Subject:  America 2008 - A frightening look at the future for women in America.

 

Word of warning, this is not what I would consider an erotic story but it is a story that should only be read by adults. In fact writing it caused me pain and I have not yet been able to go back and really check for grammer and spelling because even I find it difficult to read. Something inside me made it come out. Call it fear, I hope, or call it a premonition of what is to come. Is it the sad truth of what it may be like to be a woman in America a few years down the road if those currently in power get their way? This story has disturbing images of violence against women. It is not for everyone and the images presented are disturbing and frightening and may be difficult for most women (and I hope most men) to read. But it also has a message that I thought needed to be heard. One last thing, nearly all the laws referenced in the last part of the story have become law or have been proposed as laws in various states.

Silent Sorrows (A look to a future America?)

She slept with him because he wanted her to. She felt so guilty and sorry for him. She was going away to school while he was going to be stuck at a community college in their hometown. She had always thought she would stay chaste until her wedding night, but she was leaving in just days and he kept saying that if she loved him she would. So she did. That night, at his parent's house. It hurt and she bled. He was clumsy, even though he said he had done it before, with other girls. He said she just wasn't doing it right. He didn't want to but she insisted he wear a condom. He wanted to do more, but she said no that she didn't feel well. She dressed while he watched her, lying in the bed, smoking a cigarette. She hated it when he smoked. She was home before curfew. She cried herself to sleep.

The following day she knew it was over. She never should have done it. She didn't love him, she knew that now, and she was sure he didn't love her. She would tell him, tomorrow night. He and his friends from the baseball team were all going to the Diamondbacks game and then over to his house. She would meet him there. She would tell him it was over, she owed him that much.

When she got there most of them were drunk. They were all out in the yard, drinking beer, even though they weren't old enough to do so. His parents were gone for a few days, had left just that morning, two mornings after she had done it. They wouldn't be back until Sunday night.

He grabbed her and kissed her. She let him. One last kiss and she would tell him. She took him by the hand and led him away from the other boys. She told him it was over. He said it wasn't. She said it was, but that she would stay, she would not embarrass him in front of his friends. He tried to kiss her again, but she said no, please don't. 

They were loud, drunk, smelly and obnoxious. They always seemed to be like this.  She was polite. She smiled, let him hold her hand. Her pop tasted funny. Well, she always drank diet and he didn't have any. Must be the sugar.

Something was happening. The noises were getting louder. The yard seemed out of kilter. Someone gave her a glass of whiskey. She didn't want it. They held it up to her lips. She felt weak. They poured some into her mouth; it ran down her chin, over her blouse.

Someone was pawing at her blouse. Buttons being undone by hands that were not hers. She tried to push them away but didn't seem to have the strength. Her bra was opened. Hands were on her breasts, squeezing them, pinching them. They pinched her nipples hard. It hurt, but she couldn't stop it, couldn't even scream.

More hands, her shorts were undone, yanked down. Hands went down the front of her panties. She was still sore from that night. She looked up. It was his hand. But other faces were all around her. Her panties followed her shorts, down to her knees. She felt herself being pushed over the arm of a couch, her breasts hanging down in front of her, her naked bottom seen by those faces. Tommy, they boy she knew from church. Bill, her best friend's brother, Alan and Allen, the boys from her honors English class, others, she knew them all, they all knew her but none had ever seen her flesh before.

He stepped up behind her. She felt him pull her shorts and panties down to her ankles, then lift one free. Why couldn't she stop him? Why didn't one of them stop him? Instead they just watched as he unzipped himself and forced himself into her. No condom this time. 

It was over quickly, just like that night. But this time she would not be able to tell him there would be no more. He was kneeling in front of her. He was forcing himself into her mouth. The bitter taste of her own juices and his made her gag. She felt him growing hard in her mouth at the same moment she felt someone else behind her, pushing into her.

The rest of the night was a blur. She saw a video camera and flashes of light as they took turns, sometimes one at a time, sometimes in groups. A few did use condoms, most didn't. They fucked her. They forced themselves into her mouth. They forced themselves into her throat, causing her to gag so much she thought she would vomit. She couldn't breath as they pushed themselves down her throat. It hurt, they hurt her, time and again. And when they had had her there he had stood behind her again, rolling her over, spreading the cheeks of her bottom and squirted some suntan lotion between them. He forced his fingers into her, first one, then two. Forcing the lotion into her. Why would he want to do that? She couldn't stop him as she pushed himself into her anus. Her body tried to keep it out. It hurt, even worse than her throat. But he just pushed harder until she couldn't stop him. She felt herself tear as he forced his way into her.

This time he wasn't so quick, he didn't seem like he would stop. Finally she felt hot liquid in her bowels. He pulled out and plunged himself into her vagina, not even bothering to wipe off the combination of blood, feces and his semen that coated his penis. He grew hard again as she heard cheering. She felt something oozing out her anus. When he was done with her vagina, when he had gotten himself hard again, he plunged into her anus one more time. When he finally finished he reached down and picked up her white silk blouse and wiped him self clean with it, stains of yellow, brown and crimson soiling it forever.

When he was done some of the others took her again, this time plunging themselves in where he just had. Even Pete, Tommy's older brother, who was married with two daughters of his own and a third baby on the way, took a turn. When they were done they moved her out into the yard. She lay on the ground, naked and cold. Hot liquid streamed onto her. It smelled horrible, tasted salty as it streamed over her face, into her mouth, over her naked breasts, between her legs. She heard laughing again.

She awoke hours later, naked, her clothes on the grass next to her. It was almost light. She found her blouse, stained with whiskey, beer, semen, feces, blood and urine. Her panties were nowhere to be found. She found her shorts clean because they had laid there next to the couch all night. She dressed as well as she could and snuck back to her house. She entered quietly. She took a shower trying to scrub away the filth. She was still bleeding from both her vagina and anus. She didn't know what to do. She dressed, putting two pads in her panties to prevent the blood from staining her clothes. She and her parents left for church.

He was there when they returned from church. She didn't want to, but he said he had to talk to her. He said that she had better not say anything. She had wanted it. She hadn't been drugged. They had the videotape and pictures to prove it. Her taking each guy on, taking on three and even four at once while the camera caught it all. No one would believe her. Her parents and her friends would see the pictures, the tape. It would be on the Internet the moment she opened her mouth. He handed her a sheet of paper. A printout of a close-up of her mouth filled with someone's penis. Another one. Three naked bodies, three different cocks, one in each of her holes filled the page. Their faces were not visible, but hers was, as well as the rest of her body, naked.

He snatched back the papers. She cried as he walked away. She thought about going to a doctor. Two years ago she could at least get some pills that might prevent the thing she now feared most. Two years ago they had been available to all women, without having to go see her doctor.  For reasons just like this.  But not anymore.  Three days later she left for school. 

Six weeks later she knew. The tests, all three of them confirmed her fears. Now what would she do. She had always been pro-life, but now what would she do. She was not married, and the laws in the state she went to school, laws based upon the those the soon to be President Elect had passed earlier in Florida said that she would have to name the father if she put the baby up for adoption. And if she didn't know the father, she would have to place an ad in the paper of her hometown, the place it had happened, listing all her sex partners. Even if she kept it she needed to do the same in this state since they had decided that every child had the "right" to know their father.

Abortion was now illegal in this state and most others in the country, except in cases of rape, incest or life of the mother. But rape and incest must first be proven, the perpetrators convicted and all appeals exhausted because legislators thought women would lie to get an abortion, unfairly accuse men of rape simply to terminate a pregnancy. So far no abortion had been allowed because no rapist had been tried and convicted soon enough to allow an abortion. And after the first trimester, even rape and incest abortions were no longer available in many states.

She could travel to another state, but anyone helping her do so would be liable for prosecution by this state. She could travel back to her home state, but the laws there were not much better. In fact, most laws in this part of the country, those that even allowed an abortion, required the consent of the father. She would have to pay for the tests to identify the father, and then would have to ask him to sign a form allowing her to terminate the pregnancy that his vile act had created. If he refused she could try going to court, but in most cases the rights of the father, the rights of the rapist, were upheld and the woman was required to carry the pregnancy to term.

No, that wouldn't work. She could travel 1200 miles to the a state that didn't require this, but she would have to spend a week in counseling, that she would have to pay for, and watch films that showed graphic photos of late term abortions. After all of that she could have it taken care of. Of course her picture would be taken every day, going in and out of the clinic, and posted on the Internet. People would follow her back to her motel every day after counseling. They would pound on her door and try and save her baby. They would try and find out where she came from, and if they found she had left this state to have an abortion, she could be apprehended and returned to the state and held until her pregnancy had come to 
term.

Her name and her medical records would be public records, supposedly to be kept private, but one legislator had spent a day reading women's names in the State House as he argued for further restrictions even in that state. Some of these women had been prosecuted. Others killed.

She saw no other option. She couldn't have this child. She went out one night; to a part of town she knew that prostitutes walked the streets. She asked them questions, pleaded with them. No one would talk to her, afraid she was a police officer seeking to arrest them for conspiracy to commit abortion. Finally she found someone who told her of a person. A telephone number scrawled on a piece of paper that she was to call from a payphone only. She would be told where to go, whom to meet. She would have to go alone and bring cash.

She called the number, tears streaming down her face. He said he was a real doctor. He said that he did this not for the money, but the money was so much. At least four times what was charged just two years ago before those two Justices had left the Supreme Court, one who died and the other whose health finally forced her to retire. Then if you had to have an abortion at least you would be in a clinic, with nurses and doctors and all the necessary equipment if something did go wrong.

She met him on the street. She had brought the cash. He had robbed and raped her. She had been set up. She couldn't go to the police or she would be arrested for conspiracy to procure an abortion.

Again, late at night, on the streets she finally found a woman who seemed true. She had a name, the name of a real doctor she said. He would help her. But she would have to once again bring money, money she didn't have. But this woman knew a way to get money fast. A week or two on her knees, in cheap hotels, and she would have the cash.

She sold her car instead. Met the man, this time in a public place. He only agreed after she told him what had happened the first time. He wouldn't give her a name, or any proof he was a doctor, but he told her where to be. She was to go to an industrial park with lots of trucks and warehouses but little traffic or light at night. She had to take a cab to get there. She told the cab not to wait, that she would find a bus home.

She met him there. He had her get in his van and they drove around until he was sure he wasn't followed. Once inside the building they stopped at, an empty building he had her undress completely, checking her clothes for homing and listening devices. The table was there and it did look like it came out of a doctor's office, years ago. She got on the table and he apologized that he couldn't give her anything for the pain. The anesthesia was just too dangerous without help. He opened a case and removed some instruments. He told her to lie back and try and relax. Her feet went into the stirrups. He went to work.

She felt the pain. She knew what he was doing. How could it have come to this? She had done nothing wrong. She felt something tear. He told her it was all right, that he was done. She should take it easy for a few days, she would have cramping and bleeding. He packed up and helped her from the table. Something didn't feel right but she was hustled out of the building. He put everything, even the table in the back of his van and drove off. She walked towards the street. She felt something warm running down her legs. She got halfway to the bus stop before she collapsed. It was cold that night with a light rain falling. She was cold by the time someone found her lying in a pool of watery crimson.

The coroner had seen so many of these cases recently, but to report them for what they were would cost him his job. Still whoever had done this to her was a butcher not a doctor. Self-inflicted injury would be the cause of death on the certificate her parents would get. Some of the other girls were self-inflicted, but still seeking the same result. No mention of abortion would be found in any of the records. He wondered why they just didn't have him call it a suicide, but then again suicide rates were not politically popular either. But those were up also among women. He zipped up the bag and placed her in the back of the van that would carry her to the morgue.  She would lay on a slab there until her parents could come and claim her.  He would clean her up, wash the blood out of her hair before he mother had to see her.  He pitied the poor police officer who would have to call them and tell them their daughter was dead.  She had only turned 18 only four months ago.  The rain began to fall harder.  He would let God deal with cleaning up her blood.


 
