Chapter 5
Sometimes loss of love strengthens one, imparts a feeling of self sufficiency and expectation. That, fortunately, was Carrie Osgood's state of mind for the following seven days of gradually dulling pain. Every time she blinked shut her eyes, she saw the black woman hissing out her lust under Phil's pounding manhood. Manhood... ? the word made her snicker now. Why was it every man seemed to think that the hunk of flesh dangling between his thighs was his badge of manhood and dominance. A cruel, wicked kind of dominance that could only inflict pain.
It took hours of philosophizing and boxes of Kleenex, but ten days later Carrie was back to her virtuous, confident self. At least she hadn't married him, she told herself. He hadn't ruined her life completely. Yet the burn of deception, the sting of bitterness lingered, boiled under the cauldron of love gone bad. These were sour time, but she would withstand it.
Nights were the most painful. Cicadas hissing under the magnolia tree whose sweet, aphrodisiac scent intoxicated her with the need for friendship ƒ_" and something more, much more intimate and enduring. Something built on love, not lust. That, she had seen enough of. Imprinted in her memory was the ugly sight of her fiance's buttocks, hairy and menacing as he straddled the black woman's chest. His mouth, too, lips fleshy and spread, sucking like a starving child on another woman's genitals. Ugly and defiling, burning to her feminine ego.
Compared to the hurt in Phil's abuse, her ghetto students were as easy to endure as a hot fudge sundae! They refused to forgive her for not being black, for being more fortunate than they. Their condescending remarks and racist jibes were acid in her stomach, but nothing compared to the agony of the gut wrenching pain she'd suffered from Phil.
Cederick and his friends Sammie and Stokley, flicked sexual aggressions at her like lint from a suit collar. Women, violence, hatred... was that all these boys knew? To survive this year of teaching she must somehow cut through the hatred and help them to develop the good within them.
Atlanta had become a nationally targeted city of racism. Newspapers were ridden with stories of suspected cults, national network news reported marches in support cities across the country, masses held in honor of the dear. None of it helped abate the fear and undercurrent of treachery that lurked in the streets and turned darkened shadows into suspected murderers. An edginess pervaded the city, making the youth its prime victims.
The threat of violence matured their innocence in a sadly distorted expression reflecting the fear that they might be number twenty-two on the hit list of some demented creature.
They took it out on her, because who else could they blame? Racist notes stuffed in her desk, in her bookbag, reflected their hatred of their blonde-haired school teacher from the north. "White honky... " the called her. "White bitch... whore... "
That they hated her for being white and a Yankee was acceptable, but when they attacked her for being a woman, it hurt. Who this young buck was, she couldn't prove. But suspect, she did. And with reason. Two choices remained: Go to the superintendent or ignore it, in hopes it would burn itself out. She chose the first.
"Sorry, Ms. Osgood," he apologized, staring at her lush body over the rim of his bifocals.
"We have to be extra careful these days. You're a good-looking woman," he grinned lecherously. "Can't blame the boys... "
"Mr. Turner," snapped Carrie. "I have been accused of being a racist, a Yankee and Lord knows what else ƒ_" but don't attack me for being a woman!"
Turning on her heel, skirt cupping the full moons of her buttocks, Carrie stomped out the superintendent's office in a huff. Shouldering her way down the hallway, she charged like a mad bull for Room 102. At four-thirty in the afternoon, she expected to find it empty, the last class had ended at three-thirty.
In the back row sat Stokley, Sammie and Cederick, noses pressed to the book. Carrie's flaring nostrils picked up the scent of deception. These ghetto vigilantes were no book worms.
"What are you doing here, may I ask?" she snapped, slamming her notebook into her bookbag.
No one answered.
"I asked you a question!" Carrie's full upper lip was a taut line of disapproval and anger.
The white of her even white teeth shone between the full succulence of her lipstick glossy lips.
"Mind if I write on the board, Ma'am?" Cederick regarded her with lazy, chocolate eyes that bored into her body, crawled, like tiny ghetto lice prickling at her luscious, white skin.
With swaggering, slender hips, he made his way past her desk to the blackboard and nimbly plucking a hunk of chalk from the tray, scrawled in uneven letters: "Miss Ozgood hates blacks... "
Blood sang in Carrie's ears. Angered beyond reason, she snatched the eraser and dragged it across the board. Spinning around, she spat at him: "You could at least spelled my name right!" Then,, as he turned to head back to his seat: "Will you grow up?"
Cederick stopped in mid-step, turned around and shot her a malicious look that made her freeze to the bone. "Nobody gotta tell me how to be a man...!"
A conspiratorial vibration rattled off the walls of the dingy classroom. The three black boys, men in body and boys in spirit, carefully lifted their eyes from their textbooks to level their dilated, lurking orbs on Carrie Osgood's svelte curves and bumps. She could almost read their minds, feel the twinge of hatred and rejection shining in their eyes. A sinister snicker chimed between the three of them. They were waiting; but waiting for what, she wondered frantically.
Outside in the hallway an occasional laugh and slam of a locker door and called out farewell cut the silence. She heard the janitor whistling a tune from the top forty disco chart as he pushed his broom down the hallway, slicking up gum wrappers and cigarette butts. To stay and monitor, or go home ƒ_" that was the question. That they were waiting, like guerilla soldiers in the ghetto jungle, was obvious. Certainly they wouldn't do anything.
Violence belonged in the streets, not in the classroom.
Visions of Cederick jumping on the car hood, yanking at the zipper of his pants and hauling out the black girth of his young, virile penis, shot to mind. Self-assurance melted for a second, freezing into fear. Quickly she gathered up her book bag and handbag.
"I'm going home," she announced sternly. "The janitor will lock the door after you."
Halfway to the door, her head flew around.
A desk was pushed to the side, knocking into the wall. A stampede of feet, hurried footsteps... and Cederick leapt over a desk, reaching the door before her hand could shoot for the doorknob.
He stood between- Carrie and the door, barring her exit. "You ain't goin' home yit, teach...
not with pupils in the classroom studyin'... that be against school policy."
"Don't try to play vigilante with me, Cederick," she flared, cheeks burning with fear and rage. "I... I have an appointment... now if you'll please... "
"Please... you hear that, boys? She be sayin' please to us!"
A chorus of laughter stung her ears. She tried to shrug off the feeling, but the sneering curl of Cederick's lips aborted it. They were harassing her, she told herself, kid's fun.
"Let me out of this room, Cederick, before I call the janitor!"
He snickered down at her, his black, panther-like body rippling with pent-up emotion that spelled out l-u-s-t in his chocolate, smouldering eyes. A quiver crept up Carrie's spine.
"Yeah, teach... " Sammie and Stokley were behind her, closing in on her, surrounding her with hot, black male flesh on all sides.
Someone stroked black fingers through her baby fine blonde tresses. "Never seen such white hair on a bitch before," Sokley commented in a thick voice. "Nice and soft like a baby's ass... "
"Nice and soft as my black prick... " hissed Sammie, the shorter of the three vigilantes.
"Yeah... jus' for comparison sakes... A""- he hissed.
They had wanted her alone, had plotted to keep her there by their treachery... just as they had surrounded Phil's car and embarrassed her to the core of her being. A repeat performance she couldn't live through.
Stokley held her by the wrist, with Cederick blocking her exit. Sammie, fumbling with his pants zipper, yanked it down with strong, black fingers. The metallic whine of his zipper made Carrie freeze. Her cheeks burned and her ears buzzed.
"Take a look a' this, Miz Osgood," he commanded in a thick voice.
Carried fear widened eyes lowered inch by scalding inch down over the rippling black chest hugged tight, showing off bulging pectorals under a cotton T-shirt stained with sweat. She could smell his lust, it flared in her nostrils. She recoiled in panic, dumbstruck by the long, thick black girth of his young male penis, throbbing in half-erection. He pumped it in his black fist, forcing a pearl of pre-cum from the mushroomed tip.
"Ain' a guy in this classroom wouldn' give his left nut to shove his prick in your white cunt, teach... if you be real lucky, maybe you git 'em all at once!"
Hot blasts of breath smelling of stale cigarettes bathed Carrie's flushed cheeks. She stared in disbelief at the naked black tube. Long and hard and definitely virile ƒ_" for a fourteen year-old! The tiny eye at the tip oozed cream as he jerked the loose foreskin up and down over the tip. He grinned up at her in victory and lust.
The full impact of her capture slowly registered in her mind. Elbowing against Stokley's iron tight grip, she tried to twist out of his grasp. A desperate sob tore from her throat, sounding like a small, frightened child being shaken aware from a nightmare. Only Carrie's nightmare was real and definitely three-dimensional.
"Ain' no white teacher gonna tell us we ain' no good... tellin' us how to live and love white folks!" snarled Cederick, "Time you get a little respect for us. Write letters to congressman, that's what you thinks gonna make life good for us... well, let me tell you somethin', bitch... we's jus' real tired of writin' and killin' and listenin' to white folks tell us what be good for us!"
"Ah, shuddup, Ced... " blasted Stokley. "We don't got all night... b'fore the janitor comes back... but he gonna be so loaded from smokin' that joint we gib him, he ain' gonna hear no honky bitch cryin' for help!"
Stokley tried to hold the feisty, wriggling teacher with one hand while he fumbled at the neck of her dress with the other black hand. A sickening surge of revulsion and fear awakened in the pit of her stomach when Carrie came to the grim realization that this was no kids game. They would kill her, given the chance... hated her for being white and a woman. She had to get out of their clasp!
"Let me go! Let me go!" she yelped, fighting against their superior strength "You can't get away with this, let me promise you that! Just because you're men you think you can ƒ_" oh, you're hurting me!"
A scuffle ensued. "Hey, grab 'er, Stokley! Sammie, git your hand off yer prick and stop her!" yelped Cederick.
Sammie, the shortest of the three, with the highest Afro, tore off his sweat-stained shirt and grabbed her arm with his free hand. The other remained obdurately on his penis.
"Please... Please .." she sobbed in hysteria as Sammie's hand moved to grasp one swollen breast pressing tightly against her cotton dress. His ragged fingernails dug into the soft puffiness of her nipple and she threw back her head and cried in pain. It felt as if he were trying to pull her nipple off! When she stilled her crying, she stared him in the eye: "You'll go to jail for this!" Carrie's soft features hardened in a last ditch effort at survival.
She wanted to believe, needed to believe at that moment, that she could scare them into letting her go.
It was not to be.
Grinning lecherously, Sammie stared her coldly in the eye. He snickered, his black, sweat sheened face diabolical as the devil himself. "You think that scares me? Shit, I been stabbed in the streets before!"
Carrie's blonde head fell forward as they held her by the arms, by iron wrists, digging into her tender white flesh. A fear, hot and acid, shot through her trembling body, sensing the hatred emanating from their youthful, once innocent faces.
Had they ever been innocent? she wondered in a flash of understanding. Or were some people born in fear, as some were born in luxury. "Let me go home and we'll forget about this," she promised, slowly lifting her head to direct a blue eyed stare into Cederick's cold, menacing eyes.
"Forget? Huh?" Stokley sneered.
"B'sides, we gonna have us a nice juicy party... like the one we had on yer old man's car hood!" warned Cederick.
"No... no____" She fought and lost. Shaking with anger, her body turned to rubber, the terrified school teacher threw back her head and started to scream. A salty black hand clamped over her parted lips and her cries died in her throat.
"Ah... nice tits... real nice tits, teach... " Stokley's hand shot out to cup one fully rounded breast. Frozen, the intent of his provocative act branded in her mind, she stared up into his wild eyes. Slowly her eyes descended to watch his warm hand rub in full circles the wealth of her womanly flesh. Mesmerizing, hypnotizing, her eyes refused to budge.
Cederick wiped his mouth on his sleeve and rubbed his hands together, as if getting to arm wrestle. The were taunting her with aggressive movements, obscene gestures and slurred insults. They wanted a fight; that was clear.
Frantically, Carrie's eyes swept from one dark face to the next as if madly searching for one kind smile, anything to indicate they were not as serious as they seemed to be. To stand here, a willing victim, was not her means of survival!
"Git that dress off and let's see them tits up real close, teach... " hissed one.
"Yeah, just like you don' in the car... sweet, white tits... milky and hard... "
Carrie felt faint. No. Her mind raged. "You... you can't mean that... no... I can't... I won't!"
she panted.
A hand shot across her face and foul breath bathed her burning cheek. "Don't you scream, bitch... or your face's gonna be in ribbons!" warned Stokley.
There sounded a rustle of clothing, breath snorting from nostrils, and Carrie knew she was a helpless captive. The school building was empty at this time of day. Jason would be in the gym practicing with his basketball team, too far away to hear her screams. They had bribed the janitor with drugs... and the superintendent had a reputation of leaving the building early on Fridays. This was it. She swayed, dizzy with fear and revulsion.
"Seems the lady can' undress 'erself," sneered Cedrick, moving a desk to block the door so that he would join the fun and rape. She felt a warm hand at the throat of her dress, felt fingers working at the buttons of her bodice and shivered, remembering she had been wearing this same dress the day... Dear God, she couldn't think about it!
"No... no... no... " she whimpered, weakly shaking her head, blonde hair curtaining her flushed cheeks, scorched in humiliation. She heard them step out of their pants, could smell the sweat, sweet and manly of their nudity. Hot hands worked at the hems of their t-shirts and shoe laces while someone held her arms behind her back.
RAPE. The words were printed indelibly in her brain, seeping through the walls of her weakened libido. The worst crime afflicted upon women... at the hands of three black boys intent on humiliating her, robbing her of every morsel of her femininity, savoring their masculine dominance over her. If she fought, they might use a knife on her. Fear and misery trembled through her body until, weakened, she floated on a numbing cloud of terror. Fate and resignation to its consequences, devoid of hope.
"Git outta them clothes," one of them hissed.
"And... and then?" she stammered, raising watery blue eyes searching for a morsel of pity.
"You're stronger than me," she sobbed. "Just don't kill me... just don't kill me!" This hell had to end sometime. Once they spewed their dark seed into her, it would be over. She must live for that moment.
"Git naked,.!" came the command.
She choked out a feeble "no" and felt the grip tighten on her chafed wrists.
"Peel down and let them juicy tits hang out... " She felt Stokley's hands leave her arms and weakly, she unbuttoned the last two buttons on her dress, noticing the last two had been ripped off by urgent black hands. In a moment, the dress fluttered to the floor. "Your panties too... if they ain' stickin' to your cunt... " snickered someone. Did it matter who?
Swallowing a sob of abject humiliation, she fumbled with the hooks of her lacy brassiere and felt the cool air conditioning play over her creamy shoulders, goosebumped with fear.
Her naked breasts bobbed into view. She heard them suck in their breath, felt their eyes staring at the swollen orbs of her breasts.
"Now the panties... "
Slowly, she hooked her thumbs in the elastic waistband of her bikini panties and slid the nylon wisp down over the right swell of her hips, feeling again the cool air play over the fleece of her pubic curls.
"Jesus... without a fight, too," groaned Sammie. "Jesus, she's all wet! Look at her panties!" he hissed. . "Now git down on the floor," barked Cederick through thick lips anxious to feast on her creamy white flesh.
Like a marionette, she sunk to knees too rubbery to support her. She heard someone demand that she spread her legs so they could see her cunt.
Stretching her legs, she lay flat on the floor, staring up into the fluorescent lights glaring down on her pale face. Her warm, white flesh, lushly full breasts was theirs for the asking now. She clenched shut her blue eyes and watched lights sparkle behind her fluttering eyelids as she awaited the first raping touch. Her abdomen rippled with shock and fear and inside, bubbled with revulsion. Terrifying, wretched and diabolical they were, staring down at her nakedly exposed body. Visions of sitting in the car stripping for them, showing off her full breasts came into stark clarity... and with it, Phil's damning words: "YOU LOVED SHOWING OFF YOUR TITS TO THOSE BLACK BOYS! ADMIT IT, YOU BITCH!" And in crept the feel of her father stripping down the covers on cold winter nights to press his drunken body next to hers... warm, sweaty and masculinely dominant!
"Stretch them legs... I wanna see your asshole!" barked Sammie.
Sizzling in mortification, Carrie blinked open her eyes to stare down at the blonde fleecy nest of her womanhood. She sucked in her breath, sharply. Her vaginal lips were swollen, dewed with secretions of expectation. The air conditioning made them tingle and she closed her eyes again and drew a deep, calming breath. Struggling to focus on a single thought, anything to keep herself from going hysterically insane, she vowed she would not be permanently scarred by this display of youthful vengeance.
Sammie was the first to claim his dominance. He pumped his cock, eyes riveted on the forest between her thighs. Between her thighs. Between his strong ones, his veiny penis throbbed. "Watch this, white bitch!" he spat.
Carrie's glassy eyes opened to focus on the black girth of his meaty cock, swollen with pints of bloody lust. For a fourteen year-old boy, he was mature. Very mature. As big as Phil, even. Judging from his actions, she knew she wasn't his first woman. For the sake of cruelty, he was going to rape her in front of his buddies.
"PHIL! Dear God... " Where are you?