“I fucked up real bad with that weird bitch,” he told Paul last night. “I mean, she wanted it, you know, but after … she kept saying, ‘no, no, no.’ I could be really fucked.”
“Oh, shit,” Paul almost screamed. “You boned her? You fucked that weird snaggletooth slut?”
Tyler waited for the laughter and cheers to die before repeating the last part of the scene where Miss Snaggletooth curled into a ball and sobbed that she had begged him to stop. The bitch had even used the word rape. I told you to stop, she said. I said no, no, no, no, and you … you kept going. You raped me. Her tears had been endless.
“Oh, shit,” Paul said, much quieter this time. It was a tone of complete shock and you’re-totally-fucking-screwed-now despair.
“What should I do?”
Paul was silent.
“I mean, she’s going to tell, right? She’s probably telling her mother right now. She’ll call the cops and … aw, fuck.” Tears gathered in his eyes.
“She won’t call the cops, that weirdo bitch is as crazy as her snaggletooth daughter. She does spells and shit. Like a witch. She’ll probably curse you so your balls rot off or something.”
“Be serious.”
“I am. You’ve seen her at those gay Fright Fest things. She really believes that shit. She isn’t putting on a costume and having fun. She’s, like, worshiping her gods or whatever. Seriously, watch your balls. Wash them carefully in the shower, just in case.”
“Fuck you.”
“I’m only trying to cheer you up, Jesus.”
“What if she calls the cops?”
Paul grunted. “Tell her what you told me. She didn’t resist. She let you take her pants off. You fucking fingered her, for God’s sake. She didn’t say stop when you pulled your pants off, right?”
“Right,” Tyler said, but he wasn’t sure when Sash started saying no. He hadn’t heard her until it was over.
“I mean, you’re not some rapist or something. But …”
“What?”
“It’s a ‘He Said/She Said’ thing, you know? And they always side with the bitches. It’s fucked up.”
He wanted to vomit, have diarrhea, and pass out all at once. How could he have been so stupid? He only wanted to suck her breasts and maybe get a hand job. Why had he gone so damn nuts all of a sudden? He had raped her, he could admit that to himself at least, but he hadn’t meant it. Did intention even matter in cases like this? Were the bitches always right?
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”
“Take a couple of your mom’s pills and forget about it. At least until morning.”
“I take a couple of those pills I won’t be awake for school on Monday.”
“Even better. She’ll probably spread the story around first period and everyone will know by lunch.”
He hadn’t thought of that. Sasha wasn’t the prettiest girl in school and was even a little odd, but a story of rape, especially involving such a nondescript kid like Tyler, would earn her every girl’s ear. Hell, she’d probably be Miss Popular for the day. Then he’d be in Guidance and then The Office and then the School Resource Officer would get involved. And then he’d be really fucked.
“Don’t worry,” Paul said without enthusiasm. “People won’t listen to her. In fact, she’ll probably keep her snaggletooth mouth shut. If, that is, she knows what’s good for her.”
“What does that mean?”
“You have friends.”
“Like tough guys? You gonna bully some girl into lying about being raped?”
“Jesus, man, don’t say she was raped. She wasn’t. Get that through your head now. You did nothing wrong. Bitch was eager, you said she was wet, and she wanted it, but after she had second thoughts. That’s a ticket on the Too Fucking Bad Train. Don’t worry.”
“Okay.”
“Besides, you wore a rubber, right?”
I’m really fucked.
Tyler had lied about the condom and Paul had reassured him that there was nothing to worry about. After the conversation, Tyler laid in bed and ran through the whole event again and again. He found himself getting hard seeing Sasha’s breasts flop out of her bra and feeling her wetness, but he scolded himself, and flushed those thoughts away with images of burly men gang-raping him in a prison shower.
He managed only two hours of sleep and awoke Saturday morning with burning eyes and a pounding headache. It was a hangover of the worst kind: the guilty conscience kind. And only when he started pacing his room did the full weight of the situation crash on him. Not only had he raped her, he had ejaculated inside her. Not only could she have him arrested for rape, she might be pregnant with his baby.
Yet somehow that wasn’t even the most disturbing part of all this. That part was something he hadn’t even told Paul. He could accept that he had been overcome with lust, with a passion so strong it blotted out his rational mind, he could accept that he had fucked up and might have to pay some serious consequences, but those were all solid things, concrete facts, or at least things accepted as somewhere in the range of normal or Happens From Time to Time. This other thing, though, was something beyond the logical, concrete world, and it scared the shit out of him.
For what seemed like a long time, he had sat in the car, pants around his ankles, while Sasha cried in a fetal position on the passenger seat, and stared at the lights of all the houses on the hill across the lake. His limp dick started to make him nauseated and he yanked his pants up. It could have been ten minutes or even closer to a half hour before Sasha pulled her clothes back on.
“I told you to stop,” she whispered.
Tyler stole several glances at her thighs and butt as she pulled on her jeans. Was she still wet? He started to get hard again. That arousal collapsed quickly, however, when she repeated how she had asked him to stop and then begged, her eyes swollen red with tears, why, for the love of God didn’t he stop when she was screaming for him to?
He started to respond and couldn’t. He didn’t know the answer. Was he a bad person? He didn’t believe so, but he had done a bad thing. What did that mean? Yet, hadn’t she wanted him? That’s how it seemed. Why couldn’t she appreciate this from his standpoint? They had shared a fucking awesome moment and now she wanted to ruin it all because she had been scared or something.
“You heard me and didn’t care,” she said in that same small voice. It was the voice of a beaten child. “You just wanted to blow your load and … and …” Sobs choked out her words. Through her tears, he caught the most frightening possibility of alclass="underline" “What if I’m, you know, pregnant?” She said the word pregnant like it was some incurable disease, like it was cancer.
“You’re not.” It was the first thing he had been able to say.
She shook her head. “I can’t believe you did this to me.”
Part of him knew he should keep quiet and not say anything but another part of him, the part that stole those glances at her bare thighs perhaps, ushered out the words. “You can’t just blame me. You didn’t complain when I took off your pants or when I …”
“What? Jammed your fingers inside me?”
He flexed his hands and clenched the steering wheel.