[Author's note -- yet another true story, I changed some identifying details to protect the privacy to the people involved -- the girl is a friend of mine]
*
[6 years ago]
The headline caught my eye as I was skimming through the "Local news" section of the newspaper -- "13-year-old girl gang-raped by 2 14-year-old boys." More irritainment, I thought -- I don't want to know, but now I feel compelled to read it. I quickly read the story -- in the school 3 blocks from my own, a 14-year-old classmate had asked a 13-year-old named Lisa Stephenson if she could help him study for a quiz. Being very good at academics, she accepted. The two walked home, studied for a few minutes alone [the boy's parents worked until 7:00 at night], then a friend of the boy's had come by. Alone with the girl, the two boys had beaten her to a pulp, then stripped her and gang-raped her repeatedly. Apparently the whole thing had been a setup.
When my friend Tommy arrived a few minutes later, he had seen the article, too. "I don't believe it, Roger," he said. "Our age. You and I are both 14, and we would never do this." After we agreed that an appropriate torture would be to strip the boys, cut off their balls with a rusty knife and let them bleed to death, we went to the gym and took out our frustrations with the world on punching bags for 2 hours. I felt tired but better afterwards.
[Present day]
"Ok, class," the teacher said. "Your assignment is to write a 25-page paper on a food company of your choosing. You have the remaining 4 weeks of the summer term to complete it. You will work in pairs selected at random, right now." She reached into a hat. "Roger?" "Here!" I replied. "You will be paired with... [drawing a name from hat]... Jessica." 10 minutes later, we were all paired up. "Remember, class," said the teacher, "your assignment is due in 4 weeks, not a day later. Late papers will receive a grade of zero. You do not have to attend class between now and then, as I would like you to devote full attention to your paper. The 25 pages is the body of the paper only, NOT including cover pages, title pages, tables of contents, footnotes, bibliographies, or anything else. You are expected to supply those elements as well, of course. See you in 4 weeks, and good luck."
Jessica and I spent the next week solid in the library, reading books, checking websites for information on our company [we chose ADM], taking notes, and writing first an outline and then a preliminary 10-page draft. The one problem was that the library closed at 6 p.m. "Jess," I said as the librarian escorted us towards the door, "why don't we keep working at your place? Or mine? We could be much more productive, because we could work until whatever time we wanted."
"I don't know," Jessica replied. "I'm just not comfortable around boys. I wish I had been partnered with a girl."
"You seemed comfortable enough with me in there," I said as I gestured at the library. "So what's the difference?"
"I just don't like being alone with people of the male gender," she said. "I have my reasons."
I sighed. "The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable," I responded quietly. "However, that damn paper won't write itself. I think we need to spend more time on it than we've been spending."
It was Jessica's turn to sigh. "I know," she said. "Still..."
"Why don't we try it for an hour tonight?" I asked. "If it works, we can work later again tomorrow."
"One hour," Jessica said firmly, "is ALL you're getting. And you better keep your mind entirely on the paper. No appraising looks, offers of backrubs, why-don't-we-have-coffee-afterwards, or any hanky-panky."
"I don't recall asking you for a date," I said. "I promise to keep focused on the paper."
The next day, Jessica seemed more relaxed about the idea of working late. She still had her guard fiercely up, though. "OK, no time limits this time," she said. "But you will NOT do anything unprofessional in the slightest way."
"What if we get hungry later?" I asked.
"Then you will sit your ass down in a chair and proofread what we've done while I call for a pizza," was Jessica's response. "I hope you like mushrooms and olives, because it's MY apartment and therefore I make the decisions."
Something started tugging at the back of my mind about Jessica, but try as I might, I couldn't quite connect the dots. "Deal," I said.
We worked far into the night. We had eaten hot pizza at 9:00 and cold leftovers at 12:30 and were still grinding away at 2 a.m. My eyes were starting to close of their own volition, and Jessica was clearly running out of juice as well. I got up to locate a book in the other room, and returned to find her slumped over in front of the computer, eyes closed and snoring softly.
My natural chivalrous instincts took over. I gently slid my arms under her body and carried her into her bedroom. I laid her out flat on her bed, covered her with a blanket, and settled into a recliner on the far side of the room. Within minutes we were both sleeping peacefully.
I woke up, somewhat bleary-eyed, and it took a moment to place where I was. I yawned, stretched, and levered myself out of the chair. Just then I heard a rustling noise and turned to see Jessica shaking the sleep out of her eyes.
"What the... how did I get here?" she said, still half in dream world. "Roger? What are you doing here?"
"We worked ourselves to exhaustion last night, Jess," I said. "You passed out at the computer, and I had enough left to carry you to bed and collapse in that chair."
"You... carried me to bed? And you didn't strip me and steal a look? Or assault me? How is that possible?" she asked incredulously.
The connection I had been trying to find last night suddenly lit up. "Because I'm not a monster like those boys who raped you six years ago... Lisa." I replied. I was kicking myself for not seeing it before, but better late than never, I thought.
"What did you call me?" Lisa asked. "And, how..."
"Lisa Jessica Stephenson," I responded, "I read the article in the paper. Later that day I saw you go public with your name and what happened on TV, to try and make sure those animals would never do anything like that again to any other girl. I saw that they both died in juvey after provoking a fight and felt that the world was a little safer. I knew you looked familiar. I've been trying to think of where I knew your face. Then it all came together, which explains a lot. I am NOT like those boys. I know why you don't trust any men, but I feel I've earned a little trust. After we do our morning session, why don't we take a couple of hours and go sit by the pond and feed the ducks?"
"You're absolutely right about what happened back then," a visibly shaken Lisa responded. "Just talking about it brings back such bad memories. I don't know how to trust any male, now. Even though you're saying and doing all the right things, and I feel I should give you some benefit of the doubt, I still don't see how I'll ever be able to do that with any male."
"We can discuss that later, by the pond," I said. "In the meantime, we have a paper to write."
Two weeks later, we were just putting the finishing touches on a 27-page masterpiece. It was 5:00 in the evening, and we were done a week early. "This calls for a celebration of some kind," I said.
I had practically moved in with Lisa over the two-week period, spending every spare moment at her apartment. When we weren't working like demons, I was coaxing her to tell me everything. I never made any judgments, just listened and let her spill out her anger and frustration that had been building for 6 years. I knew I was making progress because by the end of the first week, she had been crying in my arms. That, she told me [when she realized what had happened] was the first time she had ever been exposed to loving, caring contact from a male her age.
"How about Chinese food?" Lisa asked. "I know a great little hole-in-the-wall a few blocks from here."
At the restaurant, she held my hand and looked straight into my eyes as we chatted over what was indeed a delicious meal. The whole time, she seemed to be wrestling with something in her mind, but as was my routine, I let her talk and didn't try to force anything from her. Finally, we got back to her apartment and she lay down next to me on the sofa, her head resting against my chest.
"Roger," she said slowly, "I've never been in a position like this. I would like to..."
Her voice trembled for a moment. "I don't know how to approach this... I trust you. I've never had any sort of consensual sexual contact." She sighed deeply, as if she had been trying to say that but her memories had been not letting her. "You have to promise to stop if I tell you to," she said.
"I promise," I said.
"Will you... kiss me?" she asked.
I held her slim body against my strong one. She was trembling slightly. I gently moved my face forward and touched her lips with mine. I ran one hand through her long, soft, flowing, dark-brown hair as I did so, then used it to caress her neck and shoulders very gently.
"What's next?" she asked. Her voice still had a nervous tremor in it.
"The next step would be a tongue-kiss," I replied.
"Okay," she said. I once again brought her face close to mine and gently kissed her, then slowly slid my tongue forward until it touched her lips. She parted then slightly and slid her tongue out to meet mine. I let her probe and swirl within my mouth before exploring hers. When we broke for air, she was smiling.
