A Semi-Autobiographical Misadventure
Reflecting how thoroughly her life had changed over the course of the last ten years, a pale, dark-haired woman made her way across a grocery store parking lot with a pair of green plastic bags in each hand. Just a short decade ago, she would’ve scoffed at the prospect of a pleasurable trip to the store – but here she was, happy to be able to get away, even if only for a few unaccompanied minutes, and to the grocery store, no less!
Life is strange, she mused, suffused with a sudden outpouring of gratitude at the sight of her small, stylish SUV. Opening the trunk, she deposited her bags, and her mind went to the source of her happiness. If she hurried, she could be back home with her husband and daughter in as little as ten quick minutes….
“Excuse me? Miss?”
She turned away from her trunk, where she’d just stored her groceries, and faced the man accosting her. He was youngish – the mask made it hard to tell – with short dark hair and dark brown eyes. From the crinkling around said eyes, she deduced he was smiling, and she smiled back behind her own mask.
“Sorry to bug you,” he went on, holding a single, empty-looking plastic shopping bag in one hand. “You left this at the self-checkout.”
“Oh,” she exclaimed, frowning. “Did I?”
“Yeah.” He offered the bag to her. “I didn’t notice until you were almost at the door.”
“I guess I am in a rush. This whole lockdown thing has me totally scatterbrained. Thank you.”
She accepted the bag.
“No worries,” the man said, and, if possible, his smile widened. “You have a good day.”
“You too.”
The woman opened the bag and peered inside.
Rather than avocadoes, like she expected, the bag contained a handful of what appeared to be clementine oranges. So it wasn’t hers after all! She began contemplating a witty remark, some clever comeback to loosen his embarrassment, when the man – who, she now realized had never left – forced her against her car with an arm across her neck.
She stared wide-eyed at the point of a small blade, which he pressed against her cheek, just below her right eye.
“Don’t scream. If you scream, I’ll fucking cut you, understand?”
For a brief, horrible moment, she thought she might scream anyways. Fortunately, she managed to regain control at the last possible second.
Tears welling in her large, shocked eyes, she nodded her understanding, and the man used his knife to guide her away from the open trunk to the far side of her car. Heart racing, she shook as he forced her onto her knees, unzipping her Canada Goose parka to expose the oversized grey sweater she wore underneath, bearing the faded logo of her alma mater.
“University of Guelph. Huh. My sister went there.”
“Please. Take whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me.”
“Shut up.”
He reached up under her sweater and grabbed a breast two cup sizes larger – part pregnancy and part surgery – than it’d been in her undergrad days, and squeezed roughly.
She cried out, and he slapped her.
“I said, shut up!”
Blunt fingers found her nipple, which was already stiffening from the cold, and pinched. Pain flooded through her, and she gasped. Reflexively, she drove her knee into his crotch, but he turned at the last second, so rather than squash his balls all she managed was to bruise the fleshy part of his upper thigh.
“Bitch!” he exclaimed, and punched her in the face.
Her vision went white as his fist impacted her nose, causing her sinuses to flood. Blood flew, and she stumbled backwards, hands clutching her face. Tripping over her own feet, she went down, landing on the ground, hard. Cold seeped immediately through her tights, causing her skin beneath to break out in gooseflesh. She tried to get up, but he pushed her back with enough force to bounce her head off the rough pavement. Her parka’s hood absorbed some of the impact, but she still saw stars, and for a few seconds was dazed into inaction. This changed the second he began pulling at her tights and she knew for a fact his true intention.
“No!” she gasped, swatting at his hands. “Stop!”
The man’s breath came in excited plumes. His urgent movements bespoke an intensity of purpose and desire that chilled her far more than ground beneath her.
“Let me go,” she continued, squirming, thrashing, struggling for all she was worth. “Get off me!”
Despite her best efforts, and to her growing horror, her attacker managed to get her tights below her waist, and then, temporarily lifting her ass off the ground, down to her knees, taking her stay-at-home-mom underwear with them. His sweats were down in an instant, exposing a throbbing erection that was far bigger – and looked far more dangerous – than the knife he now held loosely against her neck. Positioning his member against her fuzzy-lipped sex, he forced himself inside her in a single, savage movement. This new pain was terrible: a tearing awareness that both made her conscious of her own dryness and capable of tracking his invasion of her thoroughly unprepared body a centimeter at a time.
He groaned.
Withdrew.
Inserted himself again.
And it was as if she were suddenly forced out of her body. No longer a direct participant, she was able to objectively, almost calmly, consider her own rape, as if from above. How what he was doing could possibly feel good was a mystery to her. Was sex not so much better with a partner whose body was ready and willing to ease your way?
Not that it lasted long.
A few agonizing thrusts and he withdrew from her body to squirt several long, thick ropes of semen across her exposed midriff, rumpled sweater, and calmly expectant face. She blinked as some of the hot liquid splashed off her chin and entered her left eye, causing it snap shut in angry protest, despite the constant torrent of hot tears squirting down both sides of her cheeks.
The man sat back on his ankles, and she could finally take in a full breath, now his weight was off her chest.
“Tell anyone about this and I’ll fucking kill you.”
He tugged up his pants, hid the knife, and took off at a brisk jog across the empty field that separated this plaza from the next. She lay there listening until she could no longer hear the cracking of his footfalls breaking through the old, frozen snow, and then she sat up. For a second she could do nothing – she felt like she was dead – and then, all at once, awareness came crashing back and she actually physically sagged against the cold rubber of her snow tires – carefully and lovingly installed by her husband earlier that month – with a gasp of stunned surprise.
I…I was just…he just…just….
But the word itself would not come to mind. The more she sought it, the harder she tried to nail it down, the more it slipped through her fingers.
After what felt like an eternity laying there, bare assed on the cold ground, she got up – her legs shaking beneath her – and pulled up her black cotton Hanes, her tights. Calmly, her rapist’s cum still drying on her face and chest, she closed her trunk and got in behind the wheel. Although she desperately did not want to look at herself in the sun visor’s flip down mirror, she also couldn’t imagine a world where she went home looking like she did.
Surprisingly, once she finally worked up the courage to check, she didn’t actually look that bad.
A spit-dampened Kleenex took care of the cum (fortunately, she wasn’t wearing makeup, so there was no smearing to fix), and a few practice smiles later and she was ready to go. It would be a while before the pain in her sex went away, but that was all right. As long as she kept her composure, no one but she and her attacker would ever know what happened tonight. No one would ever know she’d been raped.
Raped.
Yes, that was the word.
What happened to drunk girls.
Women who let strangers bring them drinks.
Loose women.
Women who put their bodies on display, or took shortcuts through dark alleys.
Not nice girls like her. Moms in stay-at-home mommy clothes.
Her hands shook as she put her car in gear, and she almost backed into a passing car as she reversed out of her spot.
I was raped buying groceries, she thought, and her forced smile wavered for an instant. Attacked while picking up conditioner and oregano!
It didn’t seem real.
In the middle of a parking lot, taken down and abused on the ground, like an animal, in full view of any passersby. Had anyone seen? She doubted it. The world, despite its current craziness, wasn’t so far gone that the average person would let what happened to her go on. Would they? Of course not! The thought made her sick, so she forced it down, buried it deep. She would go home and immediately take a shower. No, not a shower, a long, hot bath. Scalding hot. And she would sit and just let the warmth wash over her. And when she was done she would dry off, change into her most comfortable clothes, go down and be with her family.
By the time she finished dinner, the man’s voice would be gone.
By the time she did the dishes, his face would be blurry.
Finally, by the time she woke up the next morning, it will all have been just a bad dream. A worst-case scenario that could not – would not – ever happen to a nice girl like her. Especially not in a safe, happy place like this.
No, sir.
Not now, not ever.
She drove the familiar drive home in silence, hands steady on the wheel.
When she pulled into her driveway, the smiling faces of her family peered out at her from behind the parted blinds. She eagerly returned their waves, and went in to join them, forgetting in her eagerness the groceries she’d gone out to get.
Although her husband noticed this strange fact, he never said anything. If he suspected something was off about her, he kept that fact to himself, too.
The End
Topic: Shopping (Read 693 times)