This story is based in fact, although I was not involved.

It was February 14, 1992. Valentines Day. Kim Brown’s 13th birthday. A day that I will never forget.

The whole gang was crowded around in Darcy Philpott’s basement, listening to records and dancing. Some couples were fooling around in various corners of the room, the rest of us gawking and giggling, nervously looking around the room at the possibilities of pairing up with the love of your life, or at least the moment. It was then that George Philpott, Darcys 16 year old brother arrived with 4 of his friends. George wasn’t particularly good looking, but he was 16 and we were 13 so I guess he looked better in our eyes than perhaps he should have. The party took on a different direction. The puppy love records were discarded for hard rock. Good bye Rick Astley, hello AC/DC.

The guys produced a bottle of Southern Comfort. Darcy was aghast. “Where did you get it?” he demanded. “Dad’s gonna kill you,” he pointed out. After the proper protestations, Kim Brown was given a small glass of the liquor, to toast her emerging womanhood. She drank it down slowly, refusing to have her glass refilled. I was sitting on a chair with Leslie Dickenson, another of our gang. Leslie was about to turn 14. She had long auburn hair, braces on her teeth and, unlike the rest of us in our crowd, Leslie had boobs. George and Tim, some of his friends came over with 2 glasses of Southern Comfort and gave them to us. It was quite a thrill for a skinny 13 year old girl to be the center of attention of 2 older boys. They went to High School, for goodness sake!

George suggested that it might be better to go to the kitchen to chat, because it was so hard to hear over the music. It didn’t really occur to me to mention that it was George himself who turned the volume up so loud. So off to the kitchen we went, all 4 of us. I jumped up on the counter, sitting next to an ice bucket. George was leaning on the refrigerator and Leslie and Tim were standing right next to George. I noticed that Tim had his hand on the back of Leslie’s head and then she stepped forward to rest her head against his shoulder. More drinks were produced, this time mixed with Pepsi so that we wouldn’t get too loaded. But it wasn’t long before my head was spinning and at George’s urging, went to lie down for a while. Leslie had been drinking heavier than me, so she came with me to rest for a while in Darcy’s grandmothers room.

I don’t know how long I slept but as I awoke, I heard moaning and felt the bed pitch and roll. After a few minutes of this, I opened my eyes to see what was going on. There was Leslie, lying next to me on the bed. Tim had straddled her chest. He was naked and his penis was jammed into her mouth. A second boy had Leslie’s legs draped over his shoulders. He was naked from the waist down, as was Leslie. I could see his cock ramming into Leslie and I could hear her moan in pain every time he slammed into her. Tears were streaming down her face as the two boys savagely took her. Tim took his cock out of Leslie’s mouth, allowing her to speak for the first time. She begged them to stop. They didn’t. The boy fucking Leslie suddenly went rigid and let out a small squeal and then he was done. He gently lowered her legs and got off the bed. Leslie just lay there crying. She made no attempt to cover herself. She just sobbed.

Tim moved to the foot of the bed and with Georges help, lifted Leslie up, just high enough to place a small cushion under her bottom. Tim positioned himself between her legs and plunged into her with one stroke. Leslie looked over at me and I saw the pain and sheer terror in her eyes for the first time. Her lips were coated with cream and the tears welled up in her eyes. She reached across the bed towards me as Tim pounded into her. I reached over to touch her hand and saw George staring at me. He had a grim expression on his face as he gripped his erect penis.

Tim was fucking Leslie, back and forth, back and forth and Leslie just lay there with her legs spread wide apart, feeling every stroke and feeling nothing at all. George slowly walked towards us, crawling between us on the double bed. I held onto Leslie’s hand as George Philpott lay down beside me. He gently kissed me on the cheek. He turned my face towards him and again he gently kissed me, this time on the lips. He held my chin in his hand as his tongue probed the inside of my mouth. Leslie squeezed my hand and gasped for breath. Moments later, a plaintive moan indicated that perhaps another cock had found its way into her mouth. George rolled on top of me and, while continuing to kiss me, slid his hand under my shirt and onto my bra. I hoped against hope that this was all he wanted. I couldn’t move. I was drunk and I was afraid. George was kissing and nibbling on my neck and shoulder while grinding his pelvis onto my crotch. My right arm was pinned under his body and my left arm was held over my head. The movement on the bed ceased as Tim groaned and pulled himself from between Leslie’s thighs. It was at this point that George exclaimed holy shit and pulled the tissues from my bra. I knew I was in trouble.

I became the focal point of their activity. The boys all crowded around to watch as George Philpott exposed my ruse. Fuck, George, she’s a carpenter’s dream…flat as a plank! They all laughed. A boy that I’d never seen before reached down to press his palm against my flat chest. More remarks and hands probed my body, searching vainly for the breasts that were not to be found.

I felt my jeans being unbuttoned and the zipper drawn down. For the first time I reacted. I kicked my legs and tried to pull away from George. He had me pinned and the more I struggled the more aggressive the others became. I tore away from Georges kisses and turned away from him, only to see a hard penis just inches from my face, and before I knew it, it was in my mouth. This guy, whoever he was, grabbed me by my hair and held my head tight. He lunged forward and his penis jammed against the back of my throat.

I couldn’t move as he slid his cock in and out of my mouth. I felt as if I would choke to death. My jeans were off and I could hear and feel my panties being torn off. My legs were forced apart and I tensed, waiting for the inevitable pain. Instead, I was surprised to feel a mouth placed on my most private spot. His tongue slid up and down my slit, probing my vaginal lips. My legs were lifted and the cushion was placed under my bottom. The mouth resumed its licking of my vagina while this boy I didn’t even know continued to ram his cock into my mouth. He started to pull hard on my hair and he lunged forward really hard into my mouth. I thought I would choke to death when his stuff started shooting into me. I was choking and gasping for breath while he was telling me what a wonderful cocksucker I was. Somehow , being a 13 year old wonderful cocksucker didn’t exactly instill the sense of pride that he had imagined.

George had shoved my t-shirt and bra up to my neck, exposing my tiny breasts. He was visibly disappointed with my flat chest. He crawled to the side of the bed and slid his penis between my lips. He was much gentler than the first boy and set a much slower pace. He slid his hand down to my nipple and pressed against it with his finger. I heard Leslie tell someone please don’t! and without looking, knew that she was about to be fucked again.

A finger explored my vagina as George traded places with a third boy. Another cock slid between my lips. It was Tim. He pulled out of me after a few minutes and rearranged himself between Leslie and myself. As I suspected, Leslie was being fucked again. She was being held down by one teenage boy as yet another slammed between her legs. He had a death grip on her buttocks and was gasping for breath as he rapidly jackhammered into her. A third boy had pulled off her blouse and was squeezing her breasts and twisting her nipples. She had flecks of blood and semen smeared on her thigh. Tim wanted to alternate blowjobs between Leslie and myself, but he couldn’t quite get the arrangement right and soon gave up. He appeared a few minutes later with a beer. The boy fucking Leslie pulled out of her and squirted his stuff onto her tummy. He didn’t want her to get pregnant! Nice. She’d been raped at least 3 times and now they are concerned about prevention.

I was pulled forward onto my hands and knees, now facing the foot of the bed. My legs were yanked out from under me and I found myself lying flat on my tummy. I looked back to see Leslie. She had cum on her cheeks and chin. It was in her hair and on her breasts. There were no tears in her eyes now. She had none left to give. A tall pimply boy who I had not seen before climbed onto the bed. He gently guided his erect cock to Leslie’s lips. She closed her eyes and mechanically parted her lips, her tongue ever so slightly protruding from her mouth. Her legs were spread apart, where the last boy had left them.

The cushion was produced yet again and was jammed under my hips, forcing my bottom into the air. My buttocks were squeezed and pinched by one pair, two pair, who knows how many pairs of hands. My legs were forced apart and a finger probed my vagina. Tim had returned to stand in front of me. He pinched my nose until I opened my mouth to breathe and promptly jammed his penis down my throat. A cock nudged my vagina, trying to force its way in. It hurt like hell. A moment later, I felt margarine being rubbed onto and around my private parts. Someone laughed at my sparse growth of pubic hair. The penis once again nudged my vagina lips. My hips were held and after one failed attempt, he was buried inside me. Surprisingly, it was more uncomfortable than painful. He was only able to lunge into me a few times before it was over. I had been fucked. He had a tight grip on my hips as he continued to grind his pubic bone around my crotch. I could feel his testicles against my leg as Tim squirted into my mouth. I spit it onto the floor. A woman giving her virginity should be very special. My virginity was stolen and I have no idea of who took it. He pulled his wilting penis from my body and patted me on the bottom, like a dog. I felt so humiliated. I still do.

Another cushion was introduced, lifting me higher. Another cock found its way into my vagina as yet another cock found its way to my lips, then a third and a fourth. I kept seeing different faces. I lost track of how many boys had come and gone, literally. A pair of hands were tightly gripping my buttocks, pulling them apart. He had placed his cock between my bum cheeks and was sliding his penis back and forth as he squeezed my backside. He entered my vagina and slowly pushed in to the limit and slowly pulled out again. He did this 3 times. The next time he slid his cock along my bottom, he changed the angle and drove his cock into my anus. I moaned in agony and felt that I was going to faint. It only took 6 or 7 strokes before he erupted inside my bottom and collapsed across my back. Moments later, he withdrew and was quickly replaced by yet another boy anxious to fuck me in the ass. I looked at Leslie and she was crying again. She watched in complete horror as the boy’s cock pistoned in and out of my asshole. I heard him gasp, I felt him cum and suddenly I was alone, with my bare bottom stuck up in the air like some bizarre exhibit in an art gallery.

I was able to slide the pillows away from me and onto the floor. I lay on my side, my legs drawn up in the fetal position, too numb to do anything else. It was George Philpott who eventually came to me. He brushed my hair away from my face and offered me a glass of water. Speaking softly, he told me how wonderful I was, how mature I was, now that I knew the pleasures of sex. He told me that he loved me and wanted us to be together. He gently pushed me onto my back and crawled between my parted thighs. He kissed me once then slid his cock into me once again. George Philpott, the older brother of one of my best friends, fucked me slowly and gently. His fingers trailed along my side until he could reach under my leg to cup my bottom.

On the other side of the bed, things weren’t going quite as gently. Leslie had been turned over onto her stomach. It was obvious that the boys wanted to take her virgin bottom just like they had taken mine. She fought and she cried. She pleaded and she screamed. And in the end, she did the only thing left to do. She vomited onto the bedspread. George Philpott jumped off of me and the other boys left Leslie alone. Having sex with a puking teenage girl wasn’t quite what they had in mind. The party quietly broke up.

Soon there was just Leslie, George and myself crowded into the small bathroom. Leslie sat on the toilet and sobbed into a towel as George stood behind me and slid his finger into my pussy. I could feel his hardness pressing against my bottom, through the shorts that he had put on. He led me out of the bathroom and closed the door to let her pull herself together. After skimming out off his gym shorts, he pulled me to the floor and pressed me onto my back. I tried to raise my knees to protect myself but he easily parted my legs and positioned himself between my thighs. I told him I wanted to leave. I begged him not to touch me again, but he just lay down on top of me. His breath was putrid as he told me that how much he loved me, every part of me. His tongue slid between my lips and his hand crept to my breast. It was useless. He reached down and placed the tip of his penis against my vaginal lips and slowly pushed his cock into me once again.

He was slow and methodical, rotating his hips at the point of deepest penetration. I put my arms onto his shoulders and drew up my knees to ease the pain. His eyes saw nothing as he continued to slide his cock into me. I’d been fucked twice in the ass and five maybe six times in my vagina. I couldn’t remember how many cocks I’d been forced to suck. And it wasn’t over. George Philpott was on me and in me and I could do nothing but let it happen. I glanced over at the bathroom door. Leslie Dickenson was standing there, dressed in her t-shirt and nothing else, watching us fuck. It seemed like he would never cum and when he finally did, it seemed that he would never get off of me. When he eventually lifted himself off the floor, he left me there, my legs spread, his cum dripping onto my thigh. At that moment, I wanted to die.

I never told anyone about what happened that night and I know that Leslie didn’t say anything either. We couldn’t even acknowledge it to ourselves, however a night like that is hard to keep as a secret. Stories began to circulate around school about the gangbang at Georges house. A friend of a friend told my older brother about what he had heard. Brent never said a word to me about it. It was as if everyone in town knew about it except my brother. About 2 weeks after the party, Tim’s pride and joy, his 1988 Honda Civic, was found at the bottom of the ravine. The car was demolished. It was a bad week for all things automotive. My brother Brent was involved in an traffic accident 2 days after Tims car was found. He had inadvertently knocked down a pedestrian with his pick up truck. The pedestrian was George Philpott.

Epilogue

The above story was compiled over a period of about 2 weeks in early 1998. On April 19, 1998, Leslie Anne Dickenson passed away of a drug overdose at the age of 20. Leslie had become an intravenous drug user and a prostitute in Vancouver’s downtown east side. If her choice of lifestyle and ultimate death are in direct correlation to the events of the above story, only Leslie knew for sure. We are all God’s children, regardless of circumstances. Rest in peace, Leslie. We will miss you.

First Time, Part 2

For days, I was completely overwrought with emotion concerning the passing of my friend Leslie. Even though we were distant friends at the end, we will forever be linked by the traumatizing events of 1992. So what happened to us? Why am I so driven to write about her and why is she dead? Why am I alive?

In the days and weeks after the rapes, I rarely saw any of my friends, including Leslie. Or should I say, especially Leslie. I will never forget the look of utter contempt on her face as she stood in the doorway of George Philpott’s bathroom, watching George fuck me on his bedroom floor. My arms were on his shoulders and my knees were drawn up in an attempt to ease the searing pain in my vagina. From Leslie’s point of view, it seemed that I was giving in. She later told mutual friends that I wrapped my arms around him and couldn’t get enough. She felt that she had fought them all the way while I simply gave up and spread my legs for all comers. Nothing is farther from the truth, but the damage was done.

As time went by, I saw less and less of Leslie, partly by design, partly because Leslie chose to hang around with new friends from school. They were a raucous crowd of teenagers who always seemed to be on the edge of some brush with authority. There was a shoplifting incident that Leslie was involved in which further alienated her from her childhood friends. She started to dress more provocatively and the gang of kids that she hung out with grew more and more troublesome. Leslie was suspended from school at one point for being high from sniffing glue. At 17, she narrowly escaped disaster when a car that she had gotten out of moments earlier was involved in a fatal car crash. The driver was drunk and the passenger in the front seat was instantly killed when she was thrown through the front windshield. Leslie had occupied that very seat just moments before the fateful collision.

For my part, I became reclusive and moody after the assault. I could not bear the touch of another person. I’ve never had a lover, to this day. I couldn’t even bear to have my own mother embrace me. I have been in therapy off and on ever since the incident, with mixed results. Fast forward to April 24 of this year. It is a bright, sunny day despite forecasts of rain. I’m sitting in St. Pauls Cathedral in Maple Ridge with my Mom, my Dad, my younger brother Brent and my best friend, Kim Brown, with her fiancee and her family. I’m holding Kim’s hand as we wait for Leslie’s funeral to begin. I have been crying for days as the events of my past, our past, are dragged before me again. I remember every second of that horrible night and I feel shame and guilt.

We should never have ended up the way we did, Leslie and I. We should have been able to help each other through the nightmares and the trauma. We didn’t. We were kids. We didn’t know how to help ourselves and when enough time had passed to allow us to face this abomination, it was too late. Or was it? Despite the radical changes in our lifestyles after we were raped, I will always have fond memories of the tall blonde girl from across the street. I’ll always remember the day that she magically appeared with a band-aid when I fell off my bike and scraped my knee. I’ll always remember her blowing enormously huge bubbles with her ever-present gum. I still can’t do that.

Leslie Anne Dickenson died of a heroin overdose. She had been an addict for quite some time. She supported her habit by prostitution and panhandling. She was 20 years of age.

The Dickenson family greeted everyone in attendance on that sunny April morning with a smile and a kind word. There was not going to be any awkward moments on this day. Leslie had come home, they said, as if she had simply returned from an extended vacation. It’s good to have Leslie back with us again was the thought of the day. And I thought to myself, if Leslie is watching over this church full of people, she will see that she will always be loved and will always be missed. Leslie was not a junkie and a whore. She was a victim of circumstance.

On Monday April 27, 1998, one week after her untimely death, I stood before the grave of my friend. The flowers showing traces of deterioration, the grave marked with a numbered wooden peg, a granite marker having not yet arrived. I stood for a long time holding a single white rose. I’ll probably never know why either of us chose the paths we did. I certainly didn’t consciously decide to become reclusive and I doubt that Leslie chose her lifestyle either. After a while, I kissed the rose and placed it on her grave. I turned and walked away. I was not crying.

I don’t have an ending for this story. Every day is a new day, a fresh opportunity for success or disaster. I realize that no matter what, I will have someone who cares for me, like we all care for Leslie. I draw comfort in that thought and hope that by reading this story, you will someday remember these events in a time of despair and draw strength from it. I hope that by doing so, Leslie Anne Dickenson will not have died in vain.

– The End –