Rhonda Stern moves out, gets an apartment, and rapes her neighbor's husband
Chapter 3: Martin
I met Martin by his locker Monday morning. Apparently he hadn't been expecting me. He closed his locker door and there I was, standing and smiling on the other side. He nearly jumped out of his skin. "Hi, Martin!" I said with a cheerful smile. "How was your Sunday?"
"I - i - it was fine."
"Where's your homeroom?"
"Why?" he stammered.
"Because I'm going to walk you there, of course. You know what? Never mind. Just take my hand and lead the way." I grabbed his hand and we started walking.
His friends seemed to be impressed. Most of the people in the halls were busy going about their own business, but once in a while one of his friends would stop and say more than just "Hello." Some stopped and gave him dap with a sly smile. One boy in particular, a boy in my English Literature class whose name I didn't know, stopped and asked, "This yo' girl?"
Since Martin hesitated I quickly spoke up and said, "Yes!" with a grand smile on my face.
"That's my dawg! Nice goin' bruh!" They gave each other dap and moved on.
I blew him a kiss as I left him at his homeroom class. He managed a very weak smile, but I could tell it was only because the other students were looking. If we'd been alone, I got the distinct feeling he wouldn't have tried to smile at all.
In the Trigonometry classroom, before the bell rang to start class, Mike Brown was talking to a girl I was familiar with from my sophomore year named Tyra MacIntire. She was a bit chubby, but a very sweet and intelligent girl. I was happy for him. After all I'd put him through he deserved to be with someone nice. After class began they were exchanging notes. I wondered how the teacher didn't notice. At some point it felt like Mike was looking at me any time I wasn't looking at him, giving me the distinct impression that he was merely trying to make me jealous. Hoping I was wrong I ignored it and decided I would be happy for him anyway. In a way, he's still a virgin. I told myself.
Chemistry class turned out to be a disappointment. There was a substitute teacher in that day, but the teacher left very specific instructions on what needed to be done. Fortunately I had learned quite a bit about the lesson. Most of the students in the classroom decided their time was better spent on conversation but Martin, a few other students and I decided it wasn't worth taking the risk of falling behind. I didn't need Martin to "hold my hand" in Chemistry. As strange as I thought it was, all I had to do was ask Martin for the answers I didn't have. I understood the subject just well enough to know he was giving me the correct answers every time.
I decided that Martin didn't need to come over to my house every day. I was almost positive that I was unintentionally leaving clues for my mother, who may have been getting suspicious. She probably wasn't, but I wasn't taking any chances. I held his hand every chance I got, even after school in the bus lane. I'd wait with him until the buses came. If he put his bag down and sat on the ground, I would sit on his lap facing him. He was so embarrassed that first day! The second day, (Tuesday) however, other girls started doing the same with their boyfriends. Wednesday and Thursday he refused to sit. I suppose I could have made him, but holding his hand was enough.
Friday, while he was waiting for his bus, I politely grabbed his hand and started pulling him to where my bus was going to park. "No, Rhonda. I'm not going to your house tonight." I ignored him and kept pulling. He didn't want to come but was too embarrassed to resist and risk making a scene in front of all the other students. Rather than attract attention he said softly, "I can't tonight, Rhonda. I haven't called my mother."
"You'll call her from my house."
"No, Rhonda!" He tried to pull his hand away, but I wouldn't let go. I was forced to stop pulling just because he was so much stronger than I. We stood there, not far from his bus's parking spot. "I'm not going. He pulled me close and whispered into my ear, "Do you realize there are bruises all over my chest and sides? It's been a week, and some of them are still showing? I feel like you were trying to eat me alive!"
I smiled to maintain our little façade then pulled on his neck to whisper into his ear, "If I scream and throw myself to the ground right now, everyone will think you hit me. Don't make me do that, Martin." I pulled but he still wouldn't come.
"You wouldn't dare."
"Why do you test me? Fine. Let's go to your house then."
"We can't go to my house! My mother will kill you."
"Riiiight. Give me a few minutes and I'll have her eating out of my hand."
"She thinks you're a fluzie. She thinks all young girls are fluzies."
"That's a defense mechanism. I could explain how it works if you like. By the time I'm done, she'll be telling you she'll kill you if you break my heart. I had wondered what your house looked like inside anyway. Do those apartments have basements?"
Still holding his hand, I stood there waiting for him to decide what to do. "You evil little bitch," he whispered. "You're a fucking evil little bitch, you know that?"
"Make your decision, Martin. My house or yours?" I smiled and pulled him to my bus's parking spot while he muttered angry insults under his breath.
When we got to my house I was pleasantly surprised to find out my mother wasn't home. We put our bags down inside the door and I changed my tone. "Into my bedroom. NOW."
"Damn, Rhonda. Getting right down to business, aren't we? Rhonda, I've been thinking."
"Think while you get naked."
He got angry. "What if I raped you? Huh? What would you do then?"
I thought for a moment. That was a good question. It didn't take much calculating to find the right answer. "Go ahead. I dare you. I won't even resist." He hesitated for a moment, then grabbed my wrist and squeezed it tightly like he was thinking about it. "You're going to leave a bruise," I admonished. He let go. I looked at him with the slyest smile I could manage. "If you can't even do that, what the hell makes you think you can rape me? You expect me to believe you're suddenly capable of violence? Against a girl half your size? Get real, Martin. You're not a rapist. You're a rape victim."
"Wait... If I leave right now, there's no one here to hear you scream 'rape.'"
I quickly reached under his shirt and scratched at his flesh. He started to yell so I stopped scratching but held my fingernails against his skin as an unspoken threat. "There's also no one to stop me from calling 911 with your skin under my fingernails, either. Be careful not to bruise me, Martin. You may already have bruised my wrist."
He looked like he was going to cry, but was fighting back the tears. "Were you always evil like this?"
"You've been defeated, Martin. Outsmarted by a girl who now owns you. The sooner you admit this to yourself, the sooner we can stop taking the risk that you'll end up in prison. It's not worth it, Martin. Now, let's get those clothes off, shall we?"
"I hate you," he said as the tears finally won the fight and came down his face in streams. "I swear to God I fucking hate you."
"Not yet," I said with a smile. "Save it for the bedroom."
An hour later, after I'd nearly broken by bed down on top of him, I made him turn over onto his side. For some reason he just wouldn't cum. Then it hit me: it was the pain. I was overdoing it. I didn't even need to cover his mouth anymore. Other than brief grunts and growls he hardly made a sound. He had stopped crying long before. I decided some mercy was in order. My form of mercy was to stop pounding my groin against his for a while and turn him so I could chew on his back and stroke his dick at the same time.
Since he wasn't getting a full erection like he did the previous week, I had almost decided to give up because my mother could be home at any minute. The first thing I stopped doing was biting. Then I withdrew my fingernails and gently rubbed his body all over. His erection became so strong almost immediately that I just couldn't resist. I got back on top of him and in only seven or eight minutes he finally came, and I came with him. It was, at the time, the most powerful orgasm I'd ever experienced. Then I looked down at the bruises I'd caused, the trails of dried tears, and even some mild bruising on his cheek from where I'd held his mouth.
Something happened in my mind. Tears were coming out of my eyes, and I felt the most terrible guilt. I laid down on Martin's chest and started crying. He put his arms around me and rubbed my shoulders.
I couldn't understand that. "Why are you still, even now, being nice to me?" I asked.
"I don't know how to be any other way." He tripled my guilt with just a sentence. I cried even harder. "Why are you crying?"
"Why am I doing this to you? I don't understand. What's wrong with me?"
He seemed to go deep into thought before answering. "No one really knows what causes sadism. I guess we all have a little bit of it inside us. Maybe it's only a matter of self control."
"That's what the law says. Oh, Martin! I should be in prison for years!"
"I won't tell anyone."
He took a deep breath. "I guess a part of me is glad you did it. I wouldn't have lost my virginity any other way."
"Of course you would!" I interjected. "Don't be silly."
"While under my mother's roof and unable to support myself? Of course not. I just wish we weren't taking the risking of you getting pregnant."
"Oh, Martin." I took a deep breath and sighed heavily. "I'm so sorry. I just can't do this to you anymore. I'm on the pill. There was no risk of getting pregnant."
Martin, obviously being much more intelligent than Mike, became very angry. I could tell it was all he could do to keep from screaming. Then that same anger turned to deep sadness. "Why would you do that to me? You know, not all boys are dying to have sex. Some of us care what our parents think. Some of us want to do something with our lives." He caught his breath as I cried on his chest.
"You misunderstand," I said with tears streaming down my face. I lifted my head from his chest so I could look into his eyes. "Not only do I know that, not only do I believe it wholeheartedly, I depend on it! I'm so sorry Martin!"
"Wow. That's like the most evil thing I can think of for a woman to do to a man. One of these days you're going to do this to the wrong man. You could get beaten up badly."
"No I won't. I can spot a pacifist a mile away. If you were capable of beating me up right now you would. If you hit me you'd probably have nightmares or something."
He hesitated a moment. "You're right. I'm just a big wimp, aren't I?"
"Wimp? Oh now, let's not get carried away here." I wiped away my tears as the conversation changed from being about my culpability. "You stood up to Roger Robertson! The only thing that calmed you down was threatening never to speak to you again. No, 'wimpy' doesn't seem accurate. You just can't hit girls."
"No, Rhonda. I wanted it to happen. I must've. That's the only explanation."
"Really? Are you serious? You wanted to be bruised with bite marks and scratches? You wanted to beg me to stop while you cried."
"I get it. Okay, fine. But who could I possibly tell this story to and expect them to believe me?"
"That's the beauty of it! I don't have to worry about you telling anyone! I guess I'll never know why I'm so evil. I can't do it to you anymore. I'm letting you go, Martin. You're free."
"Free? What if I don't want to be free? What if I just want you to stop being so mean?"
"Martin, if we ever did it again I'd be even meaner."
"Why? What the hell's wrong with you?"
"I wish I knew."
"Well then, since I'm free, can I go home now?"
"Wait till my mother gets home. I'll give you a ride."
"No, thanks. I'll walk."
"Martin, don't be silly. You live way up the avenue!"
"Don't you want to take a shower first?"
"I'll take one when I get home."
He walked toward the door. "Don't leave yet! Please? I don't want you to leave yet."
"Why the hell should I stay?"
"I can make you stay."
"Not if you want me to respect you as a woman of your word. You said I was free."
"You will be free if you take a shower with me. Please? Stay just a little longer."
"It's not fair to place conditions on it after saying it. This is very last minute. My mother's going to kill me."
"Tell her you're moving out. Pack some things and bring them here if you have to. Tell her you can't stand never having any freedom. That you're a man now and you still have so much more growing up to do than you should and it's not fair. Say it just like that. Then, at the last second, let her suddenly convince you to stay. Clean up the house the best way you can, and she'll be so glad you're her son.
"Say it precisely that way, that you're a man now but you still have so much growing up to do. Let her fill in the blanks in her own mind. She'll assume that what you mean is that she has somehow been stopping you from growing into a man. Never say it directly or she'll simply deny it. Okay? Just stay with me one more night."
"SPEND THE NIGHT?"
"It'll work, Martin. Just do what I said, and it'll work."
He took a deep breath and let it all out slowly. "You're a genius, you know that?"
"Smart enough to get you to stay?"
"Fine. I'll stay. But no sex! Okay?"
That changed everything for me. "Wait... You know I'm on the pill and you STILL don't want to have sex?"
"Hell no! You're a mean ass bitch! I can't take your sex. Oh, hell no. I'll find a woman when it's the right time, but let's cut out the sex completely. It's just too much. You bite and scratch too damn much. Agree to that or I'm leaving right now!"
If I hadn't just had sex with him, I would have raped him again right then and there.
As it turns out, his company was worth more to me than sex, at least for the time being. I didn't do anything offensive toward him. I wouldn't exactly let him sleep, either. We talked about our childhoods, mostly mine, of course. I admit to being terribly vain, but Martin still appealed to that vanity. He lavished me with compliments. Hugs and kisses were exchanged continually.
Finally, when I was almost certain it was three a.m., I got sleepy. I looked at the clock. It was 11:43 pm. We were barely talking. I couldn't keep up anymore. Then I heard,"I think it stems from something in your childhood that we haven't talked about. I think something happened to you."
"How is that possible?" I asked as my eyes were closing. "I've told you pretty much everything."
"You could have a repressed memory. Besides, there's no way you could tell me everything. Something in your childhood may have made you this way."
"Yes, Martin. Something did happen, but it's not fair to say it made me this way. I am a product of my own decision making, right?"
He seemed to be ignoring my question, which I noticed as I began to wake up again. "What happened?"
I took a deep breath. "Lie down on my bed. If you let me lay on your chest I'll tell you."
I felt I still wasn't very far from falling asleep, and I wanted to wake up with him beneath me. Besides, if I began to cry I wanted to feel comforted. He (of course) gave me what I wanted and stretched out on my bed. I laid my head on his chest, and he started rubbing my shoulder almost immediately. It was so comfortable in his arms. I took a deep breath and began. "I was raped by my cousin about two and a half years ago. It was about a month after my sixteenth birthday. Before that I was just a sweet little girl."
"I am so sorry that happened to you. Apparently there are still some things about that which need to be straightened out in your mind. Did they put him in prison?"
"Her name was Patricia and no, she didn't get prosecuted."
"A girl? How can you get raped by a girl?"
"Well," I thought for a moment. "Maybe it wasn't rape. Maybe it was sexual assault or something. She made me go down on her until she had an orgasm right in my face." I felt Martin get excited underneath me, but I ignored it. I needed to let this out. "She licked me, but she wasn't trying to make me cum. She seemed to enjoy the fact that I hated it so much. I'm amazed I can tell you this without crying. I cried every time I thought about it for weeks after it happened."
We sat in silence for a moment. I rubbed my groin over Martin's, enjoying the feel of his erection beneath me. "Ow, Rhonda. That's uncomfortable," he complained for the first time. I ignored him and kept rubbing. "Stop Rhonda! That's starting to hurt!"
"What if I lay like this? Is this okay?" Rather than rub over it, I just pressed against him.
He let out a breath in relief. "That's better. Did you ever retaliate against your cousin?"
"Yeah. I thought I was getting her back. I told a violent young man that she liked him. She clearly couldn't see the violent side of his nature, even though it was blatantly obvious to me. He started to talk to her and try to spend time with her. I told her she didn't deserve a nice boy like that. She dated him just to spite me, not knowing I was two steps ahead of her. After they dated for a couple of weeks, I called his home trying my best to sound like a boy, and said, 'That's my pussy! Can't nobody beat up on that pussy like me! Ya' lil' dick muhfucka! You'll never get deep in that pussy like me!' and hung up."
"OOOOOOOOOOHHHH! Remind me never to piss you off! Seriously! So what happend?"
"Nothing at first. After I did it a few times, he eventually ended up raping and sodomizing her. She sent him to prison while pregnant with his baby."
"Ouch. Rhonda, you truly have a gift for understanding the inner workings of the Human mind."
"She ended up having the baby in April of my junior year. She was nineteen the summer all this happened. Can you believe she asked me to babysit? She said, 'You wanna watch your little cousin?' as if reminding me of my physical relation to the child would have a favorable effect. I said, 'I'm not watching your demonseed baby!' and hung up in her face." We both laughed, but Martin's laughter was tentative, which made me think. "Martin, you know I could never do anything like that to you, don't you?"
Clearly I had made that statement without forethought. Martin had never done anything wrong to me, and look at how badly I'd treated him. So when he responded, "Hmph," I could not bring myself to react as though I were offended.
"I'm sorry, Martin. You've been nothing but nice to me, and I've treated you like crap."
He smiled. "I'm fine. As long as it stops now. Okay?"
"I can't promise that."
"Then I'm not coming over here anymore," he threatened.
"Who do you think you're fooling? If I want you over here you'll be here, and there's nothing you can do about it."
"Back to being evil, huh?"
I sighed. "Fine. You're right."
"Like I said, some of us aren't consumed with thoughts of having sex all the time. Even if we are, that doesn't mean all of us would give in to those impulses. Some of us think first."
"I know that. I depend on it, remember?"
"But why? How would you feel if a man did that to you?"
"Don't be silly, Martin. I'd just call the police. Besides, you said it yourself. At least you're not a virgin anymore."
He suddenly became flustered. It was rather funny watching him search for the right words, the way his face changed from one thought to the next before his mouth could keep up. He finally ended up saying, "Well, of course I would be glad it happened. I'm a man! It's just this idea of having it forced on me. Why couldn't you have been nicer about it?"
My eyes were drooping heavily. "Look me in the eyes and say we would've had sex if I'd been nice. Good night, Martin." He flustered a bit more, but soon we were both sound asleep. I think of that night as sort of a "moment of clarity."
I got up very early that next morning. It wasn't even 5am when I found myself distracted by what was going on in Martin's underwear. He was asleep, but his manhood was as stiff as a board. I didn't even think. I just got on top of him. He awoke as soon as took his shorts down.
"Rhonda I'm tired," he complained.
"Just lay there," I responded. I explored his body for the first time. Slowly waking up, he explored mine as well. I kissed him on the side of his neck as he kissed his way down to my nipples, then nibbled his way down to my thighs. Without being prompted or asked, his tongue found its way to my clitoris, which was swollen with desire for him. All I had to do was hold my lips open for him. He knew exactly where to find it and what to do with it.
His tongue was like buttered silk, sending waves all over my body with each movement. He seemed to take a particular enjoyment in licking circles around my clit and watching as it drove me wild. I had a massive orgasm. Then he began to climb on top of me. A part of me wanted him there. Another part of me was suddenly terrified.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"I'm not sure I want you on top of me."
"Why not? Why can't I be on top sometimes?"
"Only for you, Martin. Only this once."
There's something to be said for the missionary position. It was with Martin that I truly experienced what it was meant to be. I lost count of how many orgasms I had as he pounded on me, but sooner or later I had a really big orgasm that made me cry again.
"Oh Martin, I'm so sorry!"
He had a very mean look on his face, which surprised me. "Be sorry 'bout this bitch!" he whispered as he covered my mouth and slammed his manhood insided me over and over. Tears were still coming down when he popped his load inside me, as I once again broke the threshold and had the most powerful orgasm I'd ever had to that point. I had just awakened. Martin put me right back to sleep.
I awoke an hour later with the disgusting feeling of having fallen asleep after sex without washing. I made Martin get up and we got into the shower. I didn't have to make him wash me. He seemed happy to do it. "I just thought about something," he said while washing my back and legs. "Where's your mother?"
"I don't know," I responded. "She went out yesterday while we were in school and just never came back. She does this now and then. I'm sure she's fine. There was something I was supposed to check in times when I come home and she's not there. I completely forgot about it. When we get out I'll see if she left me anything.
I wanted to dry Martin off after the shower, but I was too curious. He was still rubbing the towel over my body as I walked out of my bedroom and over to the spot next to the microwave where left each other notes. I saw an envelope with my name on it in my mother's handwriting. Martin made me open my legs so he could dry each one carefully as I opened the envelope.
Inside were the keys to the car, $100 cash and a note. Your father came by and I just couldn't resist. We're going to Atlantic City for the weekend. There's plenty of food but I'm leaving you some cash just in case. Have a good time and don't do anything I wouldn't do. Love, Ma
"Martin, you're going to hate me. I can't let you go home yet." I handed him the note before he could ask his next question.
"Atlantic City? What does your father do for a living that he can just take your mom to Atlantic City for the weekend?"
"He's a contract killer."
"Oh," said Martin, quickly doing a double take. "WHAT?"
"Think about it, Martin. My mother doesn't have a job. How do you think we afford to live here?"
Martin was predictably skeptical. "That doesn't mean your dad's a killer."
I sighed. "If I had any evidence he wouldn't be any good at it, now would he?"
"You're serious? You know, you kind of left that out last night. It's kind of important, don't you think? Did you know that when Patricia assaulted you?"
"Yes. I've known since I was 12, listening to conversations a child shouldn't be listening to. I don't want to talk about this right now. I want breakfast, coffee, and your company. Let's get dressed.
Martin and I had no more sex that weekend. Having a great orgasm Friday night, then an even better one Saturday morning seemed to have the effect of satiating my sexual appetite. I finally dropped him off Sunday night so he could be dressed for school the next morning.
From that point forward my relationship with Martin became more like a normal one. I respected his desire not to have sex most of the time. We held hands in public places and had sex maybe once or twice a month. Instead of forcing him every chance I got, we waited for the right moment and the right situation so it could be comfortable for the both of us.
Martin didn't even get jealous when I asked Mike for help in math class. Between the two of them I got all A's and B's throughout my senior year. Then, at the end of the summer, Martin left for UCLA. Even though I was going to MIT, I was angry inside. I couldn't be angry with Martin specifically, but somehow I was angry anyway. I felt an evil streak go through me as I realized it would probably be a while before I had sex again. I took this evil anger with me onto the MIT campus.