Doing Rachel

I lost my virginity last month, at age sixteen. I also lost my life, and my future. It happened like this:

I was always the new kid at school, because my dad's job required that we move a lot. It was mid-October when we moved to Smithville, and the school year had already started. My natural shyness didn't help me any when it came to making friends. But one girl was nice to me: Rachel.

Even if she hadn't brightened up my life by actually saying "hello" to me each day in English class, I still would have been smitten by her beauty. Fair hair, creamy skin, blue eyes, a body that heated my dreams - she was a goddess. Of course I could never dare to speak to her, not a mere mortal like me. Whenever she spoke to me I would look away to hide the blush that I knew burned furiously across my face. Nevertheless she remained friendly, and my awareness of her presence in the desk behind me dominated my consciousness, condemning me to remain forever unaware of the niceties of proper usage of the comma, semicolon, and assorted other punctuation symbols that I was supposed to be learning about in that class.

I could never look upon her divinity when she was close enough that she might notice me looking, but I watched her avidly from afar. I thought of her constantly. When I was at home, alone, I tried to draw pictures of her, then tore them up when they necessarily failed to live up to my visions. She was an angel, distant and untouchable, a being of unspeakable purity and goodness. The only times I deliberately banished her from my thoughts were those times when I masturbated, as it would have been darkest blasphemy to have sullied my mental image of her with such filth.

Then I started to hear things about her.

She was no angel, I heard. Not that anyone would discuss such things with me, but I couldn't help overhearing what the other guys talked about at the lunch table, where my presence was tolerated at the edge of the group as long as I kept my mouth shut. She was no angel at all, according to what I heard, but rather a whore, a slut, an easy lay. The guys would watch her as she walked across the room or sat and ate with other girls, and they would talk about her.

One guy told about how she had sucked his cock one day when he was at her house on some unspecified errand. Another said that that was nothing, he had danced with her one time at a party and ended up fucking her in an empty bedroom. Another reminded the group that he had gone steady with her when they were in ninth grade, and told of how she used to give him handjobs every time they went to the movies together, and how he had been the first guy she had ever fucked.

After I heard that, I didn't bother trying to keep her out of my mind when I jerked off. In fact, as I imagined myself doing all of those naughty things with her, she became my constant companion in orgasmic bliss every night before I went to sleep, and every morning as I showered before school.

I still couldn't talk to her. Merely the sight of her within any normal speaking distance was enough to turn my brain to oatmeal and my tongue into a dry luffa sponge. I suppose she thought me odd, but there was nothing I could do about it. I was just too damn shy.

Then came the party.

Not that I would ever be invited to any social gathering of my peers. No, my presence at the party was entirely accidental - my mother had to attend a meeting and couldn't pick me up after school, so I had to walk home with the son of one of her co-workers who lived near the school, to be picked up later in the evening after the meeting was over. The boy was a senior, someone I'd never met. I guess he tried to be nice to me, asking me what classes I had and so forth, but my inability to make any sort of coherent response effectively stifled his attempts at conversation.

The phone rang while we were watching TV, and from what I heard of his side of the conversation I figured out that he was being invited to some kind of get-together. After he'd hung up the phone he stood looking at me for a moment, then shrugged. He told me that he couldn't leave me there at his house by myself, so I would have to come with him to the party. I shrugged back and went along with him out to where his Camaro was parked, got in and away we went.

The party was in a basement at a house where someone's parents were away. I never knew whose house it was, or why they were having a party, if indeed there was any particular reason for it. The kids there were all drinking red punch that had been mixed up in an empty trashcan. The guy who took me to the party handed me a cup full of the stuff and warned me that it "had a kick", then he ditched me and I was there alone in the middle of the crowd, sipping tepid red liquid out of a plastic cup. I guessed that there was some kind of alcohol in it, but it tasted to me just like Fruit Juicy Red Hawaiian Punch, so I figured it must be pretty weak stuff.

I didn't have anything else to do, so I just stood there and drank my cup of punch, then helped myself to another cupful and went to lean against the wall out of the way of the crowd. My face started to feel warm, but I attributed it to the crowded conditions and kept on sipping my punch. The room seemed to tilt when I stepped away from the wall to go and get a second refill, and I bumped into a couple of people as I made my way back to the trashcan and filled my cup.

Someone put a hand on my arm, and I was incredibly surprised to hear my name. "Davy?" I looked up, and there she was, right there next to me, actually touching me with her hand. Rachel.

I reflexively started to turn away, but I was having a little trouble orienting myself, and after I got my balance again I was still facing toward her.

"Umm, hi, Rachel." I'd done it! I'd actually spoken to her, right there, face to face! I exulted inwardly, feeling my whole being flooded with energy and power.

"God, I'm so, so, so glad to see someone I know!" she gushed. She was happy to see me? Me?

"Umm, hi," I said again, with ineffable wit and style.

I could see that she had already had some of the punch - there were bright spots of it dotting the front of her white sweater, right across her - her - her breasts? I was standing there like a fool, staring down at her luscious, softly rounded tits, at the red dots of spilled punch, and I suddenly felt like I had a brick where my stomach was supposed to be. I tried to draw a breath, to apologize, but I was tongue-tied again.

She didn't even notice.

"Gosh, isn't this punch delicious?" she said. "I think I spilled some of mine, can you help me get some more?"

I took her cup, accidentally dropping my own into the punch barrel in he process. I managed to fish it out and refill it at the same time, then scooped a cupful for Rachel and held out the cup for her. She reached to take it but caught hold of my wrist instead.

"Oops!" she giggled. "I missed!" We had a good laugh together over that, and she tried again and got hold of the cup, and I managed to let go of it without spilling too much.

Together we moved away from the trashcan and toward the wall where I had been standing earlier, but somehow we got turned and ended up at a couch instead. We turned and sat in unison, spilling a little bit more punch and having another good laugh.

I could not believe how relaxed I felt, yet at the same time electrified and charged with life. I was a fountain of scintillating conversation, pouring forth witticisms, bon mots, and wise proverbs. (I wish now that I could remember some of what I said then. I'm sure it was brilliant.) Rachel was captivated, hanging on my every word. We talked and talked for what seemed like hours, but for some reason I can't remember any of what she said to me, either.

"Sick," she said.

"What?" I didn't understand.

"Help me find the bathroom," she said. "I'm feeling kinda sick."

We got up and staggered together into a dark hallway, past groping couples, and somehow found the bathroom. I helped her toward the toilet, and she almost made it there before she lost it and a torrent of red erupted from her mouth. The stream of liquid splashed all over the toilet, some in the bowl, some on the seat, some spraying around onto the floor and onto me and onto her. I held her while she shook and heaved again, and then it seemed to be over.

"Pee," she said.

What?

"Gotta pee. You go." She gestured vaguely toward the open doorway.

Oh. She wanted me to close the door. I lunged over and slammed into the doorframe, then leaned against the wall while I reached out and got hold of the doorknob and closed the door. I turned back to look at Rachel and she was sitting on the toilet, her skirt hoisted up around her waist, her panties lying in a twist around one ankle, soaking up the red juice from the floor... and I could see her pussy. I'd never seen one before, never live and in person, and only a few times in rare glimpses in pictures in forbidden magazines. Her curly pussy hair was light-colored, which according to what I'd read would mean she was a natural blonde. I could just barely make out the lips, the opening of her cunt. God, I was looking at her cunt!

She finished peeing and tried to stand, looked up at me and got a strange expression on her face, a tight look as if she were trying to smile and not quite making it, a rictus of... what? What was she saying?

"Tony!" She was messing with her skirt, and stumbled toward me, right into my arms. Oh wow, she wanted to do it, she wanted to do it with me right here and now! I grabbed her and held her close and kissed her, not caring or even noticing anything except the feel of her warm, soft body against me.

"Tony!" She moved in my embrace and we fell together to the floor. I heard her gasp and was afraid I'd fallen with too much of my weight on her, but her arms were around me and I was lying on top of her and HER LEGS WERE SPREAD APART and I was lying right there BETWEEN HER THIGHS . I kissed her harder, not sure of what I was doing but only sure that this slut girl was about to be mine. She wriggled violently, rubbing her groin against mine, and I reached down and got myself unzipped and then my hard cock was there in my hand, the head of it was warm and wet and I realized that I had it in just the right place, positioned right at the opening to her pussy, and she moved against me and I suddenly knew what to do and I lunged and drove it into her.

How to describe that feeling as my prick drove deep into her body? Hot. Wet. Soft. Tight. Those are the words that come to mind, but they just don't do it justice. It was so incredible, so good, so amazingly awesomely fucking fantastic to be on her, holding her, my rock-hard cock driving in and out of her hot slippery cunt. I was fucking her! I was fucking Rachel! I was doing it! With her! With Rachel!

I was hardly aware of her except as a warm soft body under me, a warm soft body with a hot wet pussy into which I was thrusting myself over and over and over. She had to be liking it, she was crying out in ecstasy, she was twisting and wiggling and squirming in my arms. My mind drifted while my body moved of its own accord. I thought of how much she must love me, how she'd never again fuck anyone but me. I'd show those guys! This slut, this whore, this nympho girl was MINE ! Mine to fuck, screw, hump, mine to hold forever and ever. I could hardly wait for my first blowjob, I knew she'd be good, she had to be good, as much practice as she'd had, oh wow it would be great, to have my dick in her mouth, her sucking, licking, just the way she did in my mind when I was jerking off, and coming, coming in her mouth, OH GOD I WAS COMING , coming in her, coming in her pussy, pumping my jizz into her wetness, still thrusting, I could never stop thrusting, oh man it was so much more intense than anything I'd ever felt by myself, god, this was the WAY to COME , this was IT !

With the last spurt of my come into her belly, my thrusting motion stopped, without any conscious thought on my part. I rolled off of her, onto my back, lying there looking up at the ceiling above. I was drained, drained of energy, drained of come, drained of ambition to ever move again. But I had done it. I had fucked Rachel!

God, it was such an awesome feeling. I wasn't a virgin anymore; I was a man! I'd fucked the girl of my dreams, pumped her slut pussy full of my come... Uh-oh. My come, in her pussy. Uh-oh! What if she got pregnant? My rollercoaster of joy had gone over the top and now went crashing down down down the other side. Pregnant! No! Oh, wait, no, of course not, I told myself, emotions leveling off and climbing back toward the heights again. Of course a free-fucking slut like Rachel would be on the Pill - there was no way she could get pregnant! Problem solved, I grinned hugely and congratulated myself on a job well done. I struggled to sit up so that I could look at her and see how well she had liked my performance.

She was crying. She was a mess, hair awry, white sweater splashed with red, skirt up around her waist, more of that red punch dripping between her thighs, and her lovely face all pinched and anguished and wet with bitter tears as she sobbed.

"Why?" she asked, in a husky whisper. "Why?"

I sat, looking at her, puzzled. What was she talking about?

Her voice rose as she went on. "I was a VIRGIN , oh gawd, oh gawd, I was a VIRGIN and I was SAVING myself and you TOOK IT AWAY FROM ME ! oh GAWD , you TOOK IT , you RAPED ME , oh gawd, Tony, WHY ? WHY ? You RAPED ME !" she screamed. "You RAPED ME ! OH GAWD, WHY ?"

She was crying, sobbing, screaming and I couldn't figure out why. Hadn't she liked it?

The door crashed open as somebody kicked it in, and then the lights came on and people were flooding into the bathroom. The girls crowded around Rachel and the guys grabbed hold of me, and it seemed that there was some problem with my hearing as I could not make out any words in the tumult of shouting - or rather, I could make out only one word: "Rape! rumble-rumble-grumble-mumble Rape! brumba-grumba- mumba RAPE ! razza-frazza-brazza-grazza Rape! RAPE ! RAPE ! RAPE !" I realized then that my life as I'd known it was over.

They beat me up, of course. There were a couple of big football jocks who felt it necessary to vent their anger and show off their manliness by pounding the living shit out of me. I'd never felt such pain as when two of my ribs broke; at least, not until they broke my nose. That was worse. The last thing I remember was a blow to the side of my head that shot flaming hot stars all across my field of vision - then nothing.

I woke up in the hospital, where it soon became clear that everyone knew what had happened to put me there, and equally clear that they all hated me for it. I'm sure there must have been less painful ways that my wounds could have been cleaned, gentler ways that my bandages could have been changed. Nobody seemed interested in letting me find out, though.

I didn't know what to say to my parents when they came to visit, and they didn't know what to say to me. We had some really long silences. No one else even came to visit me. No one at all.

I guess I was lucky that I was only sixteen. There was no formal prosecution, only a referral to the juvenile office. A caseworker came to interview me while I was still in the hospital, and I spilled my guts. It was stupid, I guess, telling him everything like that, but he was the first person since it happened who actually wanted to talk to me and it all just came pouring out. If I was looking for sympathy or understanding, that was the wrong place to look for it. My confession only sealed my fate.

There was a court hearing the day I got out of the hospital, before I even had a chance to go home. I don't remember much of it, except that everyone there hated me. The caseworker gave a report to the judge, and the judge told me that I was a juvenile sex offender, a criminal, not fit to associate with decent people. He seemed to think that he was letting me off easy in sentencing me to a "juvenile treatment facility" for an indefinite term.

My story actually bought me some status at Oak Crest Home. I was a rapist, a violent criminal, a tough guy, and I was looked up to by the other guys who were there for habitual stealing or taking drugs or just being unable to coexist with their own parents. Some of the girls even seemed impressed by it, unlikely as that sounds.

One who didn't seem to be impressed was Natasha. She lived in the cottage next door to mine, and we were on the same meal shift. She was a beauty, with dark hair and darker eyes. She looked like an angel to me, but the guys in my cottage told me she was a real slut. None of them had actually been with her, but they knew two guys from another cottage who had done her together, one guy fucking her while she sucked the other guy's dick. I looked at her a little differently after I heard about that. Maybe she wasn't an angel. But maybe I should get to know her, anyway...

The End