I will never know how I got into all this. I was an eighteen year old senior in high school ready to graduate in a couple weeks. My grades were good, my ACTs and SATs were great. I had applied to three really good colleges and been accepted by all three. I had chosen the very best, Brighton University, an excellent, small private school. My parents had set up a college fund for me years ago and I had added two very attractive scholarship packages. My life was about as good as it could get.
I was very popular, well dressed and coddled by over protective parents. I did not come from a broken home. I did not do drugs, nor smoke, nor drink, nor hang out with trashy kids.
I had only one concern about leaving for college in the fall, my new boyfriend. For the first time I actually had a boyfriend. My parents had always been very overprotective of me. I am an only child. All through grade school and the first two years of high school they really discouraged my dating in any fashion; even in a group. I was always popular, had lots of friends, but my relationship with boys had been very limited until recently.
About four months ago, I had started to date Kyle Wainright. This was a big step in my young life. Kyle was an all round good guy: top student, president of our senior class, and a good soccer player. We knew one another very well. All through high school we had been together in classes and in the same group of friends. My parents, and Kyle’s parents, knew one another as well and approved of our dating at this point, but it was clear they were trying to discourage any real intimacy between us.
Looking back, it was so obvious: we were both only children and our parents were live vicariously through us. They had all these great plans for our futures, but really these plans were their plans. We were to avoid all pitfalls and really achieve something with our lives.
So Kyle and I had been good friends for a long time, but nothing more until the last few months. Now we were actually “going together”.
We were the cute couple. He was tall, handsome and in very good shape. He had nice longer, light brown, hair, and dark eyes which were striking. We looked good together, but it was our personalities that were the real winners. You could tell kids at school wanted to be in our group. Even adults, like our parents, found our relationship attractive. Kyle liked my friends and I liked his, which seemed unusual at my school. He was one very nice guy to hang out with. We had fun together.
As time passed and we actually started to date exclusively, the question of sex came up, of course. He began to make it clear he wanted to move our relationship in that direction. He talked a lot about commitment and I did feel committed to him, but I had very strong opinions about sex. I had watched too many kids my age make some very bad life decisions, and sex by far was the most common mistake. Sex was not going to happen for me until much later.
First, I have to admit to you, I was aware of a very strong sexual curiosity deep within me but I assured that it never surfaced when Kyle was around. I knew my limitations when it came to intimacy and heavy petting was out of the question. I worried that I could not handle tempting situations.
My virginity was very important to me. First, I had a very strong moral issue with sex before marriage, but also, my sexual innocence was such an important part of my persona as I viewed things. I was the cute virgin and I liked playing that role.
Now put on top of that, health class had really scared me. The thought of disease or unwanted pregnancy really bothered me. The pictures were terrible and the text so vividly portrayed all the bad stuff that could happen. Frankly, health classes in high school had scared the crap out of me. I wanted nothing to do with sex at this age.
So Kyle and I had kissed and hugged some, but I was not going let him go further. From time to time, he would get all over me to move even part way to the next level, but I skillfully and emphatically resisted. Sex was not going to happen and I needed to avoid the temptations that I knew I could not handle if things went too far.
I liked my image. I liked who I was. I was the cute, sweet, innocent virgin; and I liked that. I was the consistently happy, carefree one in our little crowd and I was always the center of attention.
None the less, it was going to be hard to leave Kyle and go to college in the fall.
My family was also a consideration when leaving for school. I could not have a more loving and supportive mother and dad. They were both very busy with business, activities, and friends, but they found time to be involved in my life as well.
My Dad was a wonderful guy. He was doing very well in a very large international trading company, Aronow & Associates. He made tons of money but he had to travel a lot. He had business friends and associates all over the world and was constantly in contact with someone, somewhere.
He and I had always been close and as I grew older it was obvious how proud he was of me. As I move through my high school years our relationship had just grown stronger. My world was changing and he was traveling internationally more and more, but he still made time for his Caroline.
I was no longer his little buddy, but I had become a young woman he clearly admired. Our relationship was about perfect, he was always there for me, but he knew when to step back a little as well.
He bought me a new Ford Mustang for graduation; cute, blue, I love it. He gave it to me early in my senior year so I could get used to driving it while still at home, but that was just his excuse. He really wanted me to have fun with it while I was still in high school. I had a great dad.
Mother was also very much on my team. I was still her little girl. She had not been able to see me as an adult yet, but she could not have been more supportive. She just flat doted on me. She arranged everything from my hair to my shoes to make sure I was always looked my very best.
Here is something very important to this story. My parents were very active socially and like to include me a good bit. Looking back that is another way of saying…they liked to show me off. There were many times around their country club friends, when they would just brag on me to the point of embarrassment. I have to admit it was a thin line for me, because up to a point I found all the flattery very exciting. I know I glowed with embarrassment, but also appreciation. They made me somebody very special in their circle of friends, and I was the cute center of attention in many conversations.
My mother had been a Miss Michigan finalist while in college. Many, including my Dad, said I resembled her a lot; blonde hair, blue eyes; with a slim shapely build. I was a bit taller than my friends, perhaps a little smaller in the top; but, but, but, I had a butt to remember. It was by far my best “asset” according to my amigos.
My amigos were three very close friends from my class at school. We had been buddies since freshman year. We were known as the four amigos. We were together whenever possible. We were the group all the kids wanted to hang with—the cute girls. The boys all wanted to date us and the girls all wanted to emulate us.
In our senior year we had started to spread our wings together. One of our main events was to run over to the mall after school at least a couple times a week. There were times when we might buy a little something, or get a soda, but mostly we just walked around together.
Think about it. When we started going to the mall we were seventeen years old and we had nothing more interesting or important to do after school than to go to the shopping mall and waste time. None of us had part time jobs. We didn’t need them. None of us were in music or sports or extracurricular activities or anything that mattered. We were so lazy and coddled.
Looking back it was very clear, our lives had one glaring shortcoming…we were bored.
This might be something very hard to understand, but it is very important to my story. Each day we went through the same routine with no motivation to change. We were upper class kids, from well to do parents, with everything handed to us. I had even been handed a brand new Ford Mustang to get around in.
Consider the subject of money. Money was never an issue. In fact, it was never discussed. None of us needed jobs, we had plenty of money. In my case, my Dad gave me money whenever I asked. I had my own credit card and he made sure the monthly balance was always paid, no questions asked. In fact, often he would just leave money on my dresser. My friends all had plenty of resources as well, but I was the one to have extra funds if needed.
My parents, my school, the entire community did everything to assure life was good and safe. All I had to do was fall in line and move along with those things expected of me, and that was fun to do. The track ahead could not have been more clear…college, marriage, and a predictable upper middle class future with two or three kids.
The boredom was impossible for us to recognize, but looking back it was a big issue. There was something missing from my life for sure. The highpoint of my typical day was our typical afternoon trips to the mall and the silly things we said and did there, nothing more. We were so complacent and bored, but we just didn’t recognize it.
So we come to a fateful day in mid May, just a couple weeks before graduation. School was out at three, and the four amigos were at the mall by three thirty.
I drove separately this time. My plan was to simply walk around at the mall for a short while with the amigos, then leave them and run to Mallmart alone to buy some makeup and head home. I wanted to be home in time to change and go to a soccer game beginning at six. Kyle was playing and I wanted to surprise him by being in the stands.
Dad was out of town and mother would be gone for the evening getting ready for a charity auction. Dinner for me would therefore be “on the fly” at home in route to the soccer match.
Everything went as planned. I was feeling very euphoric, almost what you could call a “high”. The four of us walked around the mall catching the attention of a good many guys who were just walking around the mall as well. Some of them we knew from school.
Now I must go back to my favorite subject, clothes.
I really looked great. I was wearing my favorite school outfit; a short dark red pleated skirt and a white sleeveless top with a little black vest. My skirt was very cute, but very short. Like several of my other skirts, it had been a subject of discussion at home. Dad typically thought most of my skirts showed way too much, while my mother thought most of my skirts were ok. This skirt was among the shortest I had. Both mother and dad agreed this skirt should stay in the closet, but for me it was ok. I loved the reactions I got from the boys as I walked down the halls at school.
I really had great looking legs, but my very best feature was my butt, and in a short skirt it really caught attention. As I walked I could feel the hem of the skirt moving against the back of my upper legs and that caused a wonderful tingle.
Frankly, I have to be honest; I really got off on the whole thing. This outfit and the responses I got from the boys when wearing it really turned me on. I would get these strange wild feelings deep inside that had me addicted to the game.
These wild feeling would grow and grow as I showed off. Looking back I cannot believe how aroused I would get. Sometimes I wondered if I could drive home without having a wreck.
My sexuality was such a conflict for me. I referred to myself as the reluctant virgin and these afternoon walks at the mall with the amigos provided a constant reinforcement of that perception. I would flirt with these guys until they practically cried without a moment’s concern. I was a virgin and I was in complete control of the situation.
Yes, I had this deep seated sexual curiosity, but nothing could alter my firm resolve to arrive at my wedding as a moral woman. We amigos constantly kidded about doing things with these boys, but these were things I loved to talk about but would not do. This had gone on all senior year.
This afternoon was no exception. There were a lot of kids at the mall and we ran into several groups of guys who tried to corner us into conversation, but we had perfected the art of “flirt and move on”.
There had been two groups of tall black boys who really tested our game. In both cases they were particularly insistent, tagging along for a bit making somewhat rude comments about how a white girl would enjoy a “date” with one of them. I remained in the center of the amigos, but it was clear a lot of their comments were directed at me. I was the only one of the amigos with light hair and blue eyes. We moved along, but not before their attentions had stirred me up.
Other than boys, our conversation at the mall was about fat people and the embarrassing things they would wear. We were young, slim and cute, and I was the cutest. We had so much good chatter about fat “trailer court” men with “plumber butt”, and even fatter women. Our most critical titters were saved for fat white women dragging half-breed black babies around. These little kids could be so cute, but the mothers were a spectacle. They gave the bored minds of the amigos a lot of entertainment. How in the world does a white woman end up in such a way; overweight, ugly and dressed like crap? It seemed like they were constantly pregnant and their waddle was a hoot for us. What spectacles, what grand entertainment.
It was four by the time I left the others at the mall and headed to Mallmart for my stuff. I was a bit behind schedule, but I was hurrying. I was really upbeat about the whole idea of surprising Kyle at his soccer game.
I parked, went in and went directly down the aisles headed to the cosmetics section. I was in a hurry. No shopping today. I knew exactly what I wanted. I didn’t even look from side to side. I just rushed along. It took several minutes for me to work my way back through the maze of isles, get what I wanted, pay for it, and head back out.
I was hurrying back through the aisles toward the exit when I first realized I had been given an extra large shopping bag for the three little items I purchased. My mind had just settled on the notion that she must have been out of smaller bags in cosmetics as I was hustling by the electronics section. There, sticking right out in the aisle; was a big display of the new Play Station Four. I was really hurrying along, but the display caught my attention. A sudden little titillation and I reached over to drop one in my bag without even slowing down. It was a relatively small box, my shopping bag was bigger than it should have been, and that was it, I just hurried on my way.
An undeniable thrill welled up inside me as I rushed along. It grew into an intense thrilly-dilly funny feeling by the time I was beyond the electronics section.
I had never thought about doing anything like this. Stealing something had never crossed my mind. I always had money. I could buy anything I wanted.
I had no need for the Play Station Four. The amigos had talked about one a while back but I did not even know what it did. In fact, I don’t think any of us knew what it really did. We had just heard it advertised a lot.
I knew taking it was very wrong.
Looking back, I was just bored, and I shoplifted it just for a cheap thrill.
I continued to feel this intense thrill for a short while as I moved along through the aisles, but the thrill began to subside. It was replaced by a growing concern as I moved through the aisles and toward the exit.
I began to worry. This was not a good idea. I feared setting something off. I looked around for a place to dump the play station, but noticed two very large black security guards walking a ways behind me. I had to keep walking; to stop or slow down might be suspicious.
My next thought was to just drop the entire shopping bag on a counter somewhere. I really didn’t need the cosmetics. I turned from one counter to another, but a glance behind told me the guards had gotten closer. They were talking and looking around rather nonchalantly, but I was scared they were following me. Maybe it was just my guilty conscious, but they seemed to be right behind me now.
There was just no way I could dump the bag. All I could do was keep a straight face and walk on out. I remember my heart beating in my ears. There was a nervous lump in my throat. I had never done anything like this. What was I thinking?
As I approached the exit, the two guards got closer and closer behind me, and as I went out the exit doors I was met by two guards coming in. The four of them simply surrounded me just outside the door, one showed me credentials, and together they walked me into a small security room just to the right of the door.
It was the ultimate trauma of my young life. I was a wreck. I could hardly walk. I was choking. I could not speak. Tears were running down my face.
Once in the security office I was told to sit in a straight chair along the wall. I could feel my eyes filling with tears. I sat down and stared at the floor. I was shaking all over.
Three of the guards turned and left the room, leaving me alone with the older and larger guy. He was scary, black, and big, with close cut hair and a military bearing. He did not say a word. He just walked over, sat on the edge of the small desk, and looked down at me. Minutes passed as he continued to look at me sternly while I looked at the floor, sweating. The room kept getting smaller and smaller. I was having trouble breathing. I felt like I was choking.
Finally, there was a knock at the door. It was one of the guards returning with a small computer memory stick. He placed it into a PC on the desk, said something to the big guard and left the room.
Immediately a flat screen on the wall came alive.
It was then the senior guy spoke to me for the first time,
“Young lady, do you know why we apprehended you?”
There was nothing to be gained by arguing.
“Yes, I think so.”
I whispered in fright. I was shaking all over.
He hesitated just looking down at me very sternly,
“I must warn you, this is being recorded. Everything you say or do may be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand?”
I nodded, yes.
“I want you to stand up, take the stolen merchandise from your bag, and place it on the table. Also I want you to put your driver’s license and the credit card you used today on the table. Your card and drivers license will be returned once photographed.”
I stood up, and as I reached down to get the shopping bag I realized just how very short my skirt really was. No wonder my dad had been upset when he saw it. The big guard was watching every move I made. I shook all over.
My vest was the small open type. I tied to wrap it around me and hold it in place with one hand as I struggled to place the required items on the table with the other. My attempts to keep it closed failed. What I was required to do took two hands. Fear was causing me to show clearly through my thin bra and blouse. Each time I looked down to get another item I would see the outline of my breasts and my short skirt and an additional pulse of fear would pass through me. Why had I worn such seductive things to a shopping mall?
A flat screen on the wall showed everything I was doing; each move was being recorded. What I had put on to entice the boys in the mall; looked outright seductive now as I glanced at the flat screen on the wall.
Once I was finished putting the contents of my shopping bag on the table, I gathered my vest around me and turned to face my accuser.
I was sobbing,
“I am sorry. I know what I did was wrong. Please let me pay for it. I have plenty of money. That one thing was all I took. I have no idea why I did it. I don’t even want it. You have it right there. I just made a terrible mistake. Please let me go…”
I kept sobbing. I was stammering, saying what ever came to my mind.
He looked at me with a scowl I will never forget. I felt so trapped. There was not one pleasant thing about him. He was scary, plain scary,
“Young lady it is nowhere near that simple. You are a shoplifter, caught dead to rights. It could not have been clearer. From the moment you took it, you had no intention of paying for the product. Shoplifting is a major crime and one we address very strongly here. When you shoplift you are as guilty as someone who robs a bank. That PS4 you shoplifted is valued at over five hundred dollars so that makes your crime a felony; a major felony. Do you understand?”
I nod slightly; tears were now streaming down my face. I was shaking uncontrollably.
“My main job here is to keep shoplifting to an absolute minimum and I am damn good at doing just that. This company prosecutes to the limit. That is the only way to stop it.”
He froze for a moment and looked at me. I was crying and shaking uncontrollably.
His face seemed to turn lighter for a moment,
“Sometimes with these young kids and little items, just scaring the hell out them can be effective, but that is not the case here. Your shoplifting was a felony and you are clearly old enough to know damn well what you were doing and the consequences if you got caught.”
He hesitated and scowled at me.
“Do you want to see the evidence we have? There are security cameras and security personnel everywhere in this store. I have two witnesses and clear record of you shoplifting the PS4 back in electronics, rushing outward to the exit with the item, then removing said item from your bag here in the office while admitting for the record you committed the felony. Do you want to see the tape?”
I shook my head, no.
All I could do was look down at the floor as I tried to control my tears.
He paced back and forth. For the moment he seemed to be lost as to what to do next.
“I assume you have been caught shoplifting before? Do you have a criminal record?”
I shook my head no.
“Yah, I’ll bet. I will never understand you little shitheads that are dumb enough to do this. It seems like it gets it in your blood. It becomes a habit. You didn’t need this stuff. It isn’t like you were starving and stealing food. You just wanted the trill. It’s like taking drugs to get high.”
I sat silently, shaking; tears streamed down my face. My teeth were chattering. Each breath was coming as a pant. I was perspiring all over. He stood there looking down at me. It seemed like forever.
I glanced up. He had lectured me severely. His black features seemed to have softened just a little. Maybe he was finished and bending to the appeal of my tears.
I struggled to look at him directly,
“Please, please, I am a good person, I have never shoplifted before. I have never stolen anything. Please, believe me. If you have me arrested you will ruin my life.”
He looked down at me harshly again,
“I guess you should have thought about that before you stole this stuff, sister. What are you suggesting; that I violate company policy and risk my job by letting you go? You realize my company has witnesses and security camera records of everything you did, right? I’m not the one who caught you; I’m just the one who has to deal with it.”
“Shit!” He retorted in disgust as he walked over to a control box on the desk and the video screen went blank. He had shut it off. He was not recording any more. He probably was going to let me off with a warning.
He came back across the room toward me with a strange look on his face.
I looked up at him for the first time.
“Would you let me go?”
He stared down at me fiercely,
“Little kids that come in here and do this are one thing but this is something else. We know teenage tramps like you that come in here and steal just for the cheap thrill. You’re type will try it again and again until you get put in the slammer. You’re just a female bum on the road to destruction.”
He repeated himself.
He gave me this strange look,
“How about this; you want to go free. Well, I’ll have those two security guards that caught you come in here and you can beg them. Maybe they will bargain with you. Who knows what they’ll want but maybe you can convince them to kill the tape and let you go… then again maybe not. They know your type.
He stopped and just looked at me.
Well, what do you think about that?”
I sat frozen.
Was he suggesting what I thought? Was he suggesting I buy off those guards with sex? He was looking at me like he expected a response. Maybe he thought I would just agree. Like I was promiscuous tramp that would jump at the chance to pay off the guards and get out of this. Or was he just playing a horrible game with me?
I sat shaking. I could not look up from the floor.
It seemed like several minutes passed with nothing but the sound of his heavy breathing and my occasional sob.
When I did not respond he turned angrier,
“Well, guess you don’t like that idea, sweetheart. That’s ok. Who knows what they would want a young tramp like you to do.”
He looked at me with a harsh grin and walked over to the desk,
“Let’s get this over with.”
He sat down at the desk, lifted the receiver, and then hesitated, looking at me. I couldn’t read anything his face…it had gone sort of angry blank.
Then it became clear he had decided to give me a final lecture. He sat with the phone in his hand looking at me so strangely. It was like he needed to convince himself to go on and kill me,
“You’re just another criminal shoplifter. We got you dead to rights on a felony rap. The police are used to this. They will have you down town and booked in thirty minutes. The judge will set your bond later this afternoon. Your daddy can come down, post bail and get you out. Then you just face the court case and the penalty. I suspect a good expensive lawyer can keep the sentence for a felony like this to less than two years.”
He sat holding the phone, looking at me, hesitating. I could not be more scared. He had done everything he could do short of making the phone call. He had thoroughly lectured me, threatened me, and scared me senseless, and now he had brought this to the pivotal moment.
I had to do something right then or he would simply make the call. I had to beg. It was my last chance. Once he made that call, my life was ruined…arrest, court, jail, and a felony record. Nothing could be worse. I had to do anything I could to keep him from calling.
I remember gathering all my courage, looking up at him directly and just begging,
“Please, please don’t call. You will ruin my life. Don’t you realize what it would do to me?”
I was shaking from head to toe. Tears were flowing down my face.
“Please, please don’t call.”
I was unable to say anything more. I looked directly into his eyes and sat shaking.
He looked at me with an expression that was so hard to read. Was I winning or losing?
Did he realize how scared and sorry I was for stealing? Was he now feeling sorry for me, or had it gone the other way…did he believe I thought he was faking all along to scare me and that he would never make the call.
I could not just sit still and run the risk. I needed to do something.
The outfit I had on was one that got a lot of attention from the boys in the mall. I knew it was way too cute and the skirt was way too short, but it did make me look appealing and innocent. I looked directly at him and turned toward him making no effort to straighten my skirt. I could feel the hem move upward. Was he watching me? Did he appreciate how cute I was?
Yes! His face told me instantly, he had noticed my move. How high had my skirt moved when I turned…high enough?
Maybe it was my move or maybe the stress was getting to him, but for the first time I was aware he was very uncomfortable and breathing heavily. He hung up the phone and stood to look down at me setting there,
“On second thought I’ll just deal with this myself. You want to get off the hook; right?”
I nodded, yes, without looking away from him.
“Well get over here.”
I stood up and walked slowly toward the desk. It was clear I had changed his mind about the police when I turned in the chair. He had clearly watched every move I made. His whole demeanor had changed. I was winning. The phone was hung up sitting on the desk.
Maybe an additional nudge would help. I was cute from head to toe. I needed to use every weapon I had.
I knew my breasts were aroused by the fear and clearly visible through my thin garments and my vest hung open. I made no effort to close it as I stood up and walked toward him. His eyes never left me as I approached his desk.
“Lean over this desk, sister.”
He ordered, as he came around the desk toward me. His face was dark, filled with emotion. He was very serious.
I went limp as I leaned over the desk and he pushed me down on my tummy. I hadn’t anticipated this. He was going to spank me. What embarrassment.
At least I was winning. No calls had been made. I could put up with a little humiliation. Bending me over the desk like this had to really help my situation. I knew this skirt was way too short to be in this position, but I also knew how cute I looked bent over this way. This short skirt was really working to my advantage. I knew how young and innocent it made me look. No way would he be able to hit me very hard. My butt was just too cute. A couple embarrassing smacks on my butt and I would be out the door. I was home free. I had won.
He moved up close behind me. I felt his left hand firmly on my back holding me down. I waited for the first smack on my butt.
“Here’s your deal, lady. See the phone right in front of you, hand it to me and I will make the call, or…”
It seemed like he waited forever; like he couldn’t figure out what to do next.
Finally, the pressure of his big hand moved up my back under my hair.
“Do you want to let me take care of things and just let you go?”
What the hell did he mean? Why did he not just smack me? Why was he still trying to scare me? If he thought I needed to be more frightened, to pay a bigger price for shoplifting, he had now succeeded.
I summoned all my strength,
“Sir please; please!—listen to me. I made a terrible mistake. I am a good person. I am ready to go to college. Getting arrested would ruin my life. Just let me go…“
He interrupted by whispering somewhere down close to my right ear.
“You mean you for sure don’t want me to make the call.”
“Please, please just don’t call the police.”
I stammered and waited for him to smack me.
Slowly, his free right hand lifted the back of my skirt while his left hand still held me pinned to the desk. I was mortified. The thought of him spanking me was unbelievable embarrassing.
I waited, only to feel him start sliding my panties downward behind me. I tightened my legs together as much as I could, but my panties went clear to the floor.
More humiliation; was he actually going to spank me on my bare butt?
“Well here it is, sister; the choice is yours. Move your legs apart or reach over there and give me that phone; one or the other.”
With that, it was very clear; he wasn’t going to spank me. I heard his zipper. I felt him come against me, and I felt pressure. The pressure moved up and down along me. I could feel moisture.
“So it would seem this is what you want, right?”
He whispered back down next to my ear.
I could not move. I could not say a word. The side of my face was pressed to the desk. I was facing a wall. He had one hand firmly on the back of my neck holding me down. He had the other hand guiding himself against me. He stopped there, waiting; it seemed like forever.
This was such a misunderstanding, but I could say nothing. I was mortified—frozen in place.
Then the pressure started increasing driving the front of my legs against the edge of the desk. It seemed like he was pushing hard enough to move the desk, but the other side of the desk was against the wall.
Finally, the pressure decreased and he moved up and down against me again,
“So what’s the verdict sister? Say the word; is this what you want? Just take a little of this and you are out the door.”
At that moment, it seemed like my whole world depended on getting the shoplifting behind me and getting out of there.
I nodded and my legs parted.
That was it. The pressure increased until it was unbearable. It hurt terribly. The fronts of my legs were being cut by the metal edge of the desk. I felt my vagina being opened slightly, horrible pain! I moaned,
“Oh please don’t. Please. It hurts. It hurts so badly. I am a virgin. Please!”
He decreased the pressure. He hesitated. Perhaps he was convinced he was making a big mistake. I could still feel the very end firmly against me, but none of the pressure.
He waited in that position. He seemed to wait forever. I could clearly hear his heavy breathing behind me. The pressure on the back of my neck decreased as well.
Finally he bent down very close behind me and whispered,
“Guess you think this is going to hurt too much. Do you want to hand me that phone?”
I was aware of nothing but his breathing and his slight intrusion.
He whispered again,
“I guess you think this is going to hurt too much. Should I just make the call?”
His heavy breathing seemed to fill the room.
“No! Please don’t call!”
I sobbed and tried to adjust my legs back from the sharp edge of the desk. My legs moved apart slightly.
That was all it took. In one unforgettable horrible move he drove into me, unbelievable pain. I let out a scream. His hand slapped around to cover my mouth. He lunged again, and again. Inch by inch, thrust by thrust, there was no question what was happening; first he gained a little entry, then a lunge and he split my virginity; then, thrust by thrust, inch by inch, he invaded, deeper and deeper. The pain was excruciating.
Finally, he could go no deeper. I could feel his testicles completely against my bottom. He had everything. His full weight was upon me.
Once fully mounted inside me, he stopped and slowly withdrew a little. His heavy breathing subsided, somewhat. I could feel him moving ever so slightly deep within me, but the pain had let up. Somewhere in the process my moans had changed to quiet sobs. His hand released from my mouth. He was finished. It was over. He was still in me to the limit, but he was not moving. All I could feel was a pulsing sensation deep inside me. No pain, no pressure, just a repeated sensation deep in my vagina.
I lay there beneath him and my mind went wild. I had just been fucked, screwed by this enormous black man who was twice my age. Everything I held sanctimonious about myself was gone forever. I was no longer the cute virgin school girl. I was a low life slut who had just been fucked by the biggest blackest man. I was a shoplifting criminal, a felon.
Embarrassment started to overcome me. I needed to get away. I tried to move from under him, but as I started to move it brought him back to life.
Slowly, almost gently, he began to move in and out of my vagina. Now I was really being screwed. I could scream, but that would solve nothing. I was a slut. I was a criminal. I had shoplifted and I was paying for it.
My thoughts kept going around and around as he moved in and out. Now, I was really being fucked by this guy… this big black security guard. My valued virginity was gone. It was over, no more conversation. I was a tramp, a slut, all those things I had abhorred all my life. I was just as bad as all those trailer court wenches with the black kids. What a low life!
I became aware that the edge of the desk still hurt the front of my legs. I tried to move back a bit. He felt me struggling and moved us back together into a more comfortable position. The sharp edge of the desk no longer cut into the front of my legs.
He released my neck and slid both hands up under my top, under my thin bra, and under my breasts.
Kyle had tried to touch them for months and I had refused, and now this big black guy was just casually massaging them as he slowly fucked me.
I could feel his body move in rhythm as his hands firmly massaging my breasts, which he had now lifted from the desk. He seemed almost gentle.
In this new position he became more aggressive again. He worked faster and faster… harder and harder.
Finally, he snorted loudly, drove into me to the limit, and time after time I could feel his surges deep inside my body. He was finishing, stroke after stroke, time after time. It seemed like forever as he pumped.
My lower body was convulsing with uncontrollable spasms deep inside responding to the intrusion.
After twenty surges he finally slowed and more of his weight came down on me as he seemed to rest. I could feel the same pulsing sensation deep inside that I had felt before, only much more strongly and more deeply.
Then he came to a complete stop with a good bit of his weight directly on top of me, but this time I responded much differently than before. Maybe it was exhaustion, but I lay quietly only aware of continued adjustments deep inside. No pain, just a stunned, shocked feeling. It was like I was resigned to the facts. No embarrassment, no panicky feeling, just resignation. I had been thoroughly screwed. What would the amigos say if they knew?
The world seemed to go into slow motion. After sometime his weight became less and it felt like he was releasing me and slowly beginning to withdraw.
It was over. He lifted further and I began to move out from under him, but as I moved backward, it once again brought him back. He came down over me again. His arms returned around me. His hands found my breasts and lifted them again.
He moved back deeply inside and returned to stroking, more and more firmly, time after time, until he began surging into me again. With each surge he gripped my breasts, drove deeper, and deposited more.
Now, an unexplainable feeling came over me. It was uncontrollable. My internal spasms had changed. This time my body was spontaneously arching up to meet him and trying to tighten around him.
Finally, he let his weight down onto my back completely and his hands firmed up against my breast into an embrace. He stayed that way holding me tightly, and then, just like that. It was over. His hands released my breasts. I felt his weight come off me and he withdrew quickly.
He backed away. I heard his zipper. I lay exhausted on my tummy. How could I explain the strange empty feeling? Was I crazy?
Finally, I heard him moving behind me. Slowly I stood up facing the desk, with my back toward him and straightened my skirt and top.
I turned around looking down at the floor. I saw my panties kicked over by the trash can. Without looking at him I moved to get them,
“Leave them there.”
He turned to the table without looking at me and handed me the Play Station Four.
“Take this back where you got it and then get the hell out of the store.”
He ordered gruffly.
I could tell he was thoroughly angry and disgusted. He just rudely shoved the thing toward me without even looking in my direction.
I took it and started to move, but my legs refused to work. I had to lean back against desk for a moment to collect myself. My body was jumping all over inside.
Finally, I walked gingerly toward the door. I was so sore, so wet.
He unlocked the door and held it open as I struggled out and turned toward the entry to return what I had shoplifted.
I heard him firmly close and lock the security office door behind me.
Three security guards, all as black as my abductor, were standing right outside the door. I knew they had heard everything. I had been fucked. They knew it.
They were watching with obvious delight as I struggled to walk normally back into the store with the play station in my hand. My skirt was so short and I had never been in public without panties. I felt my skirt against the back of my legs. My world had changed. It was no longer titillating. I was no longer the cute virgin school girl teasing the boys—I was a tramp, a slut, a criminal. I felt so exposed, so strange, so wet and so embarrassed.
I tried desperately to move faster, but it was impossible. I could hardly walk straight. My body was jumping all over inside. My legs were weak.
I moved back through the aisles as fast as I could. It took several minutes to find the electronics section, and the right display, and put the Play Station back where it belonged. I did not look back but I knew at least two of the security guards had followed a distance behind. I could not have been more embarrassed.
There were security cameras everywhere. Why had I not seen them earlier? I was too innocent.
I never dreamed of shoplifting. I had over a hundred dollars in my purse and two credit cards. Why? Why? Why, did I ever do such a thing? Nothing could be more embarrassing.
I finally found the Play Station display and placed the one I had shoplifted back where it had been.
As I began retracing my steps toward the exit, I could really feel the dampness between my upper legs. Without panties and with the air conditioning in the store, it felt cold. I shook continually and tried in vain to bring my vest around me more.
As I made my way out through the aisles I passed one security guard after another who stepped aside as I approached.
“Thank you for shopping at Mallmart.” rang in my ears, time after time.
First it came from one of the guards who had followed me all the way to electronics. Then one by one, I got it from three more as I passed out through the aisles toward the exit. I didn’t look back at them. I was mortified.
Just outside the main door the supervisor stood in front of the security office. As I passed him he turned his back toward me. He said nothing.
I did manage to look at him, to study him for just a moment. Only then did I fully realize how very big and how very black he was. He was enormous.
He was purposely avoiding me. I hated the sight of him; but it was clear he hated the sight of me as well.
As I walked out through the parking lot I became more and more concerned about my condition. Deep inside I could feel my body still writhing trying to adjust—on the exterior I was so wet and so tender.
I kept thinking over and over, well Caroline, what a horrible thing for you to do. What a way to ruin your life. You are a criminal, a shoplifter, and a felon and that is bad enough, but you got away with it by becoming a low life slut.
My Mustang has leather seats. Thank goodness, I was sitting in a pool of his stuff before I could get the engine started.
Right away a thought swept into my mind…drive slowly, carefully. The last thing I needed at that point was to hit someone in my emotional state of mind.
I eased my way through one row of parked cars followed by another. I felt so bad, so vulnerable. I could not get my mind off of the shoplifting, the security guy and my condition. What a horrible experience. Complete humiliation came over me.
But, as I left the parking lot and turned onto the highway; my humiliation began to be replaced by anger, intense anger. True, what I did was horrible, I had shoplifted; but that did not give that big son-of-a-bitch permission to fuck me. He had raped me; there was no other way to describe it. I was carrying so much real evidence in my body. I should go straight to the police right now. I would get him in so much trouble with the law. I was only eighteen and he was at least fifty. That was rape for sure. That would be real jail time, the end to his job and the end of his chances to do this again. Anger just seethed through me.
But, as I drove further I calmed a bit and began to think it all through. It was much more complicated. My reporting this would simply make me look like a girl with “morning after” regret. He had given me the option. He would have called the police if I hadn’t begged and begged and finally, in a way, given him permission to fuck me. True, his calling the police could be view as a threat, but I know he really would have done it. At any rate I had nodded and spread my legs for him. I had the option to let him simply play out his hand—police or not—that would have been his call.
I looked down in my lap. This short skirt hardly covered me. What a mess. Anger flared again.
Maybe I should report all this to the Mallmart Company. I did not remember his name but he was the senior guy on duty. They would know who he was. I could get him in so much trouble. They would fire him for sure.
But what would that solve for me. The company would still have the witnesses and all the security camera evidence against me. I was a major shoplifter. They would go to the police and I would be dragged back into the mess for sure. I would have to answer for the felony and nothing they did to punish that guard would alter that.
To anyone looking at the whole thing, I was a felony shoplifter who had bribed a security guard with my body to avoid prosecution. I had succeeded and now I was filled with regret and upset. If I reported it to the store, he would be fired—but I would still have been fucked by the guard and now I would be fucked by the law as well. They had the evidence against me.
One by one, I went over every possible way I could think of to vent my anger by reporting this to someone and getting revenge. One by one, each possibility I came up with was quickly eliminated. There was nothing I could do to change what happened. I had been a horrible person and done something I never should have done.
My whole world had changed with one very bad decision—to grab that Play Station. I was no longer the cute virgin school girl that I had been. I was a criminal and a fucking slut. My anger started to fade as I drove along and worked to change my thinking to something, anything, constructive.
I tried to find any bright spot; as bad as it was this thing could have been so much worse. I had been caught committing felony shoplifting and gotten away with it. I had not arrested. I had not gone to jail. My parents and friend knew nothing. No one knew a thing, except those guys at Mallmart and I never needed to see any of them again. I never needed to go there again. No one was going to condemn me, except me. A little thrill passed through me. I got away with it.
Yes, he fucked me but that could have been worse too. I am a terrible mess but he really didn’t hurt me permanently. He seemed clean, he didn’t stink, and he had a job. He could have been a bum. They do hire real low lives at some of these stores. He seemed almost military.
My anger gave way to a dull reality as I summarized the events over and over, time after time as I drove along. I got away with doing the unspeakable by having the unspeakable done to me in return. I was lucky in a way. I had made a very bad decision on the spur of a moment and gotten away with it. It was all behind me.
I tried to calm down and pay attention to driving, but each time I moved in the car, I got more uncomfortable. It felt like I was sitting in a pool of his stuff. A strange tingle passed through me. Wow! I may have gotten what I deserved, but I sure got a lot it. Compared with arrest, courts and jail, I got off lightly, but physically I did not get off lightly for sure… another shudder. In all my health classes and wild chatter with my girl friends, nothing had me prepared for what just happened. I had never imagined that sexual intercourse could have been like this…that it could have lasted so long, been so involved, brought out so many complex emotions, and that a girl would end up with so much deposited into her body.
I had driven another mile or so when two monster fears started to sweep in—disease—pregnancy; oh no. One after the other these to intense worries crowded into my mind and the thought of reporting anything to anybody faded forever.
At home I parked in the garage, found a clean old towel Dad used on the cars, and quickly wiped my legs and the car seat.
The house was empty. Thank goodness no one was home. I headed straight up to my bathroom. My skirt and blouse and bra hit the floor. I was nude as I turned toward the shower and saw my image in the mirror. I was startled by my breasts. They were very red and already an array of bruises had formed on them. He had been far rougher than I realized. Why would I not have been aware what he was doing to me?
I showered, hot, long; washing every inch of my body. My sex was so tender and swollen it was frightening. I tried to wash it thoroughly, but very gently. Just the lightest touch caused reaction. I could feel my lower tummy tumbling over and over, cramping and convulsing.
Finally finished with the shower I dried carefully and started to dress. I slid into clean white panties only to find they were soaked by the time I had them on. I turned to find some shorts.
Kyle’s soccer game was out for me. No way I could go anywhere like this. Physically I was a wreck and emotionally I was worse. I took off the wet panties, threw them into the wash basin, washed and hung them on the shower rod and put on my pretty blue robe. Nude under the robe, I went into my bedroom, shut the door, fell on the bed and cried.
My regret and sorrow was inconsolable. I was a shoplifter, a felon, a slut who had bribed the security guy with my body to avoid jail. I lay there sobbing. I was exhausted. I was no longer the cute young virgin girl, I was a whore. I had traded him my body to stay out of jail.
All the sweet attempts Kyle had made to just touch me here or there and now I had to give it all away to a big black stranger to stay out of jail.
Somehow sleep swept over me, fitful at first, but exhaustion took over.
It was sometime later when the phone rang. It was Sybil checking in on me. She had missed me at the soccer match—she would not have gone if she had known I was not going to be there.
I had to explain I was not feeling good.
“Are you having your period?”
She asked right away.
I answered weakly, as a shudder passed over me once agan.
My period! I trembled again. I had not thought about my period. I never kept much track of it. I had no reason. When did I last have my period? I was panicked.
It took five minutes to get Sybil off the phone and find my school calendar on my desk. It took another two or three minutes to study the dates and decide my period had just ended early last week—about eight days ago—I thought. So when did it start? Wasn’t that the important thing? Or had it ended late last week, maybe ten days? How do you count the days? What day do you start the count? Confusion overwhelmed me.
Horrible health class memories swept over me. I hated health class—horrible pictures of pregnant women. I was a wreck.
Finally I forced myself to calm down a bit. I tried to think about the odds. I should be ok, he sexed me just one time—no really he sexed me twice, or maybe that counted as three. Like that would make a difference. Would that make a difference?
Emotional exhaustion and a headache overcame me I either passed out or I fell asleep again.
I awoke much later when I heard Mother and Dad come home. I think they went directly to bed.
Once I heard their door go shut, I somehow fell back into something I could call sleep, I guess. I tossed and turned continuously.
During the night I got repeated physical messages from deep within my lower body, strange spasms, and contractions. They would disturb me and wake me enough to worry, but I was so exhausted that as soon as they subsided I would fall back to a very disturbed sleep.
I woke early. I had slept in my robe so now it needed a washing. I carefully showered again. Fortunately, his mess was mostly under control.
I dressed in the most conservative thing I could find; Capri pants that were big on me, and a long sleeved blouse. I wore a maxi and two pair of panties. As I dressed my mind became a wild place. I struggled to get my emotions under control.
I could feel muscles jumping in my lower tummy as I pulled each garment up over my legs. Everything was so sensitive. When I walked, even just to the closet or the dresser, I could feel continued contractions deep inside even more clearly.
For years, I had wondered what intercourse would be like, and now I sure knew. Time after time I replayed the events in the security office; the position he had me in, how he had held me there, his sexual rage, how he entered me, and how he finished within me. As I obsessed about it over and over, strange complicated feelings began to accompany my recollections of yesterday; all my anger had subsided but strange new worries, emotions and responses haunted me. Was what happened to me anywhere near normal between a man and a woman?
Confused and depressed, I pulled myself back into the real world. No breakfast, just a half cup of coffee and I was on my way, struggling to keep my Mustang straight on the road to school. The last thing I needed right now was a car wreck.
School at this point was routine. It was my senior year. We were approaching the end of the term; my grades were great, so most of the attention was on graduation and the prom. Thank goodness, I was a zombie.
My first period class was history, state history. The teacher started to lecture on the establishment of the New York State boundaries. My mind quickly faded to the topic of my personal boundaries and how firmly I had protected them all these years and how I had allowed them to be so violated at Mallmart yesterday.
From there my minded move in a trance to the position he had put me in over his desk and the unbelievable complex combination of feelings when he was in me. How the intercourse with him seemed to last forever and yet it, in retrospect, it last such a short time. How our responses changed each time he started to sex me one more time. All this crazy thinking ended as I began to think about how enormous he felt when inside me. My minded locked onto that subject the rest of the class period. I never heard a word the teacher said until the bell rang loudly ending the period.
I met my boyfriend in the hall after first period. Kyle seemed distant from the first moment I caught up with him. Maybe it was what I was wearing. He liked the short skirts and had told me so many times. Today I looked dowdy for sure, these Capri pants and this top, just did not hack it for the boys.
Kyle and I had been good friends a long time. I really like hanging with Kyle, but I had learned he could be moody. At first, I concluded that his new cool attitude was a function of what I was wearing, but then I began to wonder if he could sense a change in me, physically, mentally. I had to admit I had changed so much in both departments. I was a nervous wreck. I was now a very different girl, no longer the sweet, cute virgin smartass he had been attracted too. My world was so much different now. I was a criminal whore. Did I unconsciously convey this to him?
I was please in the girl’s room after third period. There was nothing on the maxi. I threw it away. All the reactions deep in my body had quieted considerably. By the time school was out, I was down to one minor tremor in my lower body about every half hour. A thought came over me; like I had cheated the world. I committed a serious felony, I had shoplifted, but I got out of it completely by having sex with that guard. It was over. That was it, except for the fact that every time my mind had a chance to wander, it wandered to the new feelings and emotions that I had experienced for the first time leaning over that desk in that security office.
I had to set about getting my head back under control. I was still cute. I had good friends. I had good grades. I was graduating and going to a good college. With the obvious exception that I was a shoplifting whore, who had now been thoroughly screwed by a big black guy, everything in my life was back in order.