was easy to see which hillside we had descended, but an outward bulge halfway down concealed the road above.
Justin said, “Surely other cars must’ve arrived and noticed the guardrail break!”
“Or the torn-up road,” added Rick. “A boulder this size must have really gouged out the asphalt.” He smirked. “We may even have company any minute.”
“But they can’t see us!” I declared in horror. “We can’t see the road, so they can’t see us!”
They regarded me gravely. Suddenly all three grinned. Rick chuckled. “What did you get on your face?”
Justin said, “She took a dive into the hors d’oeuvres.”
“Well,” said Rick, “at least she got some benefit from it. What’s left is now scattered all over the car.”
I always carry a packet of tissue in my purse and used some of it to clean up my face. “Is that better?” I asked, looking at Cliff.
“Don’t you have a mirror in there?” said Rick.
In answer I opened my compact and let the shards of glass fall out.
Cliff said staunchly, “Let me tell you, Della, you’re still a pretty woman, with or without food in your hair.”
“Thank you,” I said, pleased but momentarily uncomfortable at this reminder that I was a woman … the only one here.
Justin spread his hands. “So what do we do now? They’ll think a boulder tore out the guardrail, which leaves us right out of the equation.”
“Until we don’t show up at the hotel,” said Rick.
“It’ll be dark in another hour.” Justin, the string bean, leanest of the three, looked at big-shouldered Cliff. “Thank you can climb that hill?”
“Maybe,” Cliff said after studying the terrain, “with a lot of rest stops.”
Justin shook his head. “That looks like heart attack city to me.”
All the men studied me. I’ve gained weight since my divorce, not too much but enough to make them look away again. I kept my mouth shut.
“Maybe if we built a fire …” suggested Justin.
Rick sniffed, “What do you see that’ll burn?”
Cliff said solemnly, “The car, if we can open the gas tank.”
“‘If,’” Rick repeated. “Does any of you have a knife?”
“On an airplane?” said Justin. “Are you kidding?”
I spoke up. “There’s a pistol in my luggage.”
Rick’s eyebrows rose. “Then let’s get the trunk open.”
But they couldn’t manage that, even beating the lock with a stone. Although the sheet metal deformed, the lid wouldn’t rise.
“We need a tire iron,” said Justin.
“In the same trunk,” Rick said ironically and added, “The gas tank is just sheet metal. Maybe we can find a rock with a sharp point.”
“Or break one,” mused Cliff.
Justin said sarcastically, “And make sparks just as you bash it into the tank?”
“Gas tanks are aluminum,” noted Rick. “No sparks.”
Leaning against a crumpled fender, I watched them search for suitable stones. Men may prefer to flop on sofas, as I’ve noticed, but their bodies are attractive when they’re moving around: something about wide shoulders, narrow hips, long back muscles and rounded calves that more than compensates for the beginning of middle age paunch. Watching them made me moist. I thought of you, Melissa, and your enthusiasm that day when you left Latin class with carpe diem on your lips. “Seize the day!” you said and you certainly did. I envied you that pregnancy and was sorry when it terminated.
In the tumble of the falling car the waistband of my skirt had been torn. I’d been holding it closed with my hand. When released, the garment fell around my feet. I thought about pulling it up but instead stepped out of it.
They wandered far enough afield to be out of earshot, which was far enough for my purposes. When they returned, Rick bore two stones, one broken to a sharp point and a head-sized one which I gathered he meant to use as a hammer.
He knelt at the rear and looked beneath the vehicle. “Good, the tank’s right here.”
Cliff motioned to me. “Better back away, Della.”
Now was the time. I took a deep breath. “Well, if you just won’t hurt me.”
“I know what you were talking about just now.”
“‘Talking about?’” he repeated.
“The way you looked at me. Under the circumstances, wouldn’t you think I’d guess?”
“You guys are planning to gang-rape me.”
Like the others, Rick gawked at me over his shoulder. “What did you say?”
“I noticed how you kept looking back and whispering. And you’re right. I can’t stop you. I can’t fight three men. I could scream my head off but it would only ruin my voice.”
He growled incredulously, “Della, what the hell?”
“Hysteria,” suggested Justin.
Cliff said, “Maybe she got a bump on the head.”
I said, “Just please, don’t hurt me and don’t mess up my clothes.” My blouse was rather low-cut so it went over my head easily. My hands behind me released the bra snap. “I’ll have to wear these when we get rescued.”
Cliff began in a placating tone, “Della, we never meant to harm —”
His eyes widened with the others when my big boobs spilled out. At 36-C, George, my ex, told me they were the only thing of mine he’d miss. Now they’re 38-D.
Rick said thoughtfully, “Is that why you took off your skirt?”
“The waistband is torn and it fell off. That’s what gave you the idea, wasn’t it?”
“Gave us the idea?”
Cliff shook his head. “Della, I assure you —”
“I saw you agree that if I claimed rape, you’d all deny it, be each other’s witnesses and suggest I was out of my mind. It would be my word against yours. Well, you’re right. Here we are, all alone. Nobody in the world knows where we are. You think it’s a unique opportunity, and it is.”
They stared at me. George had also loved for me to bend toward him with boobs dangling. I gave them that view as I pushed down the pantyhose with panties still inside.
“Good god!” declared Rick, rising to his feet and dropping his two stones.
I stood nude before them, hands on hips, auburn pubes matching auburn head. No, I don’t shave down there. Why should I? In its own way it makes a soft cushion and as you can tell, I’m an old-fashioned girl.
It was a warm day and the slight breeze at the bottom of the gorge felt good on my bare skin. Their eyes roamed my body, which is voluptuous according to my full-length mirror. Effecting a mild sneer, I said, “What’s the matter, gentlemen, do you fear I might outrun you? I assure you, I want a better reason than that to get out of breath.”
Justin’s eyes narrowed. “I think she doth protest too much.”
“And, god, look at those tits!” said Rick, hands on his belt buckle.
I was on a roll and wet enough to feel it in my thighs. “Or now that it’s time to act, you think three on one is not such a good idea?”
Cliff’s eyes were fascinated. “What do you think of that?”
“From your point of view, two could hold me. Maybe for your second shot you could be all three together.”
“My god!” breathed Justin.
Slowly I closed the distance to them, careful where I put my feet. Modern people are tender-footed on gravel. “The trunk lid is still smooth,” I said. “I don’t think it would hurt my back.”
Cliff said as if to clear the air, “You want us to put you up on the trunk lid and rape you?”
“Of course not! Nobody wants to get raped.” I gave him my widest smile.
“If I did I’d be a wanton slut with no place at the Collegiate Arts Conference.”
“But … but …”
“And three at once is just … oh god, so overpowering!”
“That’s enough for me!” declared Rick, who had already stepped out of his britches. He took one of my arms. “Give me a hand here. This gal is no skin and bones.”
He and Justin sat me backwards on the still rounded trunk lid. It was tingly warm as I lay down and raised my heels to the edge. Rick leaned between my legs and proved that he was a fast riser. I was wet enough for his hardness to slip into me easily. Ah, it was good! No dildo, however cleverly designed, can ever match the real thing.
I was beginning to buzz when I felt Rick slopping my cervix. It nearly fetched me and would have if he hadn’t pulled out before my heels could capture his buttocks. But Justin immediately took his place. Even with his smaller organ I managed a climax before he added his own fluids.
Cliff hung back.
“Your turn,” said Justin, breathing hard and standing to the side. As I have in the past, I wondered again why men’s first orgasms seem to take more out of them.
“I don’t know,” said Cliff. “If this is really rape …”
“She’s right about one thing:” Rick said, “if it’s really rape, we most definitely have to stick together.”
Cliff lowered his britches almost reluctantly. I was glad to see that despite his reservations, he had a firm erection and even gladder to feel it inside me. This was the largest of the three and the longest lasting. It pummeled my womb delightfully. Sometime toward the end of my long second climax he finished saturating me with man juice. God, it was lovely! My first real sex in seven years! Juvenal was right, you know: women are naturally promiscuous. I had suspected it since the night I accommodated four guys half-drunk at a frat party. This was verification.
Cliff backed away, looking stunned. “My god, what have we done?”
I smiled lovingly around at the three. “Raped me most thoroughly. What sweet guys you are! But you know what the English say: ‘In for a penny, in for a pound.’”
Justin muttered, “She’s just getting started.”
“And wants more,” said Rick.
“I’m sure you’ve heard,” I said conversationally, “of the Russian soldiers in World War Two lining up to enjoy the Berlin Hausfrauen. I never understood why they had to get in line.”
Rick blinked. “Do you really want three at once?”
I rounded my eyes but kept my smile. “If I’ve got to be raped that would certainly make it more interesting!”
“God damn! B-but …” He scraped his shoe on the gravel.
“But how do we do it?” I said brightly. “Cliff, you’ve got the most muscle. Get up here on this nice wide trunk lid.”
He looked around at the others while I pivoted to stand on the ground.
Rick gestured. “Let’s try it. Rape no longer gets the death penalty.”
Cliff climbed up on hands and knees but turned over on his back at my direction, letting his legs dangle down the side. I stooped between them to remedy his softening and sucked out a nice lingering dollop of his juice, which was even meatier-flavored, I believe, than that of George, who taught me to love the taste. What woman wouldn’t!
I heard Justin say scornfully, “You ever hear of a rapee sucking a dick?”
“With a gun to her head,” said Rick. “In this case it makes you wonder who’s raping who.”
When Cliff’s big item was standing tall, I clambered up beside him and rotated myself, setting my heels outside his thighs. Gently sitting on his flabby belly, I leaned back and kissed his cheek. With one hand I put him in my vagina first for wetness, then spread my buttocks with my other hand’s fingers and worked him left and right through the anal ring. His long thing entered about half way with no further encouragement. Don’t you love that feeling: all the pleasure of defecating except backwards?
“He’s up her ass!” said Justin. He sounded astonished.
“He sure is,” said Rick, “but her cunt’s waiting. You’re tall enough to reach it from the ground.”
“Uh …” His eyes brightened. “Yes I am.”
Justin’s head and shoulders appeared over my splayed breasts and his manhood slipped without hesitation into my sloppy vagina. I had earlier judged him average with the smallest equipment of the three, but it felt nicely large inside my Cliff-compressed flesh.
Rick’s head bobbed around the car and he climbed atop the bumper beyond my shoulders. His hand forced my forehead back. Fingers pressed his glans between my lips and on between my teeth. Again I tasted a drop of semen and hoped for more.
Three men at once! I had dreamed of it and after George left, tried it with three dildoes, but to appreciate it you need their hot skin, their sweaty odor, their deep grunts and even Justin’s hands mauling my boobs. In no time at all I was ready to climax but remembered from George’s complaints during soixante-neuf that I might bite. With two penises working in my fundament, however, holding back was impossible. The best I could do was try to lock my jaw. I’m sure I forgot to suck.
That was paradise, Melissa. No other word expresses it. The most delicious sweet warmth, accompanied by bright lights and strange roars, flooded up from my groin and displaced every other awareness. It continued on and on. George had been able to give me two or three orgasms, if he started with cunnilingus, but nothing like this.
I became aware of a strong taste, although I must have swallowed the actual semen. With no interest in things external, my eyes stayed closed. I felt totally enervated but sweetly at peace. God, Melissa, I can’t recommend it enough!
I heard voices but came fully to my senses only when a hand squeezed my boobs. My eyes opened to Cliff’s face. “Better get dressed, Della. We’ll help you.”
Which they did, very tenderly. Finally I laid back on the trunk lid, legs dangling with pantyhose and unfastenable skirt covering my wet bottom.
Rick stood at the end of the car and cocked his head to more closely align our faces. “Do you still call it rape, Della?”
“Oh, god,” I murmured, “you guys are so wonderful!”
Justin said, “That sounds like a ‘No’ to me.”
“She can still put us away.”
“Please, gentlemen, you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”
They all three heaved a sigh.
“Thank you!” breathed Cliff.
“Oh, yes,” Justin agreed, “thank you from the bottom of my … dick. That was awesome sex!”
“You can say that again!” I agreed with feeling.
“I will,” said Rick: “awesome sex!”
It was dark in the gorge. My new friends’ faces were dim in the starlight but my legs could feel the warmth of their bodies. “Awesome but thirsty work,” I admitted.
Fortunately we were not thirsty long. With the thwack-thwack of an approaching helicopter, a high and very bright light dimmed the stars, finally centering on us. I stood up, holding my skirt closed, as a huge down-draft blew the dust away from us. The light hovered and a man descended to us on a rope. “Ladies first,” is the rule, right, even when she isn’t? He buckled me into a harness. Up I rose into the light, still clamping my waistband. They belted me into a helicopter seat and offered me a bottle of water. Wonderful stuff, but I hated to lose the taste of man.
The helicopter landed on a hospital’s apron but as soon as the medics discovered us unhurt — I still hadn’t noticed my sore head — they released us to the cops, who took our statement. By unspoken agreement Rick was our spokesman. I was particularly interested in one part of his account.
“We discussed setting the car afire to attract attention, but thought better of it. We reasoned that the driver had been so familiar with this alternate route, suggesting frequent use, that the hotel management must know about it. And the limousine is a scheduled service, so we couldn’t be very late without them noticing. Apparently we reasoned correctly.”
We shared a taxi to the hotel. Still feeling wonderful, I showered and went right to sleep in the hotel bed, subsisting on room service for the following breakfast and lunch. My luggage arrived just then, in time for me to attend the conference’s afternoon session, where I exchanged many smiles with my three impromptu lovers.
When I entered the hotel dining room that evening, I spied my men sharing a table. Letting the maître d’ wait, I indulged a moment’s hesitation over unknown consequences, which struck me as humorous: unknown, ha! “I see my party,” I told him finally.
“May I join you?” I asked with a smile, standing behind their fourth chair.
All three stood up like old-fashioned gentlemen. “Please do, Della,” said a grinning Rick. “We were just debating how to persuade you in case you came in.”
“Oh, I’m not hard to persuade.” I sat down. “Good evening to my wonderful new friends! Have you ordered?”
“No,” Rick answered. “We were debating that too.”
“You aren’t hungry?”
“Whether we could maybe have it served in your room.”
“That would be messy. And word would get out. But let me say I wouldn’t mind holding a little sub-conference there.”
Justin frowned. “To discuss funding?”
My eyebrows rose. “Funding? Heavens, no! Let’s leave that to the conference proper.”
Rick noted, “You are easy to persuade.”
I lowered my voice. “Gang rape is so persuasive.”
Cliff choked. “You mean … you’d welcome it?”
“Again,” I said with a bright smile.
“Can’t we call it something else?” said Justin, still frowning.
Rick snickered. “How about a triple insemination?”
“Or to simplify: a triplesem.”
I giggled. “A rare word!”
“For a rare opportunity,” said Rick with a grin.
“Let’s order,” I said. “I’m hungry.”
Rick summoned the waiter. My appetite for food was large too.
All four of us shied away from revealing anything that would identify us beyond the schools that we represented. We discussed art in specific fields. Rick was a curator, Justin a buyer and Cliff a figure painter. I admitted to some knowledge of statuary and derailed the conversation by declaring that unlike modern sculptors, the Romans were noted for depicting penises erect. “Which is too bad,” I said sorrowfully. “Barbaric little boys broke them all off.”
“Might not have been boys,” said Justin dryly. “You may have noticed that men don’t appreciate seeing larger ones.”
“Larger than their own, you mean,” I retorted.
After a grimace Rick said, “Have you noted any similar sentiment among women about clit sizes?”
Justin said, “From porn I gather the larger clits are easier to get started.”
“Easier to find at least,” said Rick.
“So I’m curious,” I said. “How does mine compare?”
“Very nice,” said Cliff.
“Easy to find,” said Rick with a grin.
“Larger than average?”
“Let’s say, ‘Prominent.’”
The knees of both Rick and Justin rubbed mine. Cliff sat across the small table. I slipped a foot from its pump and let it feel its way into his crotch. A bit of stroking soon produced a very nice lump there. He developed a slight flush and became even more taciturn, although he smiled when his gaze met mine.
Justin looked around at the other diners. “Lots of people here from the conference. Should we be concerned that they see us together?”
“I don’t think so,” said Rick. “They know about our dramatic history.”
“Part of it,” Justin noted with a smirk.
“Nevertheless,” I said, “we shouldn’t go to my room all together in the same group tonight.”
The three of them grinned with approval. Rick said, “We wanted to discuss that.”
“Well, of course you’re all invited. As soon as we finish here.”
Justin said, “What exactly do you propose?”
“That you knock at, say, two-minute intervals. If no one is in the hall.”
Which is what they did, approximately. As they came in they stripped and stood around watching my more leisurely divestiture. Nothing much was said, although I did fish out admiring comments about my boobs and ass.
Melissa, I sha’n’t try your patience with another blow-by-blow. What happened in my hotel room that night and the succeeding two was three more “Triplesems,” basically repeats of the gorge except with a bit more organization and less hesitancy. I sucked all three of them up — not that they needed it after watching me undress — and they swapped around among my three orifices. I was so totally stimulated that I didn’t notice where they ejaculated aside from Justin, who managed to strangle me once with a powerful squirt. When we finished, very early in the morning, the bed was a mess and I was soaked in sweat and semen. Each night after they left I took a tub bath instead of showering.
I’m convinced and this is the way nature intended for us to have sex. It’s certainly superior in terms of intensity and duration. Men’s bodies all over you, their odors in your nostrils, their flesh in your flesh — nothing else even comes close! I’m reminded strongly of Confucius’s advice to a woman about to be raped: “Relax and enjoy it.” With multiple men it’s even better advice.
Apparently the men also appreciated it. When finished dressing after our last nightly threesome, Rick actually stuck a finger in my sopping slit and said, “Della, this has been a unique experience. Do you know any possible way we can get back in here?”
I clasped his drooping penis. “You mean, get this back in there?”
“Yes.” He grinned. “Along with his brothers.”
“I agree we ought to find a way. How about the next arts conference?”
“One’s scheduled for October at Dartmouth. We’ll be there if you will.”
“All of you, right?”
“We decided that three may be a crowd, but four is just right. Say you’ll come.”
“Many times, if I do,” I said with a giggle. “You bet I’ll be there.”
And Melissa, I most probably shall. As he said, it’s a unique experience, and I won’t be showing much by October. That’s right: I missed a period and the stick turned pink. I’m going to the OB/GYN tomorrow. If she confirms it, which I’m sure she will — this is the first period I’ve missed in twenty-five years — I’ll love to bear my own little girl at last. Even if it’s a boy, I’ll definitely keep her/him.
Who’s the father? Who cares. I know he’s bright and that’s enough.
Take care and write.