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Bride Abuse

Virgin brides force fucked without mercy! See the beautiful bride cry and scream as she is sexually violated just moments before she walks the aisle!

Gorgeous young brides are sexually humiliated and brutally violated at! Brutal violation of innocent brides on their wedding day in full sound and color!

Bride abuse

Sample rape photos:

Bride violation Forced fucked bride Oral fucking bride Shy bride abused by two guys Oral bride seduce
Short story:
It was a mild summer day. The sky was bright blue, and scattered, fluffy white clouds drifted on the light breeze. Birds filled the air with there songs, and everywhere was the scent of fresh mown grass. Sarah Mackenzie thought it was the kind of day that was blessed, when the fates smiled down on the earth, and only good things could happen. She was happy simply to be alive and enjoying such a marvellous day.

Sarah was a pretty, eighteen year old girl with long, chestnut hair, brown eyes and full lips. She stood five feet five inches tall and weighted 115 pounds. Her body was well proportioned and she had long, well shaped legs. On this glorious morning, she was dressed casually and comfortably in a white sweater, faded jeans and white sneakers.

Sarah steered her car through the streets of Jackson City, on her way to school. A part time student, she was in her second quarter at Crestmore Community College. She also worked part time at a local drugstore to pay her tuition. Today, she was running late, and Sarah was slightly above the speed limit as she turned into the college parking lot and pulled into the first available space. She switched off the engine and climbed out of her car. With her books under her arm and her purse over her shoulder, she hurried across campus, thinking the whole time that it was too beautiful a day to be in class.

Sarah trotted up the steps and through the front entrance of the main classroom building. Hurrying down the hall, she arrived at the assigned room just before class started. Sliding into her seat, she kept her notebook and algebra book out while the rest of her books and her purse went under her chair. There was a soft murmur as the other students conversed quietly while waiting for class to start.

Chris Marcross sat on the other side of the classroom from Sarah. He were 24 years old and had been at Crestmore for nearly three years. He was six feet one and weighed 190 pounds. He was generally considered good looking with light brown hair and grey eyes. He had an easy smile and had no trouble talking with people. Chris watched Sarah come into the room and take her seat. He had admired her since the first day of class, but had not had the opportunity to strike up a conversation. At least not yet.

"Good morning, class," said Mr. Kirkpatrick. "Before we begin, will you all please pass your homework assignments to the front?"


Sarah sat in the student lounge, sipping a ginger ale as she read a passage in her history textbook. She had a twenty-five minute gap between the ends of her algebra class and the beginning of her history class, and she normally spent it here, getting in some extra study time.

"Hello." She looked up at the sound of the voice. "You're Sarah Mackenzie, right?"

"That's right," she replied. She remembered seeing the man standing before her in class.

"I'm Chris Marcross. We're in algebra class together."

"I know. I've seen you there."

"Would you mind if I sat down? Providing I'm not interrupting your study time, that is." His smile was contagious and Sarah smiled back.

"Not at all. I can't really get into it right now anyway. I guess history has never really been my thing." Chris sat down opposite Sarah, placing his books on the table between them.

"Mmmm. I know exactly what you mean. Memorize this,, memorize that. Don't worry about why something happened, just remember the date. Seems kind of silly, doesn't it?"

Sarah laughed. "You don't know how many times I've told myself that same thing. It just makes it so dry!"

"It sure does. So how long have you been taking classes here?" Chris asked.

"This is just my second quarter. To tell you the truth, I'm not even sure right now what I want to major in. I'm just getting the standard classes out of the way while I think it over. What about you?" Sarah placed her elbow on the table and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. She couldn't help thinking how nice this guy seemed. And how cute.

"I've been here nearly three years. I'm working on a degree in Mechanical Technologies. Once I get my Associates Degree, I want to transfer to a State College and go for my Bachelors in Mechanical Engineering. Of course, it's taking me some time to complete the classes here since I can only go part time."

"Not to sound nosy, but if you've been here that long, why are you in an entry level algebra class?"

"Well, to tell the truth, it's a little embarrassing. When I first came here, I didn't really apply myself, you know? I scraped through the math classes, and a lot of other classes, by the skin of my teeth. Well, now I'm at a point that my poor math skills are interfering with my technology classes, and that's bad. Anyway, I decided the best thing I could do would be to retake all the math courses, and THIS time, do it right."

"Wow, now that's determination. I wish you the best of luck." Sarah glanced at her watch and stood up. "Darn. I've got to get to class or I'll be late. It was nice talking to you."

"Listen, before you go, maybe we could get together Friday night and do something. You know, have a chance to get to know each other without having to break for classes."

Sarah considered it for a moment, then smiled and scribbled something on a piece of paper. "Sure, why not? Here's my number. Give me a call later in the week."

"Try to stop me!" Chris smiled back.

******************** It was Wednesday evening and Sarah was in her bedroom studying when her mother called, "Sarah, telephone."

Sarah came downstairs and picked up the receiver from the table.


"Hi, Sarah. It's Chris."

"Hi, Chris. How's everything going?"

"Well, the workload from school is kind of a killer, but outside of that, not bad. How are you making out?"

"The algebra is driving me absolutely crazy! Why can't they just use numbers instead of letters? Why do they have to use letters?" Sarah asked rhetorically, not really expecting an answer.

Chris chuckled. "Beats me. I guess that's one of the great mysteries of the universe. Solve it and you'll be rich and famous."

"Right, I don't think we have to worry about that. Not as long as the solution involves algebra."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to work on that, won't we? Anyway, the real reason I called was to check with you about Friday night. 'Titanic' is playing at the Plaza over at the mall if you're interested. Feel like going?"

"Sounds great. What time?"

"The movie starts at seven. How about if I pick you up at six-thirty?"

"Fine by me." Sarah gave him her parents' address. "Do you know where that is, or do you need directions."

"Nah, I can find it. Well, I really hate to break this off, but I've got a pile of studying to do."

"Me, too. I'll see you Friday, then."

"You sure will. Bye." Chris said and broke the connection.


Sarah put quite a bit of thought into her outfit that Friday. A white silk blouse, her short black skirt with the wide black patent leather belt, natural colored pantyhose, and the black high heeled sandals. Stylish and good looking without being too showy. She checked her appearance in the mirror and decided she was pleased with the way she looked.

Sarah was looking forward to her date with Chris. Between working and going to school, she had little time for socializing, and it had been quite some time since she had gone out. Besides, Chris not only seemed nice, but he was really cute, too. Maybe they would really hit it off. Who could tell?

"Sarah!" her mother called from downstairs. "You have company."

"I'll be down in a second, mom!" Her purse! Where was her purse?! There, on the nightstand.

As she reached the bottom of the steps, she heard Chris' voice in the living room. "Oh, I think they'll make it to the playoffs, but they don't have a chance at the Super Bowl. Not without a tighter offence."

"Agreed," came her father's voice. "But the owners don't want to lay out the money to get the right people. They want a winning team without making the needed investment."

"Daddy! Not football again!" Sarah said as she entered the living room.

Chris immediately stood up, his eyes lighting up and his smile widening as he saw Sarah. "Whoa! You look absolutely great! I mean, you're just beautiful!"

"Why thank you, kind sir" Sarah smiled back. "And may I return the compliment?" Chris was nicely dressed in light brown slacks, dark brown V necked sweater and white shirt. His brown shoes were polished to a high gloss.

"We were just discussing the chances for the old home team." her father said.

"I could tell. And if I don't drag Chris out of here, you'll keep him talking about it all night." Sarah told her father with a grin.

"Well, um, are you ready, then?" Chris asked.

"Anytime," Sarah said turning to the door.

Chris shook Mr. Mackenzie's hand and said "It was a pleasure meeting you, sir. You too, Mrs. Mackenzie. And don't worry, I'll take good care of your daughter."

As they watched the car pull out of the drive way, Mr. Mackenzie said to his wife, "You know, dear, when Sarah first told us about Chris, I wasn't too fond of the idea. You know, with him being older than her. But now that I've met him...."

"I know, dear," answered Mrs. Mackenzie. "I like him, too. He seems like a real gentleman."


Due to the length of 'Titanic', it was after ten-thirty when they finally left the theater. They walked across the parking lot to where Chris' car was parked.

"I'm sorry," Sarah said, "but I find it difficult to believe Rose could wade through all of that ice cold water below decks, but not get cold until after the ship sinks. Cold is cold."

"Agreed." Chris said as he opened the car door for her. "And I find it especially difficult to believe anybody would grab a gun and chase somebody else around below decks on a sinking ship. I mean, come on! The only thing I'd be thinking about would be 'Where's the lifeboats!' You know?"

Sarah chuckled as Chris closed the door and walked around to the driver's side of the car. She had enjoyed herself tonight, and was pleased to find that she and Chris seemed to have quite a bit in common. She was beginning to really like him, and decided she was glad she had accepted his invitation.

Chris started the engine and put the car in gear. He pulled out of the mall parking lot and turned left, a direction that would take them out of town.

"Where are we going?" Sarah asked.

"Just for a ride." Chris said. "It's too nice a night to just go home. Too nice being with you." Sarah flushed at the compliment.

They drove on for another half hour, talking about the movie, about school, about what they had done and about what they wanted to do. Sarah was relaxed and happy, enjoying Chris' company. Then Chris applied the brakes, slowed down, and turned right onto a side road.

"Chris, what are you doing? Where's this go?" Sarah was curious rather than concerned. Chris had been a perfect gentleman all night, and it never crossed her mind he would not continue to be so.

"Oh, there's someplace special I want to show you. Special to me. There's a small lake just beyond those trees up ahead. My father used to bring me fishing back here when I was a kid. That was before he died."

"I'm sorry" said Sarah, "I didn't know."

"It's okay. No way you could know. But that's why it's special to me. And I wanted to show it to you because, well, I'm starting to think you're special, too."

Sarah blushed as she said "Thank you. I think you're kind of special, yourself."

They were on a dirt road now that ran near the lake. Chris turned again, pulling onto a little used track that wound under and between the trees. Pulling almost to the edge of the lake, Chris stopped the car and turned off the engine. With the headlights out, the only light came from the moon and the stars reflecting off the lake. Sarah noticed there were other cars parked nearby. This place was apparently 'special' to more people than just Chris.

"It's beautiful back here," Sarah said.

"Not as beautiful as you," Chris said as he leaned over and kissed her gently. Sarah responded to the kiss, slipping her left arm around Chris' waist and her right around his neck. Chris put his arm around her shoulders. They continued kissing, Chris rubbing his left hand up down her side. Then the hand moved further, moving onto her right breast.

Sarah pulled back. "Don't." she said as she pushed his hand away.

"Okay, babe," Chris said "okay."

They resumed kissing, but in almost no time his hand was back on her breast.

"Please, Chris, don't do that." she said as she pushed his hand down off of her breast. His hand kept moving down as he began kissing across her cheek to the right side of her neck, pressing her back against the seat. His hand moved down along her side, along her hip to the outside of her right thigh.

"Chris, stop it."

His hand traveled down her leg and up onto the knee.
"Chris, please, that's enough."

Then she felt his hand move to the inside of her left thigh, squeezing and rubbing as he continued kissing and nibbling her neck, pinning her to the seat with his body.

"Chris, come on! I said that's enough!"

And then his hand was up under her skirt, grabbing and rubbing her crotch. She tried to push his hand away with her one free arm, but he was too strong. She twisted her body, pushing against him at the same time.

"Please, Chris! Don't do that!" Sarah pleaded.

"It's okay, babe. It's okay. Just relax."

Sarah tried to break away, but Chris kept her pinned to the seat with his body. Sarah's left arm was pinned between him and the seat, and his right arm was behind her. Sarah tried to push him away, but Chris twisted her right arm up behind her back and grabbed her wrist with his right hand. With both of Sarah's arms immobilized, Chris crushed his mouth to hers as his free hand grabbed her breast, roughly squeezing and twisting.

Sarah managed to twist her mouth free as Chris again put his hand under her skirt and roughly grabbed her crotch. She couldn't believe that he was doing this to her.

"Stop it, Chris! Please stop it! You're hurting me!"
"Just relax, babe. Relax and enjoy it."

"I said stop it! PLEASE stop it!" she begged as his free hand roamed over her body. She twisted and squirmed, but she couldn't get away from him. He was all over her.

Chris pulled her away from the back of the seat, turned her and pushed her backwards. Sarah found herself flat on her back with Chris on top of her. Her arms free now, she pushed against his chest, trying to force him away, but she couldn't get any leverage. She felt Chris' hands pulling her skirt up around her waist.

"Chris, please! That's enough! Leave me alone! PLEASE leave me alone!"

His weight was crushing her to the seat, and Sarah twisted her body to try and get away from him. She felt his hands grabbing the waist band of her pantyhose and panties, forcing them down over her hips to the middle of her thighs, and for the first time she realized just how far Chris intended to go. Her pantyhose were now past her knees and she was terrified by what was happening.

"Please!" Sarah begged "Please STOP! I've never done this! Please don't DO this to me! I hardly KNOW you!"

"Don't worry, babe." she heard Chris say. "You're going to love it. Trust me you will."

Chris' hand was between her legs and he was forcing his fingers into her.

"Stop!" Sarah pleaded as she felt his fingers moving inside her. "That HURTS! Please, PLEASE stop!" She was fighting as well as she could, but he was too big, too strong.

Suddenly, before Sarah realized what was happening, Chris was off of her, kneeling next to the seat. Before Sarah could react, Chris grabbed her panties and pantyhose and jerked them down around her ankles. As she tried to sit up, Chris grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her back onto the seat, and he was once more on top of her. She felt him using his knees to force her legs apart. She tried to stop him, but it was a futile effort. Chris was now between her legs, and Sarah felt him fumbling with his belt.
She fought as hard as she could, but it was useless. She was completely exposed to him, her skirt bunched around her waist and her pantyhose and panties around her ankles. She was helpless and terrified. Why was this happening to her? What had she done to deserve this? She felt him open his pants and push them down, exposing himself as he continued kissing and nibbling her neck and face.

"Please, PLEASE stop. I don't WANT this. Please, Chris, please DON'T! You can't DO this! You just CAN'T!"

She felt him pressing his penis against her vagina, trying to force himself into her. Sarah fought harder, with a strength born of desperation. She pushed against him as she tried to twist her body away from him. She tried to dig her heels into the car seat, tried to get enough leverage to push him away, but the pantyhose bunched around her ankles effectively immobilized her legs. Sarah did everything she could, but it wasn't enough. She felt him begin to penetrate her.

"No! Chris, please NO! I don't want it to be like this! Not like THIS! PLEASE STOP IT! Get OFF of me!"

Chris was brutally forcing himself farther into her. Sarah wasn't aroused, wasn't prepared to have sex, making the penetration painful.

"Oh, God, please don't! Please don't DO this!" Sarah begged as she felt him force his way deeper into her. "Get OUT! Get OUT of me! Please, PLEASE don't! You're hurting me! PLEASE DON'T! NOOOOOOOOO!!"

Sarah cried out in pain as Chris viciously drove himself completely into her, tearing through her hymen and shredding her virginity without the least bit of gentleness or concern. She had never felt such pain or frustration in her life. She now realized there was nothing she could do to stop him that he was going to use her no matter what she did. Filled with shame and frustration, she collapsed on the seat and quit fighting. It was useless. She closed her eyes, tears burning her cheeks, and prayed that it would be over soon.

Chris continued using Sarah, enjoying the feeling of her body under his. His hands roamed over her, hurting her with his roughness. He wrapped his hand into her hair, twisting it to hold her head still while he kissed her. Her pain, humiliation and frustration aroused him. He lifted up so he could see her face, her eyes squeezed shut, her teeth clenched, tears staining her cheeks.

"God, Sarah, you feel so good!" he groaned.

Sarah couldn't believe this was happening. Why her? What did she do wrong? Why was she being punished so terribly? Please, God, she prayed silently, please let it end. Please let it end.

"Come on, babe. Relax. I can make it good for you." Chris murmured in her ear. Sarah couldn't believe he said that. He couldn't think she would actually enjoy this! He couldn't POSSIBLY think that!

The minutes crawled slowly by for Sarah while Chris continued grunting and sweating on top of her. Would it never end? How much longer was he going to keep doing this? Then she felt Chris begin to move quicker, heard his breathing become more pronounced. With a shock, Sarah grasped the fact Chris was approaching orgasm. For the first time, the realization hit her she could become pregnant this night.

"Chris! Chris, please not inside me! Please not INSIDE me!" Sarah pleaded desperately as Chris continued the assault.

Terror filled Sarah as Chris' movements quickened, his excitement growing. She twisted her body and pushed against him, trying to dislodge him. She got her hands on his hips and tried to push him out of her. Grabbing her wrists, Chris jerked her arms above her head and pinned them to the seat. His entire weight was now on her, pressing her down into the seat. He was moaning, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He drove into her with increasing fervour as he felt himself approaching orgasm.

"Oh, Sarah! Oh, Sarah! Ohhhhh!" Chris moaned as he felt the excitement building within him.

"Please, Chris! Please, don't! Not inside me!" Sarah's voice was nearly a whisper, pleading for mercy even as she realized that it was already too late.

Chris groaned deep in his throat as he climaxed, and Sarah whimpered in protest as she felt the sickening warmth spreading through her. She felt nauseous, feeling her stomach turning as he finished draining himself into her. This couldn't be happening to her. It just couldn't be!

Chris collapsed on top of her, breathing deeply from his exertions. Sarah lay there crying quietly while Chris' dead weight on top of her kept her pinned to the seat. Finally, Chris lifted himself up and withdrew from her, then moved over behind the steering wheel. With a sigh of satisfaction, he straightened out his clothing.

Sarah lay there for a moment in shock. Then, as Chris lit a cigarette, she slowly pulled herself to a sitting position as close to the passenger door and as far away from Chris as possible. She felt the mixture of semen and blood seeping out of her and onto the seat. How could this have happened to her? How could this have possibly happened to her?

Crying quietly, Sarah reached down, straightened out her pantyhose and panties and slowly pulled them up into their proper position, then pulled her skirt back down. She felt so dirty! All she wanted was a hot shower. An incredibly hot shower!

"Take me home." Sarah almost whispered.

"What's your hurry, babe? The night's still young."

"I SAID TAKE ME HOME!" Sarah screamed.

"Okay, bitch. That's what you want, that's what you'll fucking get!" Chris grumbled as he pitched his cigarette out the window. "Stupid little bitch. You weren't that good anyway. It would have been better if you had co-operated a little. Who the fuck do you think you are, anyway?"

Sarah couldn't believe her ears! Chris had forced her to have sex with him. Forced her and stole her virginity!! And he was mad at her because she had fought him! HE was mad at HER!! What kind of sick animal was he?

"How could I have not seen it?" Sarah wondered to herself. "How could I have not seen what he was really like? This was my fault. All my fault because I didn't see what he was like! How could I have been so stupid?"

The drive home was gruesome for Sarah. She wanted to be as far away from Chris as possible. Neither one spoke during the ride back to town. When Chris pulled up in front of her house, Sarah got out of the car without a word. Still angry, Chris slammed the car into gear and burned rubber down the street.

"Thank God my parents are in bed." thought Sarah as she noticed the house was dark. Quietly letting herself in, she went upstairs, being careful not to wake her parents. Undressing, she put all of her clothes in a bag. She would sneak the bag into the garbage in the morning. She couldn't stand the thought of ever wearing any part of that outfit again.

Sarah slipped into a robe and went to the bathroom. She turned the water on as hot as she could stand it and, with soap and washcloth, she scrubbed every inch of her body vigorously. She then washed her hair, rinsed it and washed it again. Still feeling dirty, Sarah repeated the entire process two more times. Finally, she sat down in the tub, her arms wrapped around her knees, and let the water beat on her. Only when there was no hot water left did she turn off the shower. Stepping out of the tub, she towelled herself dry and put on her robe. Returning to her bedroom, she put on a nightgown and panties and slipped into bed. There, alone in the darkness, the tears came as Sarah entered into a long, sleepless night.


Sarah stayed in bed later than usual on Saturday morning. She wasn't sleeping, hadn't really slept all night. She simply felt drained of all energy, of all desire to face the day. She was overwhelmed by the feelings of revulsion and guilt at what had happened to her. And what if she became pregnant? What would she do then? Her parents would never understand, never accept she hadn't wanted it to happen. It would be her fault, no matter what. God, how had she let herself get into this?

Finally, with a sigh of resignation, Sarah slid out from under the covers. She couldn't stay in bed forever, as much as she might like to. After brushing her teeth and combing out her hair, she dressed and went downstairs. She felt absolutely listless, but she couldn't show that. She couldn't let her parents think that there was anything wrong.

"Good morning, Sarah." Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table, checking a recipe in one of her cookbooks.

"Good morning, mom," Sarah replied as she poured a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove, then added milk and sugar.

"So how did the date go last night?" her mother asked.
Sarah had been dreading this question. "Okay, I guess."
"Chris seemed like a really nice young man. Are you going to see him again?"

"I ... don't think so, mom."

"Well why not? He seemed so nice."

"We just didn't really ... hit it off, I guess. Anyway, I ... won't be seeing him again. I'm sorry, mom, but I've got some ... studying that I have to do. For class, you know." Sarah quickly went upstairs before her mother could ask her anything else about last night. She couldn't tell her what really happened, and she didn't feel up to creating believable lies.

Once more in the safety of her bedroom with the door closed, Sarah sat on the edge of the bed. She was afraid and confused, unsure of what to do. One thing was certain, though. She couldn't go back to school. If she did, she would certainly run into Chris, and that was the last thing she wanted.

Sarah laid back on the bed. How could she have let this happen? How could she have been so stupid as to let this happen? She shouldn't have gone out with Chris. Shouldn't have gone to the lake with him. Or she should have done something to stop him. God, how could she have let this happen?


The weekend was nothing but a hazy memory for Sarah as she finished dressing on Monday morning. Still listless and preoccupied, she felt as if her life had ended on Friday night, as if nothing that had happened since was real. She wandered downstairs and fixed a small bowl of cereal. She had just finished eating when her mother came into the kitchen.

"Well I'm glad to see you're finally eating something. You've hardly had a bite all weekend."

"I know, mom. I guess I just wasn't feeling too well."

"Well, you'd better hurry up unless you want to be late for class."

"I'm not going to class, mom. I've decided ... to quit."

"Quit? But you've already paid for the classes! Why quit now?"

"It's just ... not working out. I guess that I wasn't cut out for college."

"But you've already PAID for the classes. Why not at least finish the ones you're in now? Why waste the money? If you do, maybe you'll change your mind about quitting."

"Mom, please! I don't want to talk about it right now, okay? I'm quitting and that's that!"

"But ....."

"NO! I'm DONE!" Sarah grabbed her purse and raced out the back door. Why couldn't people leave her alone? Why couldn't they just leave her alone?

She backed her car out of the driveway, pulled the gearshift into 'drive', and stepped on the gas. She wasn't sure where she was going, had no clear destination in mind. She only knew she had to get out of the house.

Sarah drove aimlessly, her mind wandering, jumping from one thought to another. None of them were pleasant. How would she get through this? Would the sick feeling ever leave her? How about the feeling of guilt? Could she ever feel normal again, or would she feel dirty for the rest of her life? Would she ever be able to trust again? She had no answers.


The next two weeks passed slowly. Having quit school, Sarah was now working full time, but did little else. When she felt the need to get out of the house, she would go for aimless rides alone. She was constantly tired, getting little sleep. She would lay awake in bed, remembering Friday night and damning herself for her stupidity. On the rare occasions when she would drift off, the nightmares would come. Chris would be there, forcing her back onto the seat, forcing himself into her. Then she would come awake with a start, perspiration beading on her forehead, her body trembling.

In addition to the shame and humiliation Sarah felt, the terrible spectre of pregnancy was constantly with her. The very thought made her nauseous with fear. She knew what her parents would say if that happened. Knew how they would react. They would never understand or even try to. They would blame her, no matter how it had happened. Sarah would be their slut daughter who got knocked up.

"Oh, God, please, please don't let me be pregnant. Please. I couldn't take that. I just couldn't!" Sarah would pray, tears welling up in her eyes.

On Tuesday, eleven days after Chris had forced himself on her, Sarah started her period. The relief she felt was overwhelming, and she sat in the bathroom with tears tracing paths down her cheeks. She would never have believed she could feel so overjoyed to be having a period. At least she wasn't pregnant. At least she had that.

While the fear of pregnancy was over, Sarah still had to deal with her feelings of guilt. She was still blaming herself for what had been done to her. Blaming herself for going out with Chris. Blaming herself for going to the lake with him. Blaming herself for her loss.

It was Saturday, fifteen days since her 'date' with Chris. She had finished her shift at the drugstore and stopped at McDonalds for something to eat. She went through the drive thru and got an order of French fries and a ginger ale. Her appetite still hadn't returned completely, and she wanted nothing else. She guided the car to an empty space and shifted into park.

Sarah sat in the parking lot, eating her fries and watching other people come and go. Young men and women mostly, holding hands and laughing, enjoying each other's company. Enjoying life. Would she ever feel that again? Would she ever be able to go on a date again with any feeling of safety? Once again, the butterflies in the pit of her stomach returned. She noticed the slight trembling in her hand. Without finishing her fries, she put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot. Once again she drove aimlessly, filling her mind with the mechanics of driving so that other, more disturbing thoughts, could not intrude.

She had been driving for nearly an hour. She felt confused, alone. She felt she had to do something, but had no idea of what. What could she possibly do?
The sign on the front of the two-story brick building registered more on Sarah's subconscious mind than on her conscious mind. It identified the building as the Jackson City Rape Crisis Centre. Maybe someone there could .... no. No, they couldn't help. Chris had forced her to have sex, yes. But it wasn't rape. Rape was something that a stranger did to you in an alley or a parking lot. It wasn't something that someone you knew did to you. They wouldn't want to talk to her. Wouldn't want to waste their time with her. They would think she was some stupid little girl who got what was coming to her.

Sarah continued driving. Aimless. Wandering. Without realizing it, she had circled town and was once again passing the Rape Crisis Centre. Maybe. Just maybe. Did she have anything to lose?

She kept driving, thinking about it. Finally making up her mind, she turned the car around and headed back to the Centre. She parked across the street and sat in the car. She felt the nervousness in the pit of her stomach. Could she really do this? Could she really talk to strangers about what had happened? What would they say? What COULD they say? It wasn't really rape. Why would they want to talk to her? But she had to do something. She couldn't keep going like this. Mustering her courage, she reached for the door handle of the car.


Denise Rhodes was seated at the desk in her small office in the Jackson City Rape Crisis Centre. Her desk faced the door and there was a straight-backed padded chair in front of the desk. The wall behind her contained several framed documents and photographs. A bookcase full of text took up the wall to her right books and two filing cabinets. Against the wall to her left was a small couch and coffee table. None of the furnishings were expensive, but they were functional

Denise was twenty-eight years old and had worked at the Centre as a counsellor for four years, ever since graduating from college with a degree in psychology. She stood five foot five and weighed one hundred and ten pounds. She kept in shape with daily exercise and martial arts practice three times a week. She had a heart shaped face with large brown eyes and full lips, and her thick brunette hair fell to just below her shoulders.

The phone on her desk buzzed and Denise answered it. She listened for a moment, then said "Bring her right up, Edna." and hung up. When she heard the two pair of feet coming down the hall, she stood up and stepped around the desk. Edna escorted a pretty young girl into Denise's office and said "Denise, this is Sarah Mackenzie."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sarah. Won't you sit down?" Denise motioned to the couch as Edna quietly left, closing the door behind her. Denise sat on the couch next to Sarah. Sarah looked nervous, Denise thought, as if she wanted to be anywhere else but where she was. That was not unusual. Most women who came to talk to Denise felt that way.

"Would you like something to drink?" Denise asked. "Coffee? Soda?"

"No ... thank you." Sarah stared at the floor, embarrassed to meet Denise's gaze.

"You can relax, Sarah. I'm here to help. You can trust me." Denise kept her voice low, soothing.

"I don't ... know ...." Sarah started, then dropped her eyes back to the floor and fell silent. Denise noticed Sarah's hands trembling.

Denise gently took Sarah's hands in her own. She had seen this too many times, and she didn't need Sarah to tell her why she had come here. "Sarah, listen to me. You are not alone. Do you understand? You're not the first to be raped and, sadly, you won't be the last."

Sarah looked up, then back to the floor. "I'm ... I'm not sure that I was ... raped." The word was nearly a whisper. "I mean, he ... forced me ... to have sex with him, but we .... were on a ... a date."

Amazing, Denise thought, how many times she had heard similar statements. How often young women, and even older ones, thought rape had to be perpetrated by strangers. If it happened on a date, if the perpetrator was known to them, then it must not has been rape.

"Sarah," Denise began gently, "the vast majority of rapes committed in this country are date or acquaintance rapes. Far, far more than stranger rapes. It doesn't matter if you were on a date. If he forced you to have sex against your will, then it was rape, and you have nothing to be ashamed of. He was the one who was wrong, not you."

"But ... if it's someone that ... that you ... know ... I mean ... it doesn't seem ..." Sarah's voice trailed off. She wasn't quite sure how to express what she was thinking.

"In some ways," Denise explained, "date rape is worse than stranger rape. When a woman is raped by a stranger, he only violates her body. It's a terrible experience, yes, and there is a mental trauma involved, but the actual violation is still only physical. When a woman is date raped, then someone commits the rape that she knows and probably likes. In that case, not only is her body violated, but so is her trust."

"That makes it ... worse?"

"In some ways, yes. The woman who is raped by a stranger has to deal with the rape itself. She may develop a fear of strangers, but she will seldom lose faith in men that she knows and trusts. The woman who is date raped, on the other hand, not only has to deal with the actual rape, but she has to deal with the violation of her trust. How can she trust another man? If she meets someone new, can she actually bring herself to go out with him? Often the victim of date rape will even lose her trust for male friends that she has known for awhile. She had trusted the one who raped her, and he had violated that trust. How does she know that other men that she trusts won't do the same thing?"

"How do they ... deal with it, then?" Sarah asked.

Denise sighed. "There is no one way, Sarah. Everyone is different. Some women restrict themselves to associating only with men that they have known for a very long time. Others cut themselves off from social situations completely, at least for a period of time. And some become ... easy ... figuring that if they just give themselves to men, then the men won't have any reason to hurt them."

"That sounds ... sad. So very sad." Sarah's voice cracked as she said it. What would she do? How would she handles it?

"Sarah, there is another way, and that's to seek help, to not face it alone. You've taken the first step by coming here. That's a good first step. Now, would you like to talk about it?"

Sarah shrugged as she continued staring at the floor. It was so embarrassing. So humiliating. How could she tell anyone? A single tear traced a path down her cheek. "How ... how can I ... talk? It's ... it's so ... so ..."

Denise placed the tips of her fingers under Sarah's chin and gently raised her head so their eyes met. "Would it help you to know that I'm a rape survivor, too?"

"You?" Sarah looked into Denise's eyes, trying to read if the young woman was telling the truth.

"Me. Nine years ago. There was ... more than one of them. So you see, Sarah, you can talk to me. I understand, and I'm on your side."

"Okay. I'll ... try. But it's ... hard to ... "

"I know. Maybe I can help. Why don't you start by telling me how you met him?"

"At school. We had an algebra class together. We started ... talking ... in the break room. He seemed so ... nice." He seemed so nice. Another phrase Denise had heard too often. Why could the animals always make themselves appear to be nice?

Gently, a piece at a time, Denise helped Sarah to slowly and hesitatingly tell her story. After nearly an hour, Denise had a clear picture of what had happened to Sarah and, she believed, a clear picture of Chris as well.

"What I don't ... understand," Sarah said in a shaky voice "is why he ... hurt me. I mean, he was already ... in me. He was already ... already ... doing it. Why did he keep hurting me ... with his hands? Why was he so ... rough with me?"

Denise took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. "Sarah, you have to understand that rape is not a sexual act. It's an act of violence. For the rapist, it's not a matter of having sex WITH a woman, but rather a matter of having control OVER her. The pain and humiliation that the rapist inflicts on his victim is what really arouses him. That, and the illusion of power he gets by having her helpless and in his control. It's the act of a sadistic, depraved individual."

"God, I can't believe that I couldn't see what he was like. I should have KNOWN!" Sarah said, her voice low and trembling.

"How?" Denise asked, her voice soft. "How could you have known, Sarah? Did he do or say anything that would have indicated that he was anything other than a nice guy?"

Sarah hesitated for a moment, thinking about what Denise had asked. "Well ... no. I guess not."

"Then there was no way you could have known, was there? Look, Sarah, there are some guys out there who are like chameleons. You see exactly what they want you to see. They put forth an image in place of reality. They don't let you see what lies under that image until it's too late. You can't blame yourself for not seeing through someone like that. You can't blame yourself for what happened."

"But ... but ..." Sarah stammered.

"But what, Sarah?"

"But ... it was ... my fault! Don't you understand? It was MY FAULT! I was so ... so stupid. I let him take me back to ... to the lake. If I hadn't done that, if I hadn't been so stupid..." Sarah's voice trailed off.

"Sarah, it was not your fault. And it doesn't matter where you were. You had the right, the RIGHT to say 'no', and you had the right to have that 'no' accepted and respected. Chris violated that right, Sarah, just as he violated you. It was NOT your fault. There is a villain here and a victim, and you are NOT the villain! You have to understand that."

"But I still let him take me out there. I could have said no earlier, when we turned off the road. If I had..." Sarah covered her face with her hands.

"If you had, what makes you think that he would have listened? He didn't listen to 'no' when you were parked. Why do you think he would have listened while he was driving? He would have just sweetly told you not to worry, that everything was okay, and he would have kept driving to wherever he wanted to go."

Sarah lowered her hands into her lap. "But I could have tried! I could have at least tried! God, I feel so stupid going back there with him. So unbelievably stupid."

"You're not stupid, Sarah. You just trusted the wrong person. That may, at the very most, be considered bad judgment, but it is not stupid. And even if it was bad judgment, we have a saying around here. 'Bad judgment is not a rateable offence.' Do you understand what that means, Sarah?"

She thought for a moment before answering. "I guess ... it means ... even if you do something ... dumb... it doesn't give someone else the right to .. to ... use you."

"Exactly. Are you starting to understand you did not do anything wrong?"

"I ... WANT to believe that, Denise. God, you don't know how BADLY I want to believe that! But ... I keep thinking ...I should have ... I don't know. I could have got out of the car and walked home."

"Could you, Sarah? You weren't strong enough to fight him off. Why do you think that you would have been strong enough to fight your way out of the car? Do you really think he would have just LET you get out of the car?"

"I ... don't know. I ... I guess not."

"Think about it, Sarah. Was there any point, any point at all after he started attacking you, that you could have gotten out of the car? Was there any point where you could have just gotten out of the car and walked away?"

Sarah was quiet for a moment, thinking back to that terrible Friday night, to the car parked by the lake. "No. No, I guess there wasn't. You're right. He wouldn't have let me go. But I could have screamed. There were other cars nearby. Someone might have come to help me."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Everyone up there would have been young men and women, involved with ... each other. Who knows what would have happened? But you can't blame yourself for that, either, Sarah. Women, all of us, have been trained to be ... ladylike. To not make scenes. Oh, if you're being attacked by a stranger, then screaming is alright. But that wasn't the case with you. You were on a date, in a social situation, and we are ladies. We do not make scenes in social situations. That's pretty much the way society has trained us since childhood. I'm not saying I agree with the concept, but I have to accept it is the reason why women being date raped almost never scream for help."

Sarah shook her head slowly from side to side. "I don't know. I guess I can understand that. But I should have been able to stop him, you know? I should have been able to do something!"

"What, Sarah? What should you have done? Think about it, Sarah. You're not under pressure now. You're not fighting to try and protect yourself now. You have time to think. So think. Think and tell me what it is you should have done. Tell me what it is you should have done that would have changed what happened."
Sarah thought for several minutes. "I don't know. Just ... something."

"So now you're going to blame yourself for not doing something, when even now you can't identify what that something might be. You can't tell me what you should have done. You can't tell me what you could have done to protect yourself. Yet you are going to blame yourself for not doing this undefined something. Don't you see how unfair that is to you, Sarah? Don't you see you can't blame yourself for not doing something when you can't even identify what that something is?"
Sarah shrugged and gazed at the floor. What Denise said made sense. It made total sense. But it was so hard to accept.

"Okay, Sarah, think of it this way. Suppose for a minute this had never happened to you, you had never been raped. But it DID happen to one of your friends. The exact same thing, only it happened to one of your friends instead of to you. This friend comes and tells you what happened. What would you do?"

"I guess ... I guess I'd listen to her, try to ... to help her. Try to comfort her."

"Do you mean that you wouldn't tell her she was asking for it? That she got just what she deserved?"

"God, no! I wouldn't tell her that! That would be ... cruel! It would be HORRID!" Sarah was shocked that Denise had even suggested such a thing.

"So I guess that means you wouldn't tell her she screwed up because she couldn't find a way to avoid being raped? You wouldn't tell her she was an idiot and that she blew it?"

"Of course not. She's my friend, and I'd try to help her. Try to support her."

"That means you wouldn't put her down for what happened? You'd try to give her compassion and understanding?"

"Of course! I mean, that's what friends do for each other. How could you think I would ... would ... ACT like that?"

"I never thought you would act like that, Sarah. But tell me, if you can extend that kind of compassion and understanding to a friend, why can't you extend it to yourself? You would never blame a friend for being raped, so why blame yourself?"

"I guess ... it's just ... hard to ... accept, you know? I want to not ... blame myself. I want to believe that it wasn't my ... fault. But it's so ... hard."

"I know, Sarah. I know. But if you think about what we've talked about, and I mean really think about it, I believe that you will realize the truth."

Sarah gave her a small smile, then glanced back at the floor as the smile faded from her lips.

"Sarah, I think there's ... still something bothering you. Something we haven't talked about yet."

Sarah glanced up for a moment. "You're ... pretty good at this ... aren't you?"

"Yes," Denise smiled and stroked Sarah's hair. "I'm pretty good at this."

"I don't ... it's just ... just ..." she started to speak, then broke off. Sarah dropped her eyes and gazed at the floor for a several moments before continuing. Her voice was low and trembled as she spoke, and the tears ran down her cheeks. "I wanted my ... first time ... to be ... to be special. I wanted it to be ... with someone I ... loved, and I wanted it to be on ... on my wedding night. That's gone now. Gone forever. When I do get married, on our wedding night ... what ... what will be ... special now?"

Denise put her arms around the trembling girl and held her close. "Sarah, believe me, when you find someone who really loves you, and who you love in return, then what happened that Friday won't matter. When two people really love each other, every time is special. The first time, the tenth time, the hundredth time. It's the love that makes it special, Sarah."

Sarah looked into Denise's eyes. "Do you really believe that?"

"Sarah, I believe it, I feel it and I know it. And one day, when you find the right person, you'll know it, too. Trust me, he will think you're special, because you are."


Sarah checked the rear view mirror and pulled away from the curb. Traffic was light and driving didn't require a great deal of concentration, so she let her mind wander over the last two hours she had spent at the Centre. There was no doubt talking to Denise had been the right choice, and she would talk to her again. She felt better than she had since the rape had occurred, as if a great weight had been lifted from her. It was amazing how much just talking about what had happened to her had helped. She still had issues to deal with, and she knew it would take time to heal and recover. Denise warned her the nightmares would continue, but they would fade and become less frequent with time. And she was starting to believe she was not responsible for what had happened. Chris had acted like an animal. He was an unprincipled, selfish, uncaring bastard who had violated Sarah to fulfil his own perverted desires. He was guilty, not Sarah. She could only hope some day Chris would rot in hell for what he had done to her. But she was beginning to understand she wouldn't be there to rot with him. She had done nothing wrong. She was innocent. Completely innocent.

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