Topless

by Relentless Aaron

  “No . . . no . . . no,” Mechelle bawled. But Jed did not let up.

  “Shut up, nigger-bitch—” With all of his issues on the front line, he continued thrusting and pumping this woman’s hole. It didn’t matter who she was. “—shut-the-fuck . . . up.” Jed pumped his anger deep, turning this stranger into his personal human dispenser for all those many shortcomings. And while her head thumped against the car door, Jed thought about Big Blue the log-cutting champ. Jed’s chest hairs were coarse, sanding her bare breasts as he thought about all the women who’d rejected him over the years. He gripped her hair with one hand and silenced her cries with his other palm over her mouth, pounding her and driving her as he thought about his missing leg. At that moment, he ejaculated, like a leak had cracked his pipe. He yowled and subsequently pulled out, his sperm still dripping onto her chest and belly. He worked his way up to Mechelle’s face until the two of them were crowded there, pressed up against the window of the back door, and he rubbed his penis in her face until she was painted with his semen.

  “Yeeeehaww!” Jed shouted an eerie, howling celebration. He jumped off, adjusted his pants, and crawled out of the car, past Bo. Bo was rubbing his hands together in energetic, malicious anticipation. He poked the 9 millimeter into Jed’s hand and climbed into the Bentley.

  Mechelle lay helpless as ever now, moaning there on the back seat. Both sets of her lips were swollen, and her eyes were rolling lifelessly in their sockets. Her arms and legs were strewn over the edge of the seat. Her calves and feet were dangling out of the open car door. She looked like an overdose victim; and still, they weren’t done with her.

  “Please . . . no more. Please. I—I can’t . . . take any . . . more. I’ll do any . . . thing. But . . .”

  WHACK! Bo smacked her with a swift, open palm.

  He was already in the backseat, shirt off and pants to his ankles. His belly was pressed against her abdomen and he was volleying with her legs, lifting one up over the front seat and one over the back. Bo was going in like a tank and his victim was uttering her last chances for reprieve.

  “Say ‘no more’ again, nigger-bitch. Say it!”

  “No . . . more. Plee . . .”

  SMACK!

  Bo hit her again, leaving her cheek and jaw even more in-flamed and red.

  “Say it again. I dare ya. Gowon!” Bo was ruthless. And now he had her on her back with her legs straddled and elevated as if she was ready to give birth. Her body was glistening at the mid-section, but mostly from the perspiration and semen of the previous visitors. Her body was also numb from so much pressure. So much abuse and pain. Bo could care less. He fondled himself to erection and pressed himself into Mechelle’s gooey vagina. She was loose now. Sticky.

  Bo was short and stout. He held her one leg in place with his left hand and smacked her ass with the other. With each thrust there was a sigh from her lips. Bo was trying to make it exciting by the ass slapping, but she was too out of it to be revived. Not only was Bo raping her but he was also smothering her. His weight was so unbearable that she no longer sighed. Now, there were merely those effortless gasps for air that came from her mouth and lungs. Mechelle’s body was totally senseless now. No feeling at all. Her world was spinning and her eyes rolled back into her head until she was unconscious. She didn’t feel Bo ejaculate, nor could she feel any more of his smacks to her ass and face. She didn’t even realize the worst, that he had pissed on her face and body when he was done fucking her mouth.

  Mechelle might as well have been dead.

  The Morning After

  At 6am, Mechelle woke up on a cot, with old man Riley holding a smelling salt capsule under her nose. His face came into focus, shaking Mechelle into paranoia. Because he was white, Mechelle associated him with her pain and torture of a few hours earlier. But Riley held Mechelle down, calming her as best he could. He told her that she’d be okay and that he was helping her, not hurting her. She looked around at what seemed to be a back room or office of some sort. There was a steaming cup of coffee on a nearby table. Some warm towels were in a bowl of water, plus she was covered by a clean white blanket. He reached again for a towel to dab on her mouth and cheek.

  “You were a mess out there in the back this morning. I cleaned you up as best I could.” Riley smiled, but not selfishly.

  Mechelle felt cozy, but if she budged at all there was that sharp pain between her legs. Her vagina was throbbing, and so was her cheek and mouth.

  “Looks like you’re outta pocket here.” The man who said he was sorry had introduced himself as Riley; and now he was trying his best to strike up a conversation with Mechelle, perhaps wanting to relieve himself of the guilt he felt. Maybe, Mechelle wondered, there might even be grounds to sue the pants off of him and Greyhound.

  When Riley found Mechelle at 6a.m. laying on the porch moaning, he knew that she’d been hurt and that it was his fault. So he took her inside quickly before anyone saw her. He didn’t call the sheriff, for fear that he’d be the talk of the town. Everybody would find out what a creep he was for what he did. Maybe he would even be implicated for assaulting her. So, Riley kept it all hush-hush. He cleaned her up with a hot bath, and she had 4 hours of rest. It was nearly 10 AM now.

  When Mechelle realized who Riley was, she wanted to get away from him more than anything else. But she couldn’t. She accepted Riley’s complementary meals and TLC. When he was in the shop tending to a customer, Mechelle took it upon herself to dab the hot cloths on her pubic area and face. She’d already missed the 9AM bus. But, damned if she was gonna miss the next one at noon.

  Her shorts were still damp from being hastily washed, but Mechelle wanted them back on her body. She began to stretch her limbs and eventually worked her feet into the shorts to pull them on. Riley walked in on her, not realizing that she was mostly nude and turned his head away.

  “Sorry, missy . . . I thought you might like these.” Riley handed Mechelle a set of brand-new sweats. Fresh from the shelf in the souvenir area of the bus depot. The sweatshirt had a bold, scriptive black print against its pink color: “Welcome to North Carolina!” Mechelle thanked him with a somewhat sarcastic overtone. It was obvious by now that he’d seen Mechelle’s body through and through. But it was no time for quarrels or cursing. Mechelle just wanted to walk again, to be mobile and dressed and away from North Carolina altogether.

  Riley left the room, leaving Mechelle to indulge in the newness of the sweatsuit, as though she’d just received a new cheerleading uniform and that it would brush away all the pain—not to mention, she felt like the entire high school football team ran a train on her. She did some stretching, some aerobics, and she drank a lot of the bottled water Riley had set beside the cot. Slowly, the headache disappeared. 11:30 came. Mechelle tossed her soiled clothes, pulled on some flip-flops, and she grabbed another blueberry muffin from the tray before heading for the door. Out in the station, Mechelle pretended that nobody was watching her. She noticed Riley at the register where a large variety of candies and cigarettes were displayed.

  “Thank you for the food. I’m gonna wait outside—get some fresh air, ya know.”

  “Here . . .” He passed some change to a customer and reached under the counter for something. “. . . I put this together for you.” It was a travel bag with various snacks, cakes and sodas. There was a towel and washcloth set and a number of other convenient feminine needs.

  “Oh . . .” He passed her an envelope. “. . . and here’s a ticket so there’ll be no problem with the bus driver. Have a nice trip.” Riley offered a hint of a smile and Mechelle was less than appreciative. She waited outside the depot until 12 noon, determined not to look anywhere close to the left; where it all started. She just wanted to erase that whole encounter from her mind. She never wanted to come through here again. If she did, she wouldn’t be without a gang of girlfriends; girlfriends, weapons, and a wicked vengeance.

  Mechelle snuggled and curled up in a rear seat of the Greyhound headed for New York. She sought slee
p to maybe dream away the nightmare which she lived through. But she couldn’t trick herself. She leaned up against the window, gazing indirectly at passing images and reviewing the events of the previous night. She felt humiliated and used, hurt and violated. No doubt, this had been the most tragic night . . . the most tragic moment of her life. Mechelle wiped away a single tear.

  After what felt like the shortest trip ever into New York City, Mechelle weaved through the sea of faces at the Port Authority Bus Terminal, suddenly facing new realities. She still had to find her luggage and her sister, Nikki. Nikki was to be waiting for Mechelle at one in the morning at the appropriate gate. But 1AM seemed like a history book away. And if she did find Nikki, what would she tell her? Would she notice the bruises? Ask questions? Get all nosey?

  Mechelle wanted to keep whatever humanity she had left. If that dissolved, she could always cut her wrists.

  Between 4:30PM and 5PM, Mechelle did her best to juggle 3 or 4 tasks; she had to learn to walk again, she had to find her luggage, and she had to get home. If she could manage all of that and maintain her sanity, the day might be a success. Life might just continue for her. Eventually, she roughed it, dealing with the sore feeling between her legs. At one point, she grabbed for her tummy. And the queasy feeling eventually made her toss up her breakfast.

  After a momentary cleanup in the public bathroom, Mechelle pulled on a Southpole hat that Riley had stuffed in her bag. She fixed it low on her brow and headed off to look for the lost and found office within Port Authority. The attendants there told her to first go through the baggage area, just down the counter. Her most pleasurable sight in the past 24 hours, Mechelle immediately identified her bags. She unconsciously checked her pockets for stubs, but quickly recalled that they were in her shorts, the ones she trashed. Nonetheless, the attendants were helpful, asking her to identify a few items that might be inside the bags. She did, and they let her retrieve her property without I.D.

  Mechelle got to a payphone and called Nikki’s apartment collect. No dice. Nikki’s phone would not accept collect calls. No long distance provider. Ghetto shit, Mechelle reckoned. Stranded again, Mechelle decided to rely on hope as she window-shopped at many of the terminal stores. Perhaps Nikki was around or she would at least return.

  The New York terminal was impersonal. Nobody gave her a second look and nobody else seemed to care. It was evening, but Mechelle kept her sunglasses on. (Another of Riley’s souvenirs). Announcements were barked over a loudspeaker. Gate numbers and destinations droned and echoed throughout the corridors. Incoming and outgoing buses. People with shoulder bags, luggage carts, attaché cases and strollers, all of them rushing to and fro. The scent of sweet, roasted peanuts mixed with Cinnabuns and fresh popcorn in the air.

  Mechelle parked herself next to a monstrous red contraption. Its iron foundations were glossy red like the skin on a cherry. Inside the four walls of glass there were simulated gumballs, the size of baseballs, sliding down rails, climbing up miniature conveyor belts to a high point and then twisting and turning down a colorful maze to a bridge. The bridge led the various balls over a mini pond until they repeated the entire process over again. With so much turmoil in her life, Mechelle watched the attraction in awe, amazed at the simplicity of the design and how the balls kind of resembled people; people who go through all kinds of twists and turns, ups and downs, only to go through it all over and over again, through the very same colorful, gigantic maze called life. Mechelle wondered where she was in that equation. But as she did, she noticed a man on the opposite side of the great big toy. He had his black hair tied back into a ponytail, and he was looking through the glass at Mechelle. Apparently, he’d been watching her all along; maybe ever since she was at the lost and found? Now he was moving in for a closer look. But Mechelle was too wrapped up in her own issues to give any more attention to her admirer.

  Stranger

  David was not a traveler, a wanderer or an employee at the nation’s biggest bus terminal. This was not his first time focused on a lost young woman either. David was on his usual stake-out at Port Authority. Looking for lost souls to benefit him in his own way. He knew what signs to look for in identifying lost souls. Moreover, his focus was not on just anybody. He was looking specifically for young, attractive women of color. There were some who he bought coffee for, took to lunch and helped with baggage. He forged relationships with those he considered to be aimless and vagabond since, in those cases, there’d be no challenge or demands for independence. Mostly, what he’d find was desperation, in whatever way, shape or form.

  In a nutshell, what David was attracted to was weakness and convenience of lonely hearts who arrived in New York to make it big in entertainment. David befriended Mechelle in just that way, hoping to find out more about her. But he held back his sexual aggressions. That was always kept on the back burner—his ulterior motive. He sensed something different about Mechelle, and so he had to be cautious. Her eyes said a lot more than the average vagabond at the terminal. This chick had a sense of knowing and a sharp wit, however hidden under her current issues. There was a greater potential here; more than just sex. For now, David figured, Mechelle was at her weakest. He didn’t know why, but he suspected a shattered story of some sort. A tale that had some whup-ass at the end of it.

  The two had coffee. Then more coffee. Then David offered Mechelle a ride to where she was going. Hell, she wanted to go to her sister’s apartment in Queens, but she didn’t even know where that was.

  “I didn’t think to take down Nikki’s address because everything was set up for us to meet at Port Authority,” Mechelle told David. “But I always had an alternative. I mean, I could stay with my mother. But I can’t . . .” Mechelle didn’t want to say it—there was no way she could let her mom catch her in this condition.

  “The truth is, David, I don’t have any place to stay right now.” Mechelle was critically frank. David comforted her by deliberating, as though he had a number of options. But he spoke up, not wanting to lose the opportunity.

  “I take care of this building in the Bronx. It’s close to everything. Even the baseball games and the subway. There are a few apartments still vacant. The entire building was recently renovated. It’s nice . . .” David had every bit of Mechelle’s attention. “I work with the landlord. Good terms. I know you don’t have a job or money just yet, but I can get you in now, and we can work it out down the road, when you get on your feet.” David seemed sincere, without a hint of contempt or larceny, but any of this would work for Mechelle, considering where she came from and how much healing was required to get her life back in order. Finally, she could do nothing but melt in the presence of such good fortune. David was like some guardian angel with a ponytail, how he appeared in her life with such good news at this time of dire need. Maybe he was being nice. Maybe she’d have to be concerned down the road. Whatever. One sure thing was that this was her time of need, not a time to try and discover any possible underlying motives.

  David felt he was impressive with his platinum Cherokee, perched up in the driver’s seat as cocky as could be. Dropping signs about his access to money, power and respect. Mechelle could have uttered a dramatic yawn, but she wasn’t herself at present, and she was certainly in no mood to be sarcastic. Not for a long, long time. She merely expected that David’s description of the apartment was another dream he was trying to sell her, a mirage that he cooked up with the help of his jasminescented jeep with its soft reggae sounds consuming them.

  “Okay, if you don’t believe me, just watch and see,” said David as the two zoomed up the West Side Highway, onto the Cross Bronx Expressway and a few exits up the Major Deegan throughway until they pulled up to the building on Locust Avenue. The complex was stupendous at first glance, even in the dark. Actually, there were two buildings joined together by a big courtyard. The entrance was secured by a tall, black wrought-iron gate and a lock that was combination controlled. David helped Mechelle with her bags, leaving his truck double-parked on
the street. He directed her to the 5th floor.

  “It’s not much,” David warned as he put the key in the cylinder. “Remember, no furniture, no phone, TV or stereo.” David turned the key and opened the door to 5B.

  “That’s fine. I’ll make due.” Mechelle would have time to be resourceful later. But for now, she waited to hear what strings were attached.

  “Here it is,” said David, surprising her. The apartment was even better than he had her imagine. She inhaled the newness of the studio with its warm and inviting comfort.

  “Make yourself at home. I have 2 blankets down in the jeep. I’ll go get ’em.” He did bring blankets back and promised to check with her periodically. “You have my numbers,” were his last words. David must’ve expected to have access to Mechelle whenever and however he wanted to. So he played Mr. Laid-Back, handing her the key before shuffling down the hall to the elevator.

  Meanwhile, Mechelle was left to indulge in her very 1st apartment. It was secure. Simple and spacious. Shiny, polished wood flooring. New fixtures in the kitchen area and bathroom. She felt ultimate independence, even if she was lonely and distant from family and friends. At least she could soak in a hot bath and brush the horrors from her teeth and gums. After a 2-hour bath, Mechelle felt bold enough to trek to the stadium diner at the corner where she phoned her mother collect. Her mother (always dependable) gave her another number for Nikki’s cell phone and an access code for her to use so that she could make coinless calls for the time being.