It took two more buses and another hour before Patty arrived back at Marcia's house. Throughout the long rides, she kept mulling over her predicament, her brain in a numbed state of shock. She was beyond crying, her emotions exhausted as her bruised body was tired. But the loathing continued to haunt her and she couldn't shake the fevered thoughts which rampaged her ravaged mind. She was completely immersed in the feelings of outrageous defilement which Rick Renault had so cruelly and debasedly subjected her to.
She could not stop despising herself, nor would she ever, for the wanton surrender to his foul, brutal raping of her cunt and mouth was a loss of her control, and there was no denying it. Before he had finished with her she had given back as much as she had received, her brain steeped in the blinding passion of her own desire, her body an ungovernable mass of seething lust. Oh God, she moaned softly to herself, she was still nothing but a street walking slut with a strange man's hot white sperm digested in her entrails..
She stumbled to the house, slamming the door after her impulsively. She raced to the bedroom, the filth and degeneracy of her actions overwhelming her mind. Quickly, almost feverishly she threw her skirt and sweater into a heap and stood naked, rubbing her hands along her sides in a futile attempt to cleanse her body. She looked down her breasts at the soft curve of her stomach to her raised pubic mound, and at the matted, dried hair and her inflamed cunt which Renault had so abandonedly manipulated with his long, hot tongue. She thought of her sexual desires which the old man had so callously raised into enveloping passion; she thought of how she had sucked him off to climax and how disgusting and evil she had been. She thought of her actions with Val Robbins, and her acceptance of Marcia's straining lips, and the original, releasing rape of her body by her father-in-law.
Gone was the listless, lethargic barrenness of that morning. The empty shell of her mind was once again filled by the terror and agony of her plight. And the full impact of what she had done and what she thought of herself hit with sledge hammer blows.
Her inner torment magnified a thousandfold, and she felt as if a trillion tiny, unseen creatures were walking on her body, dirtying it, defiling it so that she would never be able to be clean again. The filthy, unseen organisms scurried faster and faster over every inch of her velvet flesh, trailing dung-like putrification…
A low, tormented wail bubbled from Patty's lips as she ran to the bathroom. She twisted the plastic handles on the shower taps bringing forth a spray of water, and then she adjusted the stream almost with frantic haste until the needles were hot, hot as the hell she felt inside her. Then she stepped in the stall and gasped as the scalding spray beat upon her skin, turning it bright crimson, burning off the insects which infested it. She made no move to cool the water; instead she stood fast and endured the pain, her mouth open, her eyes shut, enduring the lashing cascade as if it were some cleansing, divine punishment.
For five minutes Patty withstood the torrent, blanking her mind to her sorrow. She soaped her rectum, vagina, breasts and face in a desperate attempt to rid herself of the dirty feeling, unsure whether she could succeed or not. She turned off the water and stepped out to dry herself. Oh God, will I never be wholesome again?
Briskly, almost as though she were heaping further abuse upon herself, Patty dried with a large, fluffy towel. Her skin tingled from the water and the toweling and glowed a burnished pink. She padded naked to the bedroom, hoping above hope she could relieve the furnace of loathing which burned inside her.
… And suddenly the thought of Larry flashed into her mind. The idea of his finding out what she had been doing was more than she could bear! It was too much! She'd betrayed her husband's pure love… lowered herself to the very depths of moral degradation… and she'd never be able to face him again. She couldn't go on this way, knowing she had lasciviously given herself to other men, complete strangers… a woman, her best girlfriend… no matter what the extenuating circumstances. She couldn't! She'd rather die first!
The horrible alternative drifted across her brain, tormenting her further. She weighed the methods, poison, slitting her wrists, jumping from the Golden Gate Bridge and the consequences of actually destroying herself, and it was too much for her confused mind to take. She sank upon the bed, and shortly her maddened thoughts dissipated into a weary, almost lethargic state, and with her sex exhausted body, she fell into a deep sleep.
She awoke after dark, the sounds of night coming through the open window. "Ooohhh, my God," she groaned aloud. "What's happening to me?" She sat up quickly, her brain reminded her of Renault again, and of her panicked flight… and of the almost hysterical trance she had been in after arriving home. It was too much, and she screamed, hard and high. She ran to the bureau and looked in the mirror. "My God," she moaned.
Heavy lines marred her fresh, young skin, and her eyes were sunk into her cheeks as though she had aged ten years over night. Her body was a mass of blush-red marks and bruises from Renault's suckling mouth, mostly centered around her breasts and inner thighs. Her nipples seemed to feel completely raw and she leaned against the bureau with revulsion.
"It must have been a nightmare. It must have!" she babbled incoherently over and over to herself, still hanging onto the bureau. "I'll ask Marcia. She'll tell me the truth, I know she will. She'll tell me I never did such things!"
"Marcia! Marcia!" she yelled, half staggering half crawling through the house.
There was no answer. She could see the clock on the kitchen wall as reading after seven, which meant that Marcia should have been home from her job by now. Where was she? Patty collapsed in the dinette chair. Then she saw the note propped against the sugar bowl, the handwriting Marcia's barely legible scrawl. It was a short message, but it said a thousand words:
"Patty: I'm letting you sleep, as you looked as though you'd had a rough day. I'm going to a party at Renault's and hope to see you there when you get up. Your friend, Marcia."
Patty slumped to the Formica table and sobbed. Her one friend had deserted her, not even bothering to wake her up to see if she was all right when she, Marcia, had come home after work. Oh God, she was the vile creature she secretly thought she was, and this only proved it! Marcia could not stand her except in the company of other lewd and corrupt individuals. With almost hysterical reasoning, Patty cried and moaned her feelings of abandonment and spuriousness out, wetting the table top. Then she stopped, completely drained of her agony, and again the fog of incomprehension began to roll over her mind. She settled back in the chair, whimpering with soft sounds of agony and let the blackness of the night's uncaring attitude envelop her distraught brain, soothing away the horror she could not face, blanking out the reality of her life.
Yes, and as she stared at the wall, the tears of her rejection drying upon her cheeks, she wanted to escape still further, right off this horrid, degrading planet into the spiraling eternity of the universe and she knew how to realize this fervent wish.
With sex. After all, her body was a used, vacant pit of decay, her soul putrescence and atrophy, her morals nonexistent and her life a hollow vestige of degeneracy. Why not use this gangrenous form to help her fly from her world? Why not let Val and Marcia and Renault, that ugly, vile old man, and even the dog on the screen grovel in her carrion? At least she, in that one brief passage of time, was able to break away and be free!
And with marijuana. That sweet haze of euphoria, that abundant supplier of soporific pleasure which heightened her ability to get away… she wanted more, more of the evil drug to fill her nefarious blood and take over her controls. She no longer wanted to worry, ever, about what became of her.