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Shredded -- A Memoir

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This blog contains adult content.  View with discretion.

At 19 years old I’d lived a fairly charmed life.  I grew up in an affluent NYC suburb with loving, if flawed, parents.  It was the 1950’s and my father believed that women had specific (traditional) roles.  As the youngest of 3 the rules were somewhat relaxed for me, but I chaffed under their weight nonetheless.  So I rebelled, in a mostly ladylike manner.  In the fall of 1972 all that had been before, my childish notions about the inherent goodness of all people, idealistic political views, and my core belief that my parents could fix anything, were run through a meat grinder, never to be the same again.  It was the beginning of 20 months in hell.

Fall, 1972 -- Durham, NC

I stood in the street with my thumb out.  Dusk settled and whispered in my ear “wait for the ride,” even though I’d never hitched before.  I figured a little danger couldn’t hurt.   A few minutes passed before a white, 1966 Mustang with red wine interior and a Virginia license plate stopped.  The passenger window rolled down, I bent at the waist and rested my forearms on the door, where the metal and the edge of the window met.  Head tilted up I was eye level with the man in the passenger seat.  “Wana ride?”

“Yes, please.”  My parents drilled courtesy into us. 

“Where ya’ll headin?”

“No place special.  Where are you going?”  Earlier I asked my father to let me have my car in Durham and once again he said no.  But I was restless.  I wanted to unzip my skin and step outside my body – to feel something; anything.  So I smoked a joint, left the apartment and walked outside onto the street. A mild chill gave me goose bumps, but it was warm outside. This is risky and I’m excited.

“OK.  Git in.”  The door swung open and I saw a large hand with perfectly oval nail beds grab the back of his seat and pull it toward him.  Beautiful fingers.  I bent over, stepped my right foot into the car, swung my left leg in behind it and sat my butt in the back seat.  Just like that.

I thought how much it resembled the car in which I learned to drive.  That seemed like a good omen, like something great was about to happen.  But through my stoned haze I felt a weird energy.  In the back of my mouth it tasted like the smell of rancid meat. I opened my mouth and exhaled to try and identify the smell.  I thought of my cat when he used the scent glands in the roof of his mouth to distinguish some unknown smell – he opened his mouth and wrinkled his nose, exposing his front teeth.  While he looked hilarious when he did it, at that moment I did not share that characteristic with him.   I looked cautious.  Like walking downstairs to the basement, worried about bogey men.  I was not panicky, but I was definitely on alert.  I tried to push the passenger seat forward and open the door to get out – ridiculous.  No, impossible.  He turned around and slapped his palm down on the door lock, covering it.  At that moment I realized the enormity of my mistake.

            My mouth watered the way it does when I’m about to vomit.  But I tried not to panic.  Shrilly I cried out “Please let me out.  I won’t tell anyone about this.”

Both men laughed.

“Really, please!!!!”

More laughter.

 How can this be happening in this car?  As if the car mattered.

The car stopped in a clearing adjacent to a thicket.  The ride there seemed like the longest and shortest drive of my live.  The driver said to the passenger, “Get out of the car.” He vacated the seat and I watched and listened to learn my fate.  “Lean towards me and raise your arms.”  I did as he instructed.  He reached under my arms, placed his hands on my shoulder blades and dragged me face first in between the bucket seats through to the front.  My upper torso was twisted and cramped in the front; my legs were splayed across the hump onto the back seat.

He commanded, “Move your legs into the front!”

“I can’t,” I wailed.  The harder I cried the harder he hit me.  Anywhere he could reach.  He slapped my face, punched me in the stomach and grabbed both my arms and shook me.   But I couldn’t stop crying.   

Suddenly his hands encircled my neck. “Bitch, want me to break your neck and fuck you later.  It don’t make no difference to me.  Was’it gonna be? “ 


A part of me was watching the drama unfold, as if it were happening to someone else.  When I heard those words I immediately focused – I wasn’t nearly stoned enough for this.  So I decided to just close my eyes and pretend that I was someplace else with someone else.  It was about SURVIVAL. My sobs remained inside of me and my body shuddered while I maneuvered my legs into the front. Upright in the passenger seat, I felt like a mouse I’d once seen fed to a boa constrictor.  All my senses were heightenedThe car reeked of beer and stale cigarettes and puke.  I almost retched.

“OK.  Just please don’t hurt me anymore and don’t come inside me because I’m not on the pill.” I don’t know what made me say that.  Like he cared about whether or not I got pregnant.  Bizarre.  Negotiations would not work.

With a lopsided grin, he sort of grunted.  I thought then that it might not be so horrendous.

“Take off your clothes!” he commanded.

I wriggled my denim cutoffs down to my feet and freed my right foot, leaving the shorts on the floor.  Then came my panties.  I sat there. Waiting.

“ALL your clothes.”

One at a time I removed my arms from underneath and then pulled my tank top over my head.  I wasn’t wearing a bra.  He grabbed the tank from me and threw it out the window.  Then he grabbed my nipples and squeezed them, hard.

“Please don’t hurt me!” Half speaking ad crying at the same time

“Shut up bitch.”

I whimpered.

With the passenger seat completely reclined I passively laid there while he leaned over me and began sucking and biting my nipples.  Then he lifted his head, and supporting his body on his right arm he swung his left arm and leg over me.  Kneeling between my legs he pulled my head up by my hair until his penis hit my mouth.

“Do it” he demanded.

“Do what?”  I knew what he wanted but I was repulsed by the thought of this stranger’s penis in my mouth.

“Open your mouth and suck my dick until I tell you it’s OK to stop.”

As I wrapped my lips around his penis he thrust his hips forward so hard that the tip of his penis hit the back of my throat.  Without thinking I clamped my mouth shut. He yelled “You want to play games, huh?  You think I’m foolin around?” and slapped my head with cupped hands, 1 against each ear.  I howled and moaned like an animal trapped by a snare.

When he presented his penis to my mouth again I did what I knew he wanted.  I licked his balls and sucked his dick until he came in my mouth.  I didn’t want to swallow.  I was gagging but he wouldn’t remove his penis.  He said “swallow” in a raspy voice.  I swallowed.  He grunted and, holding onto the window with his left arm he pulled himself up, opened the door and climbed out.

I didn’t know what would happen next.  An image from the road trip my University of Florida roommate and I had taken to Colorado a few months prior popped into my head.  It was a stunning panorama.  The cabin sat in a clearing atop a mountain, bordered on the southeast corner by an old glory-hole mine.  Gazing in any other direction revealed a periwinkle sky spotted with marshmallows and green walls of fir trees.  I felt at peace when we were there – no electricity, no running water, just friends, drugs and booze.

The aches and pains snapped me back into the Mustang as the passenger was climbing atop my body, forcing his penis inside me.  I searched my mind for another visual image.  Anything but this grunting sweaty man rhythmically pushing and pulling his penis inside me, in and out, each time squeezing my back against the hump and jabbing my head into the back seat.  I couldn’t breathe under the weight of him.  Every thrust preceded a forced exhale. I moaned. 

I kept hoping he would just finish and that it would be over soon, telling myself that it was only my body he had control of.  That my spirit was out of reach from him.  I was grasping for an illusion though, because just then he held my face between his hands in a vise-like grip.  He commanded “open your eyes and look in mine.”  His face, contorted from laughter and orgasm, was seared into my brain as I felt his penis throb and ejaculate inside my body.  Tears sprang to my burning eyes and my ears rang with the sound of revving motorcycles peeling out as my spirit shattered.    

Afterwards he left me lying in between the bucket seats with the emergency break bearing into my lower back.  He walked over to his friend and they talked for a while.  I was grateful for the lull.  I guess they were talking about what to do with me because the driver walked over to the car and told me to sit up.  I complied.  Then he grabbed my hair, the beautiful, long hair that my father loved, and yanked me out of the car.  I hit my chin on the door as I lurched to the ground barely able to brace the fall with my hands.  He released my hair and my head fell to the ground.  I didn’t have the strength to hold it up.  I didn’t want to hold it up.  Curled into a fetal position I wanted to be home, safe in my parents’ house under my father’s protective wing. 

To be continued .....



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