"Here we are, Frieda. It's not much, but it's home."
"Where's your wife and the cookies?"
He looked rather uncomfortable for a moment, then smiled. "Oh, I guess she had to go out for a while, but I do have some cookies," he said. Reaching into a bureau drawer, he pulled out a crumpled package of store-bought cookies – broken and stale. I started to complain, telling him that he'd promised me freshly baked cookies, and carrying on as any spoiled child might. Suddenly he grabbed me by the arm with surprising strength – his grip hurting me.
"Shut up!" he hissed at me. "Shut up or I'll beat the living shit out of you! Sassy little brat, aren't you. Pretty rich kid, gets everything she asks for. Well, you're going to get something from me you never even thought of."
I kept trying to get out of his grip, panic mounting inside me – more at the sudden change in him than anything else, I guess. After all, I was completely innocent of any sexual knowledge, and didn't have enough sense to fear rape. So I kept trying to pull away from him, but he just increased the pressure of his hold on my thin arm, leering at me. There was pure hate and lust in his eyes. His mouth was twisted in a cruel, sloppy expression, and he was scaring me something awful. He kept repeating the same words over and over: "Pretty little rich kid, gets everything she asks for… pretty little rich kid."
I remember that I was too terrified to actually scream, but whimpering sounds seemed to come from somewhere, small pleading noises like a cowering animal's. And somehow, even with one hand clutching my young arm, Mr. G. managed to get his pants undone. I was horrified to see him reach inside his pants with one hairy hand and pull out that huge, red, ugly thing of his. It was enormous! Except for the tip of it, the rest of the bulging flesh looked angry, as if it had been badly scraped, and was raw and painful. His hand wrapped around it as if he were testing it in some way.
"Ever see a real cock, Frieda, little rich girl? Ever have a man fuck you? Shove his big cock up inside of you?"
Mr. G. kept fondling his cock, pressing it with his strong fingers, sort of waving it at me as if he were going to hit me with it. By then, my terror had virtually paralyzed me. I'd heard other kids snickering about their private parts, of course, but I'd never actually seen one, much less had any physical contact with one. Mr. G. seemed to be trembling from some great emotion, yet he seemed in total control of himself. There was no doubt that he knew what he was doing, and had thought it all out carefully beforehand.
"Little rich girl," he growled at me and then smiled in so menacing a way that my fear bordered on hysteria, "you and me are going to have some real nice fun."
Then he twisted my arm behind my back, forcing me toward the bed. I tried to struggle free, but every time I did he just pushed my arm up a little higher along my back until I thought he was going to break it. He swiftly gave me a big push onto the bed, my arm shooting with pain. I could do nothing more than stare at him as he let his trousers and shorts drop to the floor. His prick stood out from him like some raw sausage, bobbing in the air. Mr. G. hurled himself on top of my trembling young body, ripping at my clothes, tearing the buttons from my blouse, and frantically wrenching at my child's bra to get at my budding breasts. When he finally succeeded, he was nearly drooling at the sight of my slight mounds tipped with delicate pink nipples.
He buried his face into the tender flesh of my breasts, his beard scratching at my youthful flesh. Taking one of my nipples between his teeth, he began to tongue it roughly, taking little sharp bites that sent piercing pains to my rib cage. With no way to defend myself, I was helplessly pinned beneath his weight. I tried hitting him on the back and around his ears, but he'd only bite me each time, and the pain was all the worse because I wasn't sure that he didn't intend to take a chunk out of me, not even caring.
Despite my struggling, or maybe because of it, Mr. G. managed to work my panties off. God, I could feel that horribly big and hot club of his pushing at my virgin cunt. I never knew that a man's cock got so hot or so hard – it was like a searing poker against my thighs. Around my pussy, he tried time and time again to shove it into me, humping his body grotesquely. I don't know how much time went by, but finally, snarling in frustration, he grabbed both my legs, and brutally shoved them up into the air, leaving my virgin cunt gaping toward his huge rod. He was hurting me even before he was into me, pushing my legs apart so harshly that the muscles screamed to be returned to a natural position. Then the search for my young hole began in earnest.
"Where's your hole, Goddamn it, bratty little rich kid. Even rich kids have got holes!"
And then I felt its burning wet tip beginning to enter me, stretching me brutally to get up inside. Mr. G. sighed triumphantly, and then – as if I'd been a seasoned whore accustomed to such things – he thrust his prick all the way up inside me, tearing at my guts, pulling at the sensitive flesh until I screamed in agony. He slapped my face to silence me, and I began sobbing quietly. It was like being bayonetted, impaled on a fiery shaft, like being pulled apart. It was the most horrible moment of my life, and I was certain that I was being split in two. No human body could ever survive such searing pain.
His cock screwed me mercilessly, and he kept repeating over and over: "Oh yeah, oh, yeah! Pretty little rich kid." All the while, tears were rolling down my face. My throat ached from the constriction of my horror and sobs.
I tried not to listen to him, but, of course, that was impossible. "Pretty little girl getting her first fuck… I can feel that. Still got her cherry. Her rich, tight cherry. Tight little hole. Pretty hole. Feels real good… real good. That pretty hole around my great big cock. Fucking the pretty little girl… fucking pretty little girl real good… feels great, yeah? Nice tight hole for me to fill up with my prick… pretty baby, I'll fuck the hell out of you."
He continued to talk to himself like that, slamming in and out of my poor assaulted vagina. All I could think of was that if I held very still, maybe it would be all over soon. Just to hold still, not to move. If I'd had any experience, of course, I'd have known that was exactly the wrong thing to do. Mr. G.'s big hands were grabbing at me, squeezing me painfully, and his inflamed penis just pumped and pumped inside of me while he muttered his obscenities.
"Fuckin' you kid… gotta give it to the pretty little girl real good. Real good so she'll know what a man is like and not go around being a cockteaser. Gotta give it to her hard, feel my balls slappin' at her ass… real nice. Got my hot cock all the way up that pretty young hole and – oh, man, oh, man – I'm comin', this is it… I'm comin'… I'm comin' now!"
It was over. The ordeal was finished. He slumped on my body, his breathing rasping on my chest. My feelings? My reactions? How can I describe them… savagely brutalized? No. That's not even scratching the surface. I don't believe I can describe them adequately.
I managed to get dressed and make my way home. I told my mother that I'd been in a fight with some kids at the park, and that was how I'd ruined my clothes. I even told her that I'd started the fight, that it was all my own fault. Looking back on it, I don't doubt that I'd been traumatized, and was in a total state of shock. But that night, as I lay in bed, trying desperately to wipe the rape out of my mind, I couldn't forget how Mr. G. kept calling me a "pretty little rich kid" over and over. I wasn't rich, my father was. And I couldn't help it that I was pretty. I'd always been so pleased about being pretty, perhaps even conceited about it. But was this the result? Was rape and brutality and pain and suffering the reward for beauty? Apparently. For my entire twelve years of life, both my parents – even my nanny – had used my looks as a means of handling me. "Pretty little girls don't do this," or "Pretty little girls don't do that." Every little girl wants to be pretty, so I obeyed. I always obeyed. Well, I'd learned one valuable lesson that day: pretty little girls get fucked.