Topless

by Relentless Aaron

  “Oh really?” Truth be told, Mechelle couldn’t believe what she’d heard and didn’t really know how to respond. If some of her school friends, or even her sister, were with her, she’d surely be singing a different tune to these meatheads. Oh, Mechelle could get loud and vulgar if she wanted to. Don’t get that twisted. But this wasn’t school, and she wasn’t at home. She was in Buttfuck, North Carolina, with no money, no friends, no help, nowhere.

  “Yeah . . . sure.” Mechelle’s answer had an attitude. She slightly chuckled, but this was Mechelle’s way of replying to anyone who challenged her. She was always so instantly sarcastic. Even if this was a different situation, she was the same ole Mechelle.

  “Oh, so you’s a funny city-nigger-girl, huh?” The heavy one turned things up a notch. Meanwhile, the slim one whispered to the older, balding, funny-walking man.

  “Well, go the fuck on ’n piss, kid! What the fuck!” The older man spoke as if he was looking to reveal Mike’s big secret. Embarrassed, Mike looked around and then settled for the dark area behind the ice machine. He moved in a backwards motion, then turned to scoot to the spot. Just then, the fat one cursed him out again.

  “Fuck-no, Mike. Comeer.” Mechelle was finally able to put a name to one of these faces.

  Mike.

  Mike hesitated at Fat Boy’s order.

  “I said comeer!” Fat boy pointed at the porch where Mechelle was huddled like a rock.

  “Whachawant, Bo? I gotta go.” Mike stressed his eyes down towards his zipper.

  Bo. So, the fat one’s name is Bo.

  “Alright, missy from New Yawk. Tell ya what. We’s gonna play a little game since you wanna be all smart-assy . . .” Bo guessed that this girl was trembling now, regretting the attitude she displayed. But he didn’t care a bit since the occasion was making his pecker harder and harder by the second. He wondered if her head was rushing like his was. Maybe that was just the beers fucking with him since they had just been to Joe Bob’s bar a mile away . . . since they were boozed up enough to feel a little above the law . . . and boozed up enough to not give a shit.

  “Oh, don’cha be puzzled, little city-slicker . . . don’cha be scrrd cuz a few crackers done run up on ya. We’s a few good boys, we are . . . we just out to have a good ole time . . .”

  At this point, Mechelle couldn’t hear any more. She was frightened, afraid for her life, and about to panic. She had no idea that these men were intoxicated, but even so, it didn’t make a difference. This appeared to be nothing less than their very own unprovoked, malicious actions.

  Mike’s eyes widened, wondering what Bo was up to now. The last crazy thing that he had Mike do was to hotwire Joe Bob’s car and drive it into Kessler’s Pond when Joe Bob denied them any more credit. Credit was reinstated the next day, along with Bo’s ego. Ever since, he began exercising this notion that he was above the law.

  “Alrighty then, missy . . . relax yo’self. Put your legs down like a nice little nigger-girl.” Bo eyeballed Jed as if he was planning to make him proud. Jed blinked unconsciously, in slow motion, while turning his head back towards the girl. Bo took that as agreement from the elder of the crew, then he twisted his head contemptuously towards the girl—zeroing in on his prey. And while these looks were being shared, Mike was simply bloated with piss. The girl was apparently procrastinating, exercising her belligerence, and Mike didn’t see what any of this had to do with him having to pee!

  “Ah sayd, put yo’ fuckin’ legs down, bitch!” The man they called Bo emphasized his words, simultaneously pulling a palm-sized, 9 millimeter pistol from under his shirt. He stepped up on the wood platform and pressed the tiny barrel to Mechelle’s forehead. There was a burning sensation in her stomach now as her every limb shivered. She slowly let go of her legs, easing them down below her, sitting perfectly still with hands dropped to her sides on the bench.

  Mike seemed to shrivel, and he dropped his shoulders to put his hands in his pockets. Both the older and younger sidekicks simply stared at Bo. But why did Mechelle sense that there was no stoppin’ this guy Bo from whatever he was gonna do?

  “Mike . . . you said you had to go? So go.” The skinny one, Mike, quickly turned around to head for the ice machine, the piss just about to explode from him. “Nah, boy . . . here! Go here! Here, on the nigger-girl’s legs.” Bo looked toward Mike, with the gun pressing harder into Mechelle’s skull until it cocked back to its limit. No doubt, Bo wasn’t fucking around. Whatever he was getting to . . . however he intended to get his rocks off, it was about to commence.

  Mike fumbled for his zipper and pulled it down. He reached into his pants and boxers as if he had to search for it; he grabbed his penis, exposing the twig-of-a-thing to the two others, and pointing it in the direction of Mechelle’s ankles, Mike stood there with his eyes squeezed closed.

  Bo shoved Mike with his free hand. “Gowan’ . . . thought ya had to piss?”

  “It’s comin’. It’s comin’.” Mike tried not to look at Mechelle and it was obvious that he never did this before. But all Mechelle could do was grovel before him.

  “Please. Don’t listen to—”

  “Shut up, city-slick bee-atch. Git’er, boy!”

  Mike simply had to go. And go he did, with his steamy stream of urine hitting the girl’s bare legs and flowed down into her sneakers. She let a tear drop down her cheek, even if she remained still and somehow still proud. The urine was thick with fumes—a combination of rotten eggs and burnt rubber. It splashed about the porch under her while Mike looked over at Bo for acknowledgment. But Bo was steady smiling at Mechelle—getting his rocks off and still pressing the gun snug against Mechelle’s head. Bo was also breathing fast and heartily, realizing his own personal neurotic pleasure in the moment. The look at Bo threw Mike off in a way that caused his urine to change directions, now spraying Mechelle’s knees and thighs. He was taken aback by her expression, her tears flowing more rapidly now. Suddenly jolted by the expression on her face, the kid adjusted his direction, now almost a minute into his relief, and aiming back at her ankles as if that were the lesser crime. Once his rush slowed, he shook the remaining drops, then quickly tucked his assault weapon back into his pants.

  Mechelle was distraught now, overcome with the lurid stench that was about her waist and limbs. She was breathing harder than a doomed hot air balloon and still trembling with fright. At the same time, the one they called Jed was wide-eyed and grinning with fascination. And now he added his two cents to the malice.

  “Might as well leave it out, Mike. I got a feelin’ your virgin days is over.” Mike swung his head around to Jed, his zipper halfway up. He was outraged at Jed’s big mouth. Bo lowered the gun and stepped back to watch with his hearty laughter.

  “Jed!”

  “Don’ act like it ain’t so, Mike. Sheeet, the whole friggin’ town knows you’s a v, Mike! And you knows we known it all along. You’s a punk-pussy till you grown up to be a man. And you ain’t no man if’n you ain’t had no pussy.”

  Mechelle’s body shook and shivered; she was no less than a shaved poodle deserted in a winter snowstorm.

  “Please . . . stop this. Don’t dooo this. What did I do to you all?” she cried.

  “Shut d’fuck up, nigger-bitch!” Bo’s piece of wood turned even harder at this point. He was in control here; likely the only thing he had control over other than his mouth. “Shoulda stayed your ass on the bus.”

  “But please . . .” she said, but then she quickly suppressed her cries when Bo reached his pistol back over his shoulder as if to whip her.

  “Shuuut uuup, nigger!” His words came out like a loud echo. And the utter fear raced through her at the thought of her dilemma.

  “Git up.”

  Mechelle pushed herself up from the bench and immediately felt the sticky wetness in her Reebok sneakers. Beads of urine continued to trickle down her calves. Bo flicked his pistol, indicating for her to move on, and the 3 men trailed Mechelle towards the Coke machine and then around to the lot
at the rear of the station. Back here was a gas pump against the wall, a stack of used tires and some empty oil cans. Beyond the lot were trees and darkness. Mechelle considered running, but the thought of endless woods and her fear of bullets detained her.

  Bo poked Mechelle to move faster, and in the moon’s glow, their four shadows were cast onto the station’s dirty white wall, all of them moving in unison so that the four bodies look like eight. When they got to the rear of the station they faced an old Bentley parked and rusting. The tires on the vehicle were flat, evidence of a decade’s worth of neglect.

  “Open the door,” Bo ordered.

  Mechelle obeyed, but the door was locked. Bo pushed Mechelle up against the car and her upper body bent over to the front hood. He pressed the pistol to her temple and smacked her wet ass with his full palm nearly covering her all.

  “Keep your head on the car and don’t fucking move.” Bo turned the small handgun so that the barrel was extended from his fist. He pulled up the flap of his flannel shirt to cover the barrel—maybe to lessen the noise—and smashed the driver’s side window. With the glass scattered like crystal chips onto the front seat, Bo reached in and felt for the lever. But what he was reaching for was on the front seat along with the broken glass. He went for the back door lever and eventually got a door opened.

  “Alrighty then . . .” All these sounds—the clicks and tugs and broken glass—were noises that continuously startled Mechelle, as if a knife was poking at her. She could feel the sequence of it all; the progress towards inevitable pain and peril. When it would end, she couldn’t imagine. But already, she felt as if there’d been hours of torture. Her tears had stopped and she became lost in the whole theme of events. Just going along as she was told.

  Bo pulled Mechelle’s hair back and her body jerked back too.

  “Get them pants down, bitch. And don’t give me any problems or you’ll get a slug in yer ass.” With the pistol again to her temple, Mechelle began whimpering. The piece of steel was starting to feel like an extension to her head, she was so conscious of it. She did as she was told. She pried her wet shorts and panties from her waist until they dropped along her legs to the dirt floor.

  Mike stood by Jed, still with his zipper open and his inexperienced penis shriveled up and hiding inside. Jed pulled a half pint bottle of Jack Daniels from his back pocket and swigged at it. Refreshing himself.

  “You fine’ly gonna get you some. Be a man, boy. Here, this’ll tighten ya some.” Jed pushed the bottle to Mike. Mike was as stiff and scared and speechless as his pimples. He took a swig and grimaced at the bitter strength of the liquor.

  While Mike and Jed carried on, Bo was in his own world.

  “This too,” said Bo, and he reached out to Mechelle, grabbed her denim top and pulled—hard enough for two of the three buttons to pop—so that the clasp of her bra was ripped and her left breast was exposed. Hype as ever, Bo pushed Mechelle back against the Bentley to observe.

  “Gimme some . . .” Bo reached out to Jed for the bottle of Jack Daniels, then he threw his head back for a quick swig. Between drinks, Bo eyed Mechelle, as if to reconsider this event, standing with his legs spread chauvinistically, and the bottle pushing his head back and eyes to the sky. Meanwhile, standing naked in her soggy Reeboks, Mechelle was still that flawless, chocolate prize, humbled and scared before these local hicks.

  “Now this is real simple, missy. You’re gonna take all of us and we’re gonna let you go like a good girl. In the morning you’ll forget all about us. Do the job right and you don’t get a cap in yo’ ass. Do it wrong, I’ll kill yer ass juss the same. Try anything stupid, I kill yer ass. And bitch, if you scream once, I’mma shoot you and then kill yer ass again . . . Jed. Give ’er some Jack.” Jed screwed his face a second until he met Bo’s eyes. Then he pushed the bottle to Mechelle.

  “Take it, gowon.” Jed softened and handed the bottle over. Mechelle reached for the bottle and held it. She couldn’t decide if this was her chance—to break the bottle and start cutting everything in sight, or was this even threatening enough to save her at all.

  “Drink,” Bo ordered. “All of it.” No choice in the matter, Mechelle put the whiskey to her lips and slowly sipped. Bo moved closer, not wanting to dilly dally, and he pushed the bottle up until Mechelle gurgled the liquor down. Some spilled about her lips and cheeks, dribbling down her body. Mechelle could only shed tears that slid down her cheek and neck, blending with the beverage, soaking into the skin about her shoulders and breasts. She felt so helpless and alone, wondering if praying would help. Wondering if anything would help. Her swallow was followed by a heavy, ripping burn.

  “Okay. You git in the car first, Mike. And you take care of ’im like a good nigger-girl. This is his first time.”

  As told, Mechelle crawled into the dusty cabin of the Bentley. The leather cracked under her knees. She didn’t hesitate anymore, and intended on submitting enough to at least get out of this alive. She was in too much shock to think about protection of any kind—she just wanted this to be over.

  Just as Mike started after the girl, Jed pulled his shirt to slow him up.

  “God sakes, Mike, drop yer drawers, boy. Ain’t no otha way.”

  “But she’s . . . she’s a nigger, Uncle Jed.”

  “A bitch is a bitch, boy. One day you’ll learn. Plus a nigger-bitch is better, ’cause she’s as good as a slave. She’ll just do any ole thing ya say. Just watch.”

  Mike dropped his pants, leaving his boxer drawers on. With a doe’s eyes, Mechelle sat up in the back seat, arched by her arms and elbows behind her.

  “Get in there in front’a her, boy . . .” Jed was calling directions. “. . . Now take his whistle out, girl. Gwon.” Mechelle did take Mike’s penis out, thin and limp as it was. She couldn’t ever remember feeling this inhibited about holding a man’s dick, even after 5 or 6 other men in her life. It was the thought of this kid’s innocence that eased her fears, but it also made her wanna puke. What harm could he do with this?

  “Suck it . . . put ’em in your mouth and make ’em hard.” Mechelle leaned over to take him as he kneeled between her legs, there on the back seat. His tall body, head and shoulders were leaning, collecting cobwebs over top of her for lack of headroom in the car. Mechelle barely enclosed her lips over Mike’s grungy-smelling penis before he began to expand. All Mechelle could think of was keeping her tongue and gums away from his prick. But it didn’t help. She was quickly growing nauseous from the cruddy odor of his pubic hairs right under her nose.

  Meanwhile, Mike’s eyes got bigger and more excited. If he stretched his eyelids any more, the sockets of his eyeballs could have held golf balls. Mechelle tried to steady him, attempting again to clasp his penis with her outer lips. Surely, he couldn’t know what a real blow job was. Instinctively, Mike held Mechelle’s head, pressing her closer to him. Now her tongue was flat against the underside of his prick. Eventually, Mike was moving about wildly, until Jed spoke up.

  “Easy, Mike . . . easy. There’s more, kid. Show ’im more, bitch.” Now, Bo and Jed stood looking through the car windows like peeping Toms with their hands in their pants. Mechelle took the opportunity to remove Mike from her mouth. She let a mouthful of spit drool from her lips, oozing down her chin and chest. After a few deep breaths of mildewed air, she adjusted her body. Mike came down off of his knees and bridged his body over top of her. He was apprehensive about being face to face with a “nigger,” but he had also seen plenty of movies to at least know what went where.

  Arching his upper body, Mike mashed his groin against her pubic area. Body to body, he began to rub around and around, applying more friction. Meanwhile, the audience outside was too preoccupied to know that there was no penetration here; they even square-danced around the car, laughing and drinking wildly. Inside, Mike was rocking on top of Mechelle. He was too frantic and desperate to realize that this was not sex. And this began to break the spell, injecting a bit of humor into the escapade. If this wasn’t so horrifi
c and devastating, Mechelle might just have to laugh out loud at this young fool. Was this really happening? Was this guy actually coming closer and closer to orgasm?

  Finally, there was a finishing point, with Mike ejaculating and letting out a cry of exhilaration. Mechelle found her tummy and waist dressed with a serving of the 18-year-old’s semen, while he slumped down onto her body. His face molded into her neck as if they’d been longtime lovers.

  Seconds later, Mechelle pushed Mike up off of her thinking that the worst was over. He scrambled out of the car while she lay there propped up on her elbows, wondering when these three would leave her be.

  Bo slapped Jed on the shoulder.

  “Gowon, Jed. I want the bitch last. Sloppy, sloppy thirds.” Bo let out a big laugh as he buddied up with Mike, who was just recuperating from his part in the ordeal. Mechelle’s eyes squinted, suddenly aware that this was not over. And then she realized just what abuse was, now that the older man climbed on top of her. He felt scruffy and smelled of nicotine and whisky. He’d opened his shirt and merely pulled his trousers to his thighs. Jed reached between Mechelle’s legs, knowing what he wanted. He felt wetness, but didn’t know that it was only spent semen from Mike. Still, Jed wiggled his fingers around in the opening and seemed to be preparing himself at the same time with his other hand. Mechelle just lay motionless, crying, barely able to breath.

  “Now don’t you worry, girly. This ain’t gonna hurt a bit.” Mechelle’s head began to pound, with the liquor and the raunchy stench taking her senses more and more. She was close to blacking out, but she was still aware that a total stranger was mounting her; inviting himself into her and violating her. The man’s fingers felt so foreign and impersonal inside of her. Then, without a moment’s notice, he was prying her open and entering her. And consequently, the semen that Mike left on her actually helped to ease the pain, with the gluey consistency actually making things slick and bearable. But the more Jed got into Mechelle, the bigger and wider he grew. She felt more than his potential as he expanded inside of her. Mechelle braced herself up against the opposite side of the car, holding onto the front and back headrests for support. Meanwhile, Jed forged himself again and again, getting harder and stronger with each of Mechelle’s whimpers. Mechelle began to moan and wail louder, even as Bo and Mike square-danced outside, the two of them celebrating Mike’s newfound manhood. It was at the same time that Mechelle “oohed” and “aahed” like an overdramatic porn star, only she wasn’t faking. She wasn’t enjoying the act, and yet the act was increasingly overcoming her as she endured every inch of his anguish, his abstinence and his hostility towards blacks.