My story is not a pretty one, it is a story of rape and a life that is now in ruins. I'll never be the woman I was three years ago.

Many men think that women actually enjoy being raped, and according to the stories here, will then turn into insatiable sluts, begging for more.

I can assure you that's not the case.

I was twenty-four years old at the time, and married to a wonderful man. My husband Trip came from a very wealthy and respected family, and was himself a rising star in his grandfather's law firm.

I really didn't need to work, but I enjoyed being a social worker. We'd planned to start a family soon, and I imagined that I'd stop working then to raise our children. 

I knew that I was very lucky.

I had been blessed with pretty good looks, long, almost white, blond hair and blue eyes.

Trip and I made a handsome pair, he was tall with dark brown hair and blue eyes as well.

We had a lovely home, financial security, and social standing.

I couldn't ask for more.

It was the day of my third wedding anniversary, a Friday.

I hummed to myself as I steered my BMW down the highway towards the city.

We lived in a very upper-middle class suburb, and the drive took me almost forty minutes each way.

I used that time to plan out my day's visits.

I worked with welfare mothers mostly, women who hadn't had all the advantages I had.

Most were black, and all of them had a bunch of kids they couldn't handle.

I went to my office first, and picked up my folders.

The first two visits were to clients I'd been working with for a while.

The third was to a new family.

I was only working a half-day that Friday, so I could go home early and get ready for the party Trip's parents were throwing us.

I hoped it wouldn't last too long, I wanted a romantic night with my husband.

He'd been so busy lately we hadn't had the chance to make love in almost two weeks.

My first two visits went smoothly, and then around ten o'clock I headed to the third.

I quickly scanned the initial report while stopped in mid-town traffic. This new client was named Jaliqua Bower, and she had eight children, ranging in age from a seventeen year old son to an infant daughter, and lived in the South Bronx.

Not a very nice neighborhood.

I was a little worried about my car, but if anything happened to it, Trip would buy me a new one.

I got to Jaliqua's house by eleven.

She lived in a housing project, on the eighteenth floor, in a five room apartment.

It was a disaster.

The second I walked in the house, the smell of sour milk and stale urine hit me like a brick.

I involuntarily gasped and waved my hand in front of my face. This didn't sit too well with Jaliqua, who glowered at me in the way that only a five foot tall black woman who weighed at least two hundred and fifty pounds can.

She grunted at me to come on in, and I walked into the living room.

Six kids ranging in age from about fourteen to two were crammed together on the couch, gazing blankly at the TV, which was turned up very high.

The baby was in a filthy playpen. I walked over to the baby, and gazed down in disgust.

Jaliqua stood next to me, and I turned to her. "Really, Mrs. Bower", I said.

"A month-old baby shouldn't be in a playpen like this.

It's filthy!

There's vomit all over the mattress and stuffed animals!

And look at your other children, their faces are dirty and it's only eleven - shouldn't some of them be in school?" Her face changed radically, from contempt to outright rage.

"WHATCHOO TAWKIN BOUT BITCH!", she bellowed right in my face.

"I TAKES GOOD CARE OF MY KIDS!

I DON' NEED NO HONKY BITCH CUMMEN HEYAH AND TELLIN' ME HOWS TO RAISE MY OWN KIDS!"

I cringed.

"Mrs. Bower - please.

I don't think there's any need for this! I'm sorry, but I'll have to recommend that we go to the family court for a parental competency hearing."

That was the wrong thing to say.

She turned, and bellowed at what I supposed was a bedroom door. "DeShawn!

GEDDOUT HEYAH!"

The door opened, and the biggest black man I have ever seen stepped out.

He had to be at least 6'6", and weighed around 300 lbs, and was blacker than the finish on Trip's new Porsche.

He wore only a pair of old, torn jeans, and a lot of gold chains on his muscular chest.

"Whut, mama?", he said.

I guessed that this was her oldest son.

"DIS HONKY BITCH HEYAH BE DISRESPECTIN' YO MAMA", Jaliqua shouted.

DeShawn came over and towered over me.

I began to tremble in fear.

This wasn't what was supposed to happen! Most of them were afraid of the social worker!

"Dis honky bitch heyah?", DeShawn said to his mother, staring at me.

"YEAH, DAT HONKY BITCH. 

YOU SEES ANY ODDER HONKIES IN DIS ROOM?

YOU GONNA LET DIS BITCH GEDAWAY WID' DAT?", stormed Jaliqua.

In response, DeShawn slowly shook his head and said "Ain' gonna let no bitch tawk to mah mama like dat' ", and then, before I knew it, I was seized up by this huge black man and carried into the bedroom. DeShawn threw me on a double bed that was littered with dirty sheets and clothes.

He shut the door behind him,

then stood there grinning at me.

"Ain' no white bitch gonna tawk to mah mama like dat'.

You tawk to mah mama like a bitch, den I's gonna treat you like de bitch you is".

Then, to my horror, he began to unzip his jeans, and his gigantic prong sprang out at me.  

He was simply enormous!

At least ten inches long, and horribly swollen, and jet back.

"Nooo ... please don't!" I pleaded as he stalked towards me, grinning a wide smile that showed all of his gold teeth.

"You can't do this to me! 

I'm a social worker!

I'll have to report this!"

He just laughed and with one enormous black paw, ripped my blouse clean off my body, followed by my lacy bra.

I screamed and tried to cover my chest with my arms, which just gave him the chance to tear off my skirt and panties.

I lay there naked, on a filthy bed, completely helpless. 

The noise from the television would drown out my screams for help, and even if someone heard them, likely no one would bother to report them.

Things like this happened every day, and no one called! "Mmmm-hmmm, you sho' is fine fo' a skinny white bitch", DeShawn muttered. "Kin see by dat ring you's mahied.

Ain' no matter, DeShawn gonna give you a fuckin' you ain' nevah gonna fergit. 

I's gonna show you whut it mean to be fucked by a real man, and I's gonna ruin you fer dat husband of yo's". DeShawn lay on top of me, and began to kiss me hotly with his thick lips, fondling my body with his huge black hands, dry-humping me and sucking at my breasts.

I could feel the heat from his monstrous black maleness burn into my thigh.

I tried to push him off, but he was much too heavy for me. 

This couldn't be happening to me!

I was going to be raped by a black man, me, Bitsy, the lawyers' wife from New Rochelle! "Ain' no use strugglin wid' me bitch", DeShawn groaned.

"I's gonna fuck you but good. I's gonna learn you not to tawk to mah mama like she a bitch.

I's gonna fuck you like the dog bitch you is". 

With that, he sat up and pried my legs apart with his knee,

holding my hands easily above my head with just one hand.

He straddled me, and with one easy thrust, tore into me. "Oooooh, dat sho' feel good", he moaned.

"Nice an' tight.

Dat man of yo's mus' be hung like a rat, yo bein' so tight like you is!"

I sobbed as he mentioned Trip.

DeShawn began to plunge into me, over and over, moaning and gasping his ecstasy as he raped me. "Oh yeah .... mmmm, dat feel good!

Best pussy I done had all week.

Yeah ... oh yeah ... I's fuckin' me some fine white pussy!"

I could only lie there, helpless as I was raped by this huge black buck. 

It seemed to go on forever.

I could see the sweat beading on the massive muscles of DeShawn's chest and arms and he pumped away inside me, feel the pain as his massive maleness tore me apart, and listen to his groans of pleasure. "Oh yeah bitch ... you's DeShawn's woman now.

Yeah ... ummmm.... oh yeah ... heyah I comes, bitch!", and with one final thrust, he climaxed, spurting his hot seed deep within me, and then collapsed on top of me in a sweaty heap.

I lay there sobbing.

I was ruined.

After a few minutes, DeShawn got up and left the room.

I waited a minute, then hurridly dressed as well as I could in my torn clothes, and ran out.

As I raced through the living room, I saw Jaliqua.

She was smiling broadly.

I got in my car, which hadn't even been touched.

But I had.

I had been raped by a black man.

I, who had been a virgin when I married, and had never known any man except my husband, was now a rape victim.

I was too scared to stay there, I just headed home, not even calling into the office. My neighborhood was pretty deserted at that hour, so no one saw me get out of my car and run into my house in my torn clothes.

I locked myself in the bedroom and sobbed for an hour.

Finally, I got up and showered, cleaning off the stink of the apartment and trying to wash away the shame of the rape.

I was hysterical, ashamed.

I decided to keep silent.

I knew that by showering I had gotten rid of most of the evidence.

Plus - I was afraid of what would happen to my marriage.

I was sure that I had brought the rape on myself.

If I hadn't made Jaliqua angry, her son would never have raped me. Trip was a good man, but I knew that he and his family would never accept the embarassment of my rape.

Plus, I would have to testify, and everyone would know that I had been taken by a black man.

I could never live down the shame if everyone knew that!

So, I got dressed, kissed my husband when he came home, and went to the party my in-laws threw for us.

It was terrible, celebrating my third wedding anniversary to the man I loved, on the same day that I had been raped by a seventeen year old monster.

Just as the party was winding down, Trip's office called.

There had been a chemical explosion in Indonesia, and Trip's firm represented the owners.

He would have to go there, that very night, and it was such a mess he'd be away for weeks..

I was somewhat relieved.

I'd have some time to recover my equilibrium, and the bruises DeShawn had left on my thighs from his powerful thrusts would fade by the time he got back.

Things could go back to normal, and no one would ever know my complete shame.

I was wrong.

DeShawn had not only left me with bruises, he'd also left me with a more permanent reminder of that Friday.

Four weeks after the rape, while Trip was still in Indonesia, I learned that I was pregnant with my rapist's baby.

There was no way it could be Trip's.

We hadn't made love in over six weeks, not since my last period.

I knew that I was carrying DeShawn's baby.

I didn't know what to do,

I was fervently against abortion but I couldn't give birth to a black rapists' child, and expect Trip not to notice!

Well, the decision was soon taken out of my hands.

My doctor, who was a golf buddy of my father-in-law told my in-laws that I was pregnant. His father called Trip to congratulate him. Trip filed for divorce.

I tried to go home to my parents, but when I told them that I'd been raped by a black teenager and was now pregnant with his child, they didn't believe me any more than Trip had, and disowned me.

The divorce was made final when I was nearly seven months pregnant.

It was terrible, sitting across the room from the man I truly loved, my belly bulging with a black man's baby.

The judge thought so too, and I was awarded nothing.

I had moved into a small apartment in the city, and continued working.

My job was all I had left, and I just worked then came home and sat there on the couch, feeling DeShawn's baby kick and watching my stomach swell.

I was terribly depressed.

I'd lost my husband, home, family - all because of one terrible hour.

Maybe that's why I got attached to the baby.

I'd thought of giving it up for adoption, but I was so lonely. And I couldn't get rid of the feelings of guilt.

I'd convinced myself that I had caused the rape and needed to be punished.

So, I decided to keep my baby when it was born.

Things got even worse for me.

City-wide cutbacks cost me my job.

I was almost nine months pregnant and unemployed.

I wouldn't be able to work when the baby came, so I got on welfare, and moved into public housing - in the South Bronx.

As if that weren't bad enough, I found out two weeks later that Jaliqua and her family had also moved - into my new building.

I ran into her and DeShawn in the lobby.

Jaliqua laughed, and DeShawn grinned in delight and pointed at my bulging belly.

"You gots my kid in deyah?", he asked me.

"Yes", I replied, my head held high.

"I am pregnant with your child".

He smirked and patted my enormously swollen belly. 

I let him.

What else could he do to me now?

"Well, dat's jus' fine.

I been wonderin' iffen dat fuckin' I give you didn't put my baby in dat lil' white belly o' yo's.

Be happy bitch, you gots a real man's baby in you.

Sumthin to remember ole DeShawn by!".  

Nine months after the rape I gave birth to DeShawn's son.

He was big like his father, and just as black.

I resigned myself to my new life. This was it.

No white man would want a woman who had gotten herself raped by a black man, and certainly no man would want her if she'd given birth to her black rapist's baby.

DeShawn wasn't there when his son was born, but came by a week after I brought the baby home.

Since my life had already gone to hell, I decided to let him be a part of his son's life, and even named the baby after him.  

Yes, he had raped me, but he had a right to know his son.

DeShawn Jr. is two years old now.  

I read in the paper the other day that Trip had remarried, to a woman I used to do volunteer work with.

I'm still on welfare,

my family still refuses to see me and their black grandson, and we still live two floors above Jaliqua and her kids. DeShawn has moved in with a girlfriend, but still comes around to see his son.

We don't get any child support, since DeShawn isn't working, and already had two boys with other women when he raped me, my son, and also has a boy with his girlfriend who is pregnant. As am I.

I want to give DeShawn Jr. the best life I can, and he needs a full brother or sister to play with. No other man would have me now, and DeShawn seemed willing, so he fucked me and I got pregnant right away.

I'm due in about a month, and I hope I have a girl, who I will name DeShawna.

The End