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I could've sworn my heart had stopped hearing her story. When her clinical recitation of that molestation stopped in that instant the room was so quiet I could hear every breath I took. I was completely out of my element. This was way outside of the kind of issues I was qualified to treat. Procedure dictated that I would pass Alexis on to a sexual abuse counselor, one who'd dealt with this kind of situation before. I tapped my pen against my lips and turned to look at the girl. Her eyes were still closed, and she was slumped casually on the couch as if she'd fallen asleep. She looked so angelic, so peaceful. I wondered what this hypnotized girl was thinking right then, if at all. Would she remember? I had no answers. I glanced to my referral rolodex, a whole listing of board-licensed therapists, psychiatrists and psychologists, probably any one more qualified than I to handle this. I really felt I should make that call.

But I couldn't shake one critical nagging voice in my head. I was right! I was right, damnit! I knew there was something deeply held in poor Alexis. Something her eyes would hint at, a kind of desperation and I had begun to unearth her demons. Me, I was the one who'd gotten this far, and I was the one who was give this girl peace. I cracked my neck left and then right and shifted positions. My back was aching. I'd been sitting on the edge of my seat, so riveted to her story, that I hadn't even noticed how uncomfortable of a position it was. I braced myself, breathed out and flipped back through my pad to see the last thing I'd written: "Has this incident caused her to give up all sexual activity?" I noticed I'd underlined it twice. I looked back to Alexis.

"Alexis, are you still with me?" She nodded. "Alexis, even though it's 4:00, I think it is in our best interests to press on through this. Do you have another hour?" A pause and then she nodded again. I steeled myself. I'd never found asking a question to be so difficult. I wondered if she could sense my nervousness.

"Good, good. Now Alexis I need to get from....there, to where you are now. Was that the last sexual activity you've had?"

"No."

"So, you've had a boyfriend?"

A long pause, and I was afraid she wasn't going to answer. God, how I wished then I knew how this hypnosis thing worked. "No, she whispered. The monotone was gone and she sounded like the very word pained her.

"Just a casual thing, then?"

"No." I froze. I wasn't expecting that answer, and I could feel those butterflies that had lodged in my stomach from last story. Unbidden, they returned.

"Alexis, what happened?"

She moved then which surprised then, shifted in her seat. She tucked a loose strand of her hair that had fallen across her face behind an ear, and she smoothed out the rest of her strands retying her ponytail, and she did it all without opening her eyes. Looking back, I could only figure this was a fidgety gesture, bracing herself for what she was going to tell next. I could tell she was nervous; her eyes would flicker as if she was in a bad dream and she furtively licked her lips one time.

She continued:

*****

She repressed what had happened. She just considered it the act of one sicko and she wasn't going to let it ruin her life. Her parents never found out either. By the time she'd went off to college she would barely even think of it. The occasional bad dream but that was it. She loved college at first; everything was new and exciting, but the best thing was getting to play tennis for CU. She loved the mind game of it all, the competition and she was good too. She was the #4 female singles player, no mean feat for a Freshman. She held her own too, winning more than she lost. The girls on the team became her closest friends, and she enjoyed the attention from some of the guys team. She was even asked out a couple times and she was flattered by it, but it was still too soon after what had happened, and so she'd always smile but decline. Going out with a whole group of friends was fine, but the thought of being alone with a guy somewhere still made her nervous. Still when Tim offered to give her a ride back from Fort Collins after a match against CSU she said yes.

She liked Tim, she really did. He'd been one of the guys who'd asked her out but he'd never been pushy about it, and he had this easy smile which always put her at ease. It didn't hurt that he was kind of cute too; lean, tall and tan with unruly dirty blond hair and laughing brown eyes. He was kind of the classic, cute, cocky preppy guy. He was also a senior, and he seemed so much older and more worldly than her, which made her even more flattered by his attention. She knew he was rich: he drove a Land Rover to all the matches. She also knew he was a member of a fraternity but that was about it.

The match she'd played that day was the toughest of her life. She'd been matched up with a little Vietnamese girl who was able to run down all her shots, the kind of player who lived entirely off her opponent's mistakes. She just couldn't put this girl away and the bright sun was really getting to her. 5 games into the first set she was winded. By the second she was dehydrated, and by the third she felt close to passing out. Up 4-3 in the third, she'd been given an IV from the medical staff and her coach gave her the option to forfeit, worried that she'd suffered some kind of sun stroke. But she shook him off and on shaky legs took the court again. She continued to fight on the court, and by the last game all the players on her team had come down to cheer her on. It was one the best moments of her life when on her last serve of the match, she aced the girl and collapsed right there on the court out of pure joy. Her team had swarmed her afterwards and she was given another IV and re-hydrated; such that by the time she got into Tim's car, she was completely spent, but she just couldn't stop smiling all the same.

And at the beginning the ride was pleasant too. Tim was gracious and funny and curious about her: where she was from, had she any siblings, where did she learn to play tennis like that? When she asked about him, she was glad for his tendency to tell lengthy rambling stories about his frat escapades and previous matches he had. It gave her the chance to just relax and listen, even close her eyes for a bit and let the smooth ride of the Land Rover take her home. She must have briefly nodded off because she awoke to find his hand on her knee.

She looked over at him, but he had his eyes on the road ahead. "That was a helluva match. I saw she had you 40-30 on your serve, and was sneaking up to net" he was saying, shaking his head in disbelief 'but that inside-out forehand you hit to pass her was an absolute thing of beauty."

"I just was desperate to end the point," she said, rubbing a hand across her eyes. She was tired. Maybe she'd just imagined his hand there.

"Showed a lot of heart going back out there," he was saying oh so casually, his fingertips sliding up her thigh under her tennis skirt with a slow caress. "You should have seen the expression on Coach's face when you went back out there, like you were the reincarnation of Steffi Graf or something. I bet if you asked for the entire week of practice off, he'd grant it."

She could feel that nervousness rising up from the pit of her stomach, but she told herself to stay calm. She liked Tim and didn't want him to think otherwise. Just act normal. "Y'think so?" Her voice came out as a squeak. It embarrassed her. She sounded like a little girl; she hoped he didn't notice.

He didn't, just continued on. "I say strike now. Take advantage of your gutsy win. Talk with reporters. I'm sure there'll be a piece on you in the Daily Camera." His caressing fingers were now tracing higher, and when they grazed against her panties she found herself squirming against her seatbelt. She just felt so tired and so weak, almost disbelieving that his arm was so deeply entrenched beneath her skirt, and she found herself transfixed to it; how his tanned arm contrasted so darkly against the paler flesh of her legs and the pristine white of her tennis skirt.

"Now if they ask about the woman team's chances in Pasadena this year," he continued on heedless, as if it were the most normal thing in the world for him to be testing the fabric of her panties as he drove and talked. "I say just be completely arrogant. Tell 'em you guys are planning on kickin' ass and takin' names when you get there." He continued stroking her inner thigh and tracing her panty line. She found herself getting more and more nervous.

"Please don't," she whispered softly, pressing her hand to his through the skirt, lightly pushing it off of her.

His look was pure surprise. "What..? I thought you liked it?"

"I just...I just have had a long day and I'm exhausted."

"No problem, Lexy" he said and he smiled then, removing his hand. "No problem at all." She relaxed then and he was silent for a long while, the only sound being the low reassuring hum of the Land Rover as it purred along. She felt her eyes go heavy again. She liked him, she really did. Maybe at next practice, she'll make a point to be especially nice to him.

Her eyes opened. She didn't know how much time had passed but she did notice they had stopped. She turned to see that he'd opened her passenger-side door.

"Wha'...where are we?" Looking through both the side window and windshield, all she saw were eerily lit corn-fields. This definitely wasn't Boulder.

"C'mon out," his voice was playful. She could see how white his smile was, lit by moonlight. His eyes were hidden. "There's something I want to show you."

She unhooked her seatbelt gingerly, smoothing out the hem of her skirt. It had ridden up a bit while she was sleeping. She squinted at him. "Tim, I just wanna go home. I'm tired and I don't know where we are."

"C'mon sleepy," he'd grabbed her wrist gently but firmly tugging her to stand up "this'll only take a few minutes." Reluctantly she stepped out of the car, her muscles protesting the entire time. Her legs felt like jello and she was beginning to feel sore all over.

He slid an arm over her shoulders and was pointing towards the stars "God aren't they beautiful? See that cluster over there, that's Ursa Minor. And that bright one is Polaris."

"Tim, I really don't ca—" He kissed her hard. Her wordless cry was silenced forcibly by his lips, She could taste mint on his breath and he smelled of sweat and deodorant. It was overwhelming. She fought to disentangle herself from him. "What the hell are you doing?" She backed away, blue eyes wide.

He trapped her between his arms, palms pressed to the Land Rover. "Lexy, I know what we both want. I've seen how you look at me. And I think you're just about prettiest girl I've ever seen." He stepped closer, and she could feel the heat of his lean form pressed close. "Just...relax," the last came out as a whisper, his lips were a breaths-length from her ear.

Her head was spinning. She had just wanted a ride home that was it. She couldn't seem to think or find the right words. He was kissing her again now, softer more sensual, but she could also feel his tongue forcing entry as well. His hands were placed roughly on her breasts and he was kneading them as he forced her back hard against the Land Rover. She cried out from pain as the trail of his lips traced sloppily across her chin and down the smooth, exposed flesh of her neck, sucking and biting as he went, leaving a trail of red across her soft, white flesh. She couldn't seem to wrap her mind around what was happening, and could only whimper against the warmth of his lips and the kneading of his hands against her breasts. He was getting more excited, she could tell by the bulging manhood that was pressing against her through his shorts, and he kept riding her hard against the side of the car, causing her to cry out in pain each time as the small of her back would smack against the door handle. He was whispering between kisses along her neck: "God...I've wanted you so bad....since the moment I saw you. That pretty smile ....you'd save just only for me....and god you feel so good...and you.....smell amazing"
"Please, Tim...no. Not here, not like this," she whimpered, breathing very hard now. But he bit her then, hard, at the intersection of her neck and shoulder and she cried out again which only seemed to turn him on more. He was getting rougher and more animalistic, grinding into her more and more. She tried and tried to push him away, but she was left too weak from the match and he barely even noticed. She would have been unable to stand had he not propped her up against the car. Before she could realize, she noticed his hands had slid off her breasts and moved around to her back. He forced down the zipper and with a violent pull, he wrenched the tennis blouse from her shoulders. It seemed almost a dream as she could see the faint smattering of freckles on the tops of her pale white shoulders and her bra was completely exposed; her nipples hard by his touch and the chill. Her skin looked almost ghostly against his own. Even he seemed to stop to admire the view, one arm snaked about her waist as his dark eyes drank in the curve of her breasts and her slender figure.

"So...lovely," he breathed. She'd protectively crossed her arms to shield her breasts from his gaze edging as far away from him as she could, but he didn't even seem to notice as he almost gently traced the flat line of her stomach with fingers, experiencing every breath she took. She watched him warily, through a loose strand of chestnut hair that come loose from her ponytail had had fallen across her eyes, thrown off by how he can be so violent one moment, and so voyeuristic the next. She just wanted him to be done with whatever he was doing so that they could go home and she would never have to think of this again. "Shh, Lexy" he was caressing her cheek, almost gently, with the backs of his fingers. When she didn't say anything, he took it for affirmation, and idly grazed a thumb across her bottom lip, teasing it before prying its entry, forcing her to suck it. His other hand had trailed down to her waist and he was toying with the hem of the dress. "Yes, yes..that's my girl," he was saying almost soothingly. Then his other hand was at her waist too and he was beginning to deliberately slide her skirt down her legs.

"Please, Tim....don't. Please," she was beginning to cry. She grabbed both of his wrists pleadingly. But she wasn't strong enough to stop him though, not even close, and he was able to force the skirt down her bare legs.

"Shh, Lexy," he was saying "It'll be ok. We're just having some fun, me and you. Now step," he commanded, tapping the side of her thigh and she complied, tears streaking mascara down her cheeks as she stepped over the skirt that had pooled at her shoes.

And then his fingertips were at her panties again, massaging against the front of her pussy in the same insistent manner that the Doctor had. The flashback of it, assaulted her, and she felt the same incessant panic building in her stomach. His hand continued kneading between her legs, ignoring her attempts to push him away, and she felt kind of insanity building within her. She frantically turned her blurred vision to the area around them, looking for some kind of help. There had to be something, and then there was, a lit farmhouse in the distance. A beacon of light; if she could only get there .When she felt him trying to force her panties down her legs, it was just too similar to what the pervert doctor had done, and she just lost it.

With whatever remaining strength she had left, she brought her knee up as hard as she could into his groin. She wasn't sure how solidly she'd gotten him, but he'd fallen away with a tremulous groan, and for the first time she had space and could feel the cool night air on her exposed flesh. She didn't waste a moment. On shaky legs she took off for the farmhouse. She could see it so clearly, it really wasn't so far. She'd make it and the kindly folk there would drape her in a blanket and help her and protect her, and she'd put this whole terrible episode behind her. She could see it so clearly in that moment. She felt the stirring of hope deep within.

And then she was falling.

She yelped as his hand had snaked around her ankle at the last possible moment and he'd yanked with surprising strength. She fell hard to the ground, skinning both knees, an elbow, and her cheek. She could feel the cool trickle of blood. And such pain! She could see he was standing now, his form completely shadowed. He was shaking his shaggy main of hair as if fighting through a daze. Her heart sank, she must not have connected as cleanly as she thought. Desperately, she got up onto all fours. Her legs were too weak at this point; they wouldn't bear her weight, so she began frantically trying to crawl in the direction of the farm house. She'd gone a few paces before realizing that she wasn't getting anywhere. He'd grabbed her ankle again, and then his hand was on her knee and then thigh and then he'd flipped her on her back, so easily, as if she weighed no more than a child. What happened after was a blur in her mind, all she can recall is image after image in her head, like an unwanted slide show of humiliation. Image after image.

She's crying, and he's there between her legs. He's thrown off his shorts and all the tenderness in him is gone.

Then an image of his hard member, free from his boxers, looking terrifying and huge and veined and purple in the moonlight.

And then he's in her, and it hurts so bad! Each savage thrust causes her to scream, and she was screaming so loud that she was sure someone would come running. But they never did. How can they not hear her? Her smaller, lithe form is being ravaged. It feels like he's going to break her in two.

And then he's done, but he's still on her, crushing her. She can't breathe. Why is he still on her? She could feel his hands all over her body, and he's sucking on one of her nipples and she's too weak to fight back or even move. She's whimpering softly, and then his lips are on her own, and she can taste her own juices on his lips, while one hand is spreading her juices through the sleek hair of her ponytail and the other is up between her legs inside of her, fucking her lewdly as her hips betray her and writhe and its all too much. She blacks out completely.

She didn't recall how she got home that night, but she did wake up the next morning in her bed. Her whole body was sore, and she was bruised all over, inside and out. The only time she got out of bed that day was to rip up her tennis skirt and blouse, seam by seam, and the parts that didn't rip, she cut savagely, until she had no more energy and collapsed back onto her bed, crying softly, curled up in a fetal position. She missed a week and a half of classes. When she started going again, and people would ask about her cuts and bruises, she would tell them she fell rollerblading. She never saw a doctor and she never played tennis again.

And then she was silent once more.

I opened my eyes. I hadn't realized it, but I had had my eyes closed the entire time she told that story, re-living every painful detail in my mind's eye. But I went cold when I saw her. It was a chilling expression. She was looking directly at me. Her eyes were an impossible shade of blue and tearful, desperately trying to find some meaning in my gaze for why she had to tell me all that had happened. It was a naked gaze, and it broke my heart. But there was something else in that beseeching look. I'm not sure how I knew, but I knew. There was one more crucial thing that had happened to her. And I wouldn't be able to sleep tonight if I didn't find out what.

*****
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