Thursday, February 21, 2008

• The Party Part 1 and 2

    

      

  What follows is the story of my gang rape at the hands of 1% bikers. It is graphic in nature and not for kids or for those easily disturbed by descriptions of violent acts. I have done my best to describe the event with as much accuracy as possible. However what is not possible is for me to accurately describe the depth of emotion I was feeling at the time of the attack, though I hope I do it well enough for you to understand  the terror associated with what transpired in that field. This is intensely personal and was painful but cathartic to write. My hope is that it reaches those of you who might be suffering and in need of support for you are not alone; there are many of us gang rape survivors out there. So if you need a hand… here it is… for this is my way of reaching out to you.

       Sometimes the events of that night seem far away, for I have long ago moved on with my life. And like a soldier I continue the struggle no matter how difficult or challenging the road that lay ahead. But it would be untrue to say that I have completely left the memory and the emotions of that night behind. For still, years later they are an integral part of me. And even when distracted by daily life I can find myself, without warning or will swept back through time, back to a place of panic and fear, of humiliation and pain. It happens when I least expect it for sometimes, something ordinary, some sound or some smell will brush briefly past my senses. Then like a lightning bolt I am struck by an emotion, my response always subconscious, always guttural and suddenly I am pulled back to the field…back, back, back… fighting for my life and my right to survive. Then I take a deep breath, steal my resolve and remind myself…I did survive….I did, I will survive…damn them…I will.

   

        It was an Indian summer and the summer I turned sixteen. It was hot but not too hot and just sunny enough to get the last good tan of the season. So I would spend the day at the pool with a friend of mine who was a cheerleader at my high school. She was gregarious and pretty, more outgoing than me and more womanly in her ways. She had the gift of gab and could engage anyone at anytime and I found myself irresistibly drawn to her liberal attitudes. All of which were outrageous and outlandish and concerning everything from partying to politics, she was wild and dare I say... easy. But more importantly, she was fun and everything I wasn't.

       I was a shy teenager, quiet and generous in nature, an ‘A’ student and a good girl but uncomfortable in my own skin. It was an understatement to say I felt uneasy in the limelight. My usual circle of friends were equally as quiet and non-threatening. We all did our best to 'blend in' and go unnoticed and that worked well for me up until that summer, for I had over the course of a few months, sprouted with great vigor, some very important woman parts. Parts which gave me points of envy amongst some of the girls in my class and points of interest to some of the boys, boys who had made dorky faces at me in the hall the semester before school let out. Suddenly I found myself at odds with my old friends and felt out of place where I had once felt comfortable. Without warning, I had somehow become... popular. This gave me an avenue into a new crowd of kids, some of them cheerleaders and football players. All wily in their ways and I suppose I was conspicuously out of place and I knew it. I did however, do my best to hide it, though I expect not very well.

       Normally the pool would have been closed by that point in the season. But the subdivision manager had left it open longer than usual to accommodate the neighborhood kids, as it had been warmer than it would ordinarily have been at that time of the year. So my friend and I spent the day tanning and preparing to do something we shouldn't do, for we were planning to attend a neighborhood party later that night. In turn I was planning to do something I had never done before. I planned to lie to my mother and tell her I would be going to the skating rink with my friend and that her mother would be bringing me home later that night. Her mother was younger and more open minded than my mother and she was single to boot. All that meant was that my friend didn't have to lie to get to the party like I did. She had permission to attend. Permission my own mother, would never have granted.

       As we tanned, we spoke with great excitement about our coming escapade for I couldn't wait to go to the party. It seemed so daring and out of character for me. You see, my mother was a weekend alcoholic and I suppose I was silently but enormously angry with her for my screwed up existence and I wanted to do something rebellious and in your face, just once, and boy would I do it, though in the end my rebellion would cost me dearly.

       My father was an over-the-road truck driver whom I loved greatly. He was the only stabilizing influence in my life but he would die suddenly that same year. I miss him still. Though loving, my father was not a powerful man and did little if anything to control my mother's miserable addiction and the chaos and grief such caused my bother and I. It seemed he only came home on weekends to fight with my mother and I just wanted to escape it all, at least for a little while and that may be why I found myself following my friend where I knew, she shouldn't lead.

       The pool was closing and the sun was blazing but setting quickly for it was getting late in the day and the air was hot and sticky all around. But to my relief, about that time, the wind picked up and swept some of the weight out of the air, thus providing some relief for my sunburned skin and the only comfort the memory of that day can offer... for what was to happen later that night was nothing short of brutal and will haunt me my entire life.

       As we left the pool I realized that I had left my tennis shoes underneath one of the lounge chairs.  But by the time we noticed them it was too late, the manager had already locked up. We tried to reach them through the fence but couldn't, so my friend offered me her flip flops to wear back to her house. Unfortunately they provided more flip than flop and I finally opted to make the trip bare foot. As a result I cut my heel on a piece of glass. That cut would pain me the entire night but in the end, it would prove the least of my pain.

       I was a cute girl with long legs and waist length blonde hair and thanks to my Indian grandmother, I tanned easily. I had full lips, green eyes and high cheek bones. I was a size six. All this meant was it made me easy and fun to dress, like a Barbie doll. So my friend opened up her closet and we rummaged through its contents and finally chose a pair of cut off jeans and a skimpy halter top for me to wear to the party that night. She would wear something similar and equally scanty. We admired ourselves in her mirrored wall and were satisfied with our choices and felt very grown up in our somewhat slutty attire.

       I however, was very busty and found myself more than a little uncomfortable in the top she had lent me. Still I would wear it, though I knew I shouldn’t. What the hell, I was already breaking the rules. Besides my friend knew more about these things than I did. And she was doing her best to make me over in her vision of the ‘all American girl’, which was by her own admittance, a little trashy.  Finally, we took the extra time to paint our faces and nails hoping to give the impression that we were, of course, older and more sophisticated than we actually were.

       At around eight that night we made our way to the party.  As we approached the street we noticed it was lined with motorcycles, trikes and beat up pick-up trucks, some with motorcycles already in the back of them. This should have been a clue as to what kind of party this was going to be-but what did I know, I was just a kid playing dress up that night.

       When we entered the party I was instantly struck with the realization that we didn't belong there. My friend however, seemed oblivious to the fact. She was in her element, a wild, unruly and outgoing crowd on which she could feed. I was mortified when I realized that the party was mostly men and nearly all of them older and rougher in appearance than I had ever seen before. Whether my friend actually understood what we were walking into or not, I don’t know.

        Most of the men were in motorcycle gear. Decked out from head to toe in leather and covered in tattoos. Some were positively filthy with what appeared a months worth of grime under their fingernails. I was also taken by their language, which was equally as filthy as the rest of them.  These were, without a doubt, hard core bikers and really nasty ones. What I didn't understand then was that these men belongs to an outlaw biker gang. The ages of the men are still a little fuzzy to me but I am fairly certain that only a few were anywhere near eighteen. Most were in their twenties and thirties some were even older than that. I was clearly unprepared socially and otherwise to deal with what was to come.

  The mob kept growing and the noise was getting worse and worse. My friend told me that she’d heard that the police had already been called once and that the host had been told that if they had to return they would shut the party down and people would go to jail. Whether or not that was true, again I don’t know but considering the noise and mayhem I would certainly say it was possible if not likely.

      As I said before, from the moment we passed through the door I knew we should turn around and leave but instead I found a corner in which to hide while my friend worked the room. Unfortunately, the clothing I was wearing made hiding difficult to do and in no time at all, I wished I hadn't worn it. To make matter worse, my friend kept bringing men to meet me. I felt hot and uncomfortable and wanted to run but my feet wouldn't let me. It was as if they were nailed to the floor.

       Though the hour was early most of the bikers and punks were already drunk or high and the air was thick with smoke from the obviously buzzed and unending chain of pot smokers. It was so heavy in fact; that the pot seemed to be choking out the oxygen in the air, making it difficult to breath. Pills that I could not identify kept passing from hand to hand and nearly no one was sober and it was not even completely dark yet. It would only get worse with time.

       In total I think there were perhaps thirty or forty men and maybe only fifteen women. We were clearly the only 'girls' at the party. At least everyone else seemed above eighteen anyway.  Most of the women were wearing, what I now know to be, property patches. But at that time I had no idea what they were. That of course garnered them some protection from the unruly and doped up crowd of men. I would like to say lucky them, but from the looks of some of them, they were no doubt abused daily.

       It was apparent to me that the make-up trick had worked for the men seemed not to know that we were so young, or perhaps should I say more than likely, they simply didn't care. Whatever the case, I knew from the constant 'come ons' and unwanted advances that we were in big trouble in little China. I simply did what I could to avoid the onslaught and kept to myself, at least as much as possible considering the crowd that had gathered around me. I was becoming alarmed as the men were growing more and more aggressive. They couldn’t seem to keep their hands to themselves and I felt like a diver being circled by sharks and worse my young age was like blood in the water to these men. It was clear to me that the feeding frenzy was about to begin.

       The only light in this mess was that I recognized one of the party goers as a neighbor of mine. He lived across the street from me and I knew him fairly well. So I spent most of my time hiding behind him and he did what he could to protect me. Several offers were made for me to partake of the refreshments and the men. I rebuffed all of them and stuck to soda pop until I noticed something floating on top of my drink. I think it was a pill of some sort. My neighbor fended off the men as best he could and finally told me I should think about leaving because he didn't think it was safe for me to be there. Clearly he was right so I agreed. Though it was not yet nine thirty, I did the math and opted to take his advice and leave. I asked my friend to leave as well. But she wanted to stay, so I asked my neighbor if he would see to it that my friend got out safely and he agreed to see her home.

       I handed my friend her flip flops and told her my mother would be missing me. Which was a lie, for she would have spent the day drinking at the beach with her friends and would already be potted and it wasn’t yet 9:30, I then, headed for the door. My neighbor followed me as I stepped out on the porch. Off to my right were three men, all older than me and obviously high and drunk. One of them grabbed me as I passed and began to openly grope me. I began to panic and tried to pull away but the others were helping to hold me in place as he tried to take off my top. My neighbor intervened and told the offending man to stop what he was doing. He then told them that I was a friend of his.

       The lead groper asked if I belonged to my neighbor who replied, "No she's not mine but let her go anyway." They ignored him and voices were raised and angry words were exchanged until finally someone from inside heard the commotion and came out to see what was going on.

       He said commandingly, "No, not here, let her go. We can't afford the attention right now." 

        I had no idea at the time, who the man was, that gave the order. But he seemed to have some power over the others. I would later learn he had been in charge that night and I would come to know him by name and so much more but mostly by his violent nature and want for revenge.

       Finally and to my relief I was able to pull away though they didn't make it easy for me. I smiled awkwardly at my neighbor and thanked him then headed quickly down the walkway, away from the filthy, groping monsters and toward what I hoped was my escape. Unfortunately, the neighborhood was new and still under construction and that was probably the only reason a party that rough could even have existed. In fact, the house the party was being hosted in was the only completed house on the block and was positioned at the center of a cul-de-sac. The neighborhood was poorly lit and wide open. It was the perfect place for a drunken party not to mention, the perfect place for a violent and bloody crime. 

       There were two ways available to me to get out of the neighborhood. One was to take the side streets and walk all the way around toward the main drag. The other was to take the field that lay in front of me. I had told my mother I would try to be home by 10:00 P.M. If I hurried I would just make that deadline. But I suddenly felt anxious and couldn't explain why. I suppose looking back it must have been karma. So I stood barefoot with my cut heel at the edge of the field for a few anxious moments. I was trying to decide what to do. Something about that field felt wrong. No…everything about that field felt wrong. A voice deep inside of me said, 'take the side streets.' But I didn't. I ignored the voice, as well as my instincts and made a prophetic choice. I placed one foot in front of the other and entered the blackened field. In short, with those steps my fate was sealed and I had entered the spider web in which I would be forever trapped.

       The field was huge and over grown but would allow me to take a short cut to the main road which would save me a few blocks and a few minutes of travel time. At least that's what I thought it would do. So as I walked I did so briskly feeling strangely uneasy the entire way. It was humid and still quite warm and I was already moist from head to toe. Perhaps it was the brisk walking or the nerve wracking events of the evening. Whatever it was I would keep moving.

        I was only about thirty feet into the field when I suddenly became aware of a presence at my back. I turned to look and was immediately alarmed by the fact that it was them...the men who had groped me at the edge of the porch. I knew instantly that I was in danger and began to walk faster. The men kept pace with me as I did. When I increased my speed, they increased their speed. As I slowed up, they slowed up. They matched my every move. I was panic stricken. All at once I felt queasy, light headed, and almost faint. I wanted to sit down but dare not. I willed myself to keep moving but my knees were growing weaker with every step.

      Still, I told myself, “Just keep moving, it will be OK.”  But of course….it wouldn’t.

      As I walked I would look over my shoulder from time to time trying to keep track of them but the further we got into the field the harder it became to find them in the darkness with their black leather jackets and Levis. I finally realized they were waiting for something…but what. What I didn't know, was they were waiting for me to reach the center of the field. From that distance the party they had planned would go unnoticed as well as any screams that might otherwise be heard from the street. I was about to become a victim and to my horror…I knew it.

        As I reached the center of the field one of them called out to me. They wanted to distract me so I would take my eyes off of them and what they were about to do. So, one of them asked me for the time. A bit of subterfuge -and it worked, for I looked down at my watch even though I knew better of it. Suddenly, I saw a flash of white and was flat on my back in the field. I was stunned for a moment but collected my wits as quickly as I could and then scurried to get away. As I did, one of them grabbed me by my foot hurting my cut heel. I screamed and with both hands he twisted hard, very hard. I flipped over to avoid the pain which shot up my leg and into my gut. I felt sick and began to fight and fight hard, I was frantic like a wild animal trapped in a net. I saw stars and felt the breath leave me in waves. I thought I would pass out but I didn’t. Though it might have been better if I had.

       Clearly I was outnumbered and it was no use to fight, but mere survival instinct would not allow me to do otherwise. But in the end, my resisting would do little but increase their sadistic fun. In no more than an instant, all four of them were upon me smiling and laughing like ghouls. Two of them leaned in and trapped my arms at my ribcage while the third held a knife at my throat. One man held my feet. Escape… no longer an option.

      I noticed right away that one of my attackers was the man who had been at the door, the man who had said, “Not here.” He had obviously had time to think about it and thought the field was a suitable place for the assault. I realized that it must have been planned.

     Bastard that he was, he along with the help of the others, began to remove my clothing, roughly. I tried all I could to prevent them from doing so but it was a team effort and it was obvious even in my panicked state that it was useless to resist. Still, I tcontinued to fight back but as I did they would increase my suffering with torturous tactics such as twisting my joints, and bending my knees and elbows the wrong way and applying pressure where it hurt. They convinced me quickly, by means of pain, not to resist. There was also a lot of slapping, finger bending and hair pulling until finally they had completely subdued me.  It was no matter anyway, by that point the adrenaline had me spent and shaking. Besides they were better than six hundred pounds of monster and I was just a sliver of a girl, no more than a hundred pounds, soaking wet. So in no time at all, the fight was gone from me.

       When they felt confident that I would cooperate the lead man stood up and began to unbuckle his belt buckle and then he ordered me to continue undressing. I was still in my panties but I was frozen in fear and just lay there still as a stone. One of them hit me several more times but still I couldn’t move. Finally the lead man forced the issue and I was completely disrobed. I was struck by the fact that it was hot and they insisted on leaving their jackets on though they were sweating like whores on dollar day. I guess they needed to feel the power of the club they belonged to.  I expect without it they were really nothing at all, at least not  my vision of real men anyway.

      The man who stood at my feet raped me first.  I remember reaching out toward the lights of the cars on the road. I could see them through the grass and wanted to draw them in to save me but no one noticed what was happening. No one heard my cries or saw my tears and I was helpless, the situation hopeless, And in that horrible, painful moment I understood that I was truly alone. And worse in the hands of bunch of twisted, sick, sadistic bikers, I was about to become just another female outlaw victim. I was nothing to them but utilitarian in nature. I was amusement, entertainment, I was a broad, a number, a set of wings and a statistic, but a statistic that at least one of them would in the end… live to regret.

       The initial brutality of my rapist’s actions was excruciating and not very fruitful as I was a virgin. No matter, he was a tenacious bastard so he would flip me over and go in the back way. There would be a lot of that. They would try and fail then try again and fail again. But in the end they would hack away at me until they found a way in and by the time they did, I was in agony inside and out. To make matters worse, we were all completely covered in blood…my blood...and things more despicable than that, though they didn’t seem to mind.

       They finally developed a pattern of raping that each man followed starting at one end and ending at the other until finally, I had all three of them in me at once. I cried and screamed, fought and spit. I threw up three times and each time they would slap me, torture me and then drag me to new spot and begin again.  I cursed and damned them and finally turned to begging for mercy. But they felt nothing for me or my pain.

       They were wicked, all three, smelly, vile and vicious and they had robbed me of my innocence and virginity. Never mind that I wanted to give it up on my wedding night or even in the backseat of a car in a fit of passion with a teenage boy. They had relieved me of that hope, that dream violently and without mercy and as if it were their narcissistic entitlement to do so. I hated them all, with every fiber of my being and to this very day… God help me… I still do.

       I will spare you most of the mind and body shit that they did to me because it is just too disgusting and graphic even to tell to the open air. Sometimes I can’t even get my mouth to form the words to describe their actions that night. But it was clear to me, even at that young age, that it was more about humiliation, degradation and subjugation than it was about sex. In fact, the sex was the least of it. And as a virgin I didn’t even understand what was happening to me or why they were doing what they were doing. I only knew that I was being humiliated and tortured in body and spirit.

       I can tell you now that I have come to believe that I was, for one of the men in the field that night, part of an initiation process. He was the youngest of the four and wore a vest instead of a jacket. He was obviously not a full patch member of the gang and his vest read either probate or prospect on the top rocker. It was clear to me that he was not tripping as much on the violence as the other three for he often pretended to do what the others had done with ease. And he was clearly having trouble ‘keeping it up’, though it retrospect, it was  obvious that he wanted very much to please them.

      Oh, now before you go feeling sorry for him I will tell you that he was the one who held the knife at my throat while whispering twisted shit in my ear as the first man raped me. He also held my head in place, forcing me to look him in the eyes as he did so, telling me I was a whore and a cunt and they wanted to see the pain on my face. He told me they were only giving me what I’d come to the party looking for and I should be grateful to them. So needless to say he was responsible for his share of my suffering and got off a time or two in the process. He was just a monster in training and I was no more than felonious commitment and a few sets of wings he would later claim at my expense. But worse as dehumanizing as it sounds, I was a teaching tool. And they would actually stop raping me from time to time just long enough to show him how to torture me. They wanted him to understand how to force victim cooperation. I have no doubt that today, he too is an expert at his craft.

       The assault on my body and spirit was unrelenting. Once twice even three times was not enough for these bastards and the alcohol and drugs made everything slower and by the time they had finished with me I was in such anguish that I was beyond crying or screaming. In fact I had nearly lost my voice and blood was pouring from every orifice on my body.

       Then one of them made a mistake, for with the final act of degradation I got some clues that I was later able to use to my benefit. With me on my knees one held me in front by my shoulders as one rapist bastard entered me from behind. This was about the sixth invasion that way and the pain by this point was overwhelming and I was willing to risk further injury to end it. So I tried to bite him through his jeans and he growled, “Railroad hit her! This fucking cunt is biting me god damn it!” He reached down and grabbed me by my hair and yanked up my head hurting my neck. As he did the asshole behind me popped out and was angry with Railroad for he was in the midst of it - and he had been short changed by his actions. Railroad reached down and hit me in the mouth. My blood spurted everywhere. And with that last act of violence… at least the raping part, thank God... was over.

       The lead man asked the prospect or probate whose orgasm was interrupted if he wanted to try again and he said no it was too late. So they all three stood up and began adjusting their jackets and pulled up their Levis. Then they buckled their Harley Davidson belt buckles. I watched with equal relief and disbelief as they casually wiped my blood from around their mouths and off their tattoos. Then when he’d finished dressing, the lead man held the back of his hand to my face and told me with venom in his voice to lick the blood from his club tattoo. He said I was showing disrespect to his club by leaving my blood on it. I did as he demanded and with that they were done. At least I thought they were.

       However, I couldn’t stop crying and was so hoarse I could barely make any sound at all but still, it was enough to annoy them. They were aggitated as they were coming down of their high. Which I knew couldn't be good for me. Finally they began discussing my fate. There was talk of taking me back to share with the rest of the club or of just disposing of me. The lead rapist said that he could keep me for awhile and then give me to someone else. Considering the conversation being had, I don’t know why I didn’t immediately get up and run but the entire event seemed surreal to me. It was as if it was an out of body experience and I simply couldn’t wrap my head around the amount of mind numbing torture and unmitigated violence that had just been used on me in that field. It been years and sometimes I still can’t. So I just laid there and waited for them to either kill me or to begin again.

       Next they began to talk quietly for a few moments and then suddenly all four men began a campaign of terrorizing that went on for about twenty minutes. They twisted, and slapped and then pulled my hair several more times and threatened to kill me and my entire family if ever I told who did this to me. They also said, that though I wouldn’t see them, someone would be following me home and checking on me everyday and considering the felonious, violent nature of what they’d just done…without a doubt, I believed them.

       Finally, put out by my crying one of the men reached down and slapped me again and then Railroad whipped it out and pissed on me and spit in my hair. A final insult for sure. Then, he told me harshly to get dressed and I did-quickly. Why they decided to let me go I still don’t know. Perhaps the logistics of getting me back in my hysterical and injured condition was just more than they wanted to risk. After all, they would have had to take me back on the open roads to get me there and in doing so they would have been visible and they might have been detected, especially if the police were already leery of their presence.

       Next the two older men began slapping the younger man on the back congratulating him. Celebrating the joys of relieving me of my innocence and the vulgar way in which it had been done. There was some more light hearted discussion about the violating and humiliating acts performed on me for the benefit of earning his wings and how difficult it was to get me to ‘give it up’. Then they casually walked away as if they had just played a friendly game of pool . Clearly it was for them a festive occasion completely void of regret or remorse, there was no detectable human element there at all . And I couldn’t come to grips with their total lack of feeling for what they had just done to me. It was as if they had, for more than four hours, raped and tortured a rubber doll. It’s an understatement to say that they were completely unmoved by my suffering. It was at that very moment that I realized; to these men… a woman’s worth was less than nothing. I was consumed with sorrow for what I’d just lost and could never recover, it was brutal, shocking and spirit robing but at least... it was over. Sill, the pain and fear eclipsed those realizations and I was then struck by the injustice of the situation. How was it, that in that moment it was for them… over? When for me….it never could be.

       As I hurried from the field limping and dripping blood with each step I kept looking back over my shoulder for them. I feared they’d change their minds and come for me and unfortunately, I had to cross a creek to get to the road way. As I approached it, I to my horror, heard them at my back again.  So with my heart pounding so hard I thought it would explode, I hurried and made my way to the other side. But my god I couldn't believe it... they kept coming. I ran out into traffic without even looking trying to avoid their catching me but as I reached the other side of the street I looked back to see that they had stopped at the edge of the field and began to argue. Then suddenly the the arguement ended. It appeared they'd reached an agreement and simply watched me go. I ran, as best I could for about a block and a half until I reached a gas station at the end of  the block. I went into the bathroom and began the grim task of cleaning the blood from my tortured body. I looked in the mirror to survey the damage and knew it would be impossible to hide it all, particularly my lip which was split down the middle. Most of the bruises could however be hidden beneath clothing. They were careful to use painful tactics that didn’t leave a lot of marks. It was clear they were experienced if not prolific torturers.

       As I cleaned up I heard a horrifying sound. For suddenly the stifling night air was thick with the sound of motorcycles and rattling pick up trucks circling the area. I heard some not a stones throw away from the gas station that I was hold up in. I went over the available options in my head and surmised quickly... I had none, so I huddled down beside the toilet, with the door locked and held my breath. I hid my face in my hands and sobbed quietly. My tears stinging as they poured over my skinned kness then finally pooling on the filthy floor beneath me.  I listened so terrifed as they circled round and round, no doubt searching for me. The stupid bastards must have rethought their decision to let me go and decided it best to collect me. I hoped it wasn’t to kill me or to turn me out to the rest of the club. I felt certain that I couldn’t have survived any further torture or blood letting that night.

       I at first thought, or should I say hoped, that perhaps the party had just let out. But that seemed unlikely as it was too early for a party that rough and that wild to be over. That deduction and the sound of them coming and going over and over drove home the fact that I was prey and they were searching for me.  I moured quietly in that filthy bathroom for over an hour, surrounded by the pungent odor of months of built up urine and even feces on the floor. I had begun to shake violently from head to toe and felt sick. I threw up twice more and then became overwhelmingly sleepy and wanted to leave for home but knew full well, I was still in danger. I needed to stay put. So I waited and waited for the sound of the motorcycles to end.

       After what seemed like an eternity, they gave up and the noise stopped. I waited another thirty minutes then finally felt the situation was secure enough to leave the bathroom and headed for home. As I did, I looked anxiously over my shoulder the entire way. I kept expecting them to pounce on me at any time. I ducked in and out of side yards trying to avoid the sidewalks and front yards. I was hypersensitive to every sound and every time a dog barked I jumped a foot and feared it would give me away. But somehow I made it home safe and undetected, though in all honestly, I would never feel safe again.

       I made it through the door without my mother so much as rolling over. She had left the front door unlocked for me. She was of course in a drunken sleep and was unaware as to whether I was home yet or not. Let alone the condition I came home in. I felt sullied and crept quietly into the bathroom and showered four times. I couldn’t seem to get their stench off of me or out of me. I cleaned away the evidence of what I, pitifully, saw as the result of my rebellion and lies. I then washed my bloody clothes and cried quietly as I watched my blood circling the drain. It had been a horrific price to pay for a naive, teenage walk on the wild side.

       The next day it was still warmer than usual. Still I covered myself from head to toe and concocted a story about falling into the wall at the skating rink. That was the only way I could explain the bruises on my face and my cut lip. Sadly, but predictably my mother bought it. Her motherly instincts should have told her something was terribly wrong but years of alcohol abuse had numbed her senses and she simply couldn’t puzzle it out. She later told my father when my behavior changed that I must have boy troubles. She had no idea it was monster troubles. My father however knew something was wrong and tried many times to reach me and to unravel what it was that was eating me up inside. Unfortunately, he would be dead within a year. So in the end I was grateful I had spared him the horror of the field and the pain it no doubt, would have caused him.

       Almost immediately my grades plummeted, I had gone from being and ‘A’ student to having trouble with my studies. I became reclusive and stayed in my room as often as possible. I couldn’t eat and couldn’t sleep I reacted to every ordinary noise with extraordinary concern. I became filled with panic whenever I heard an approaching motorcycle or pick-up truck. I could no longer stand the sound or smell of leather. My heart pounded whenever I heard the jingling sound of a belt buckle. I hated and fear literally everything.

       I was alone in my suffering and was silently caving under the weight of it. But one day I would get some help from an unlikely and unwitting source, my neighbor Tom…

       I had walked around for four weeks a staggering mess. The secret, too powerful, was consuming me and I simply couldn’t take it anymore. I suppose it was inevitable that I would crack and crack I did. I had to or I couldn’t have survived. Well, it just so happened that I ran into my neighbor Tom one day. He was the one who had protected me at the party. Now Tom was a wily one himself and was well known for his antics as a neighborhood trouble maker. Clearly Tom had a problem with his temper and authority figures. I suspose it could be said that he had a personality disorder. He handled all his problems with violence and therefore always seemed to be scrapping with some guy. Still, I never once saw him be in anyway disrespectful to women. He liked them and they seemed to like him as well.

       Now Tom had a noisy motorcycle that my father absolutely hated and he was clearly a club wanna be. It also seemed that he was constantly getting into trouble with the law. You see, he was a petty thief and small time drug dealer and often, a user as well. It was as if he had an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other and it was no secret to anyone that the battles he fought were more than often inside of himself.

        Well, as it happened I wound up with him at an ice cream parlor down the street. He innocently  but sarcasticly asked me how I had liked the party. I began to cry hysterically and he was more than confused and very concerned. He continued to dig until he uncovered the truth. I couldn’t even look him in the eye as I told him what had happened to me. It was still too raw and humiliating for me to recount. He was instantly furious and said he knew he should have walked me home that night. Then he unwittingly did me a great service, for in the middle of his ranting he gave me…a name. He said, “I knew that bastard Drake was up to something when he left with the others saying he was going for a walk to check for cops.” I quickly went into the ‘Carpe Diem’ mode, and asked him for a last name but he instantly became suspicious and clammed up. Tom was a hot head but not a fool and he was in no way a snitch. He’d hung around with the bikers long enough to know better than that shit. Still I next asked if he knew the names of the others that had raped me? He said no, though I’m confident that he did. He asked me if I wanted him to kick Drake's ass for me. But ass kicking was small potatoes. I wanted real justice and that meant nothing less than lengthy.... painful.... incarceration.J

       Well, the monsters had made a fatal mistake. They had underestimated the amount of wrath I would feel after the shock and fear wore off. They had let the little pricks do the thinking for the big pricks and they were about to pay for it. Now I knew I could never do anything  physically to hurt them. After all, I was only sixteen and out gunned in that department. Besides I wasn’t made that way. But I was vengeful and tenacious and I would see to it that they paid one way or the other.

       So after some careful calculations and pontification, I went down to my local laundromat and made an anonymous phone call or two. For when I was at the party I had over heard two of the bikers speaking in hushed voices about drugs that they were selling to the host. Using that knowledge I began a little gum shoe work and began poking around in the neighborhood and at school until I learned that the house the party had been held at was well known to the local teenagers as a source for drugs. Bingo

       Apparently, the houses in that subdivision were leased with an option to buy. The party house and some of the other houses in the neighborhood were rented by one source and lived in by another. I later leaned from a cop, that it was believed that some big time dealers were using the rent with an option to buy houses, to house some small time drug dealers. The smaller dealers were using the bikers as a source for the drugs that were then distributed to the local teenage runaways to sell to the high school kids who lived in the area. I am only speculating here, but the bikers that night might have been coming through on a drug run. If not, it could have simply been an initiation party. I don’t really know. And much of information I just gave you was the accumulation of many contacts and of many years of personal research.

       Initially I didn’t tell Tom that I had made the phone call. In fact, it was months later when I did and I only did then because I was afraid he would be caught up in the aftermath of my handy work. I was right to be concerned about telling him because he was  more than furious when he found out what I’d done. He hadn’t been caught up in it but a few of his friends had been and so had…  the bastard Drake. J 

       In the end, motorcycle riding, drug dealing, woman beating Drake got a long vacation from beating and raping teenage girls in fields. He spent at least six years in the pen. for his antics. I never knew what happened to the prospect and his fellow rapists but I have never stopped looking for them and never will.  

       A few years later I was told by a cop friend of mine that Tom had committed suicide in that very creek that I had to cross to get to the roadway. He said he had shot himself twice in the head. The friend I went to the party with did make it home safely that night and probably thanks to Tom who also, though he didn't realize it, prevented my being turned out to the entire club. He was a bad boy but a good man in the end. I have no idea what led up to his death but I wish him peace wherever his is. My friend, I heard years later, was killed in a car accident and I never told her about what happened to me that night and I never hung around with her again. However I did later buy her a new shirt because I couldn’t get the blood stains out of the one that she had lent me.

   There is hope:

       Now my greatest hope is that this story reaches those of you who are suffering as I did and looking for help and support. I want you to know that there is help out there. There is hope and light beyond the darkness I promise you that. You just have to look beyond the pain and anger and you will find it and I will include some links here to help you. http://centers.rainn.org/  http://www.voices-action.org/  http://www.rapecrisis.com/

        I went on to find love and success and much joy in my life. That’s not to say that there weren’t and still aren’t difficult days ahead. I take each day as it comes and ring as much good out of it as I can. But what happened to me in that field does not define me. It never will. I chose to go on and to have a meaningful life because I, (and that is the key word here), I chose to and I refuse to surrender any more of me to those bastards, than they have already stolen.  

       So remember there is strength in number and we are many. We are survivors sometimes tough and gritty sometimes weak and mournful but always... always we need to be united in our quest to live, love, survive and prosper. Just remember to believe in yourself and the sisterhood. You can do it, I know you can. All you have to do…. is just choose to.

          

      

       

      

      

      

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