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Subject: {ASSM} First Time {Sophie Browne} (group mf nc)
Date: Fri, 21 Dec 2001 21:10:06 -0500
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 "First Time"
    by Sophie Browne <sophiebrowne@yahoo.com>

 
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 --


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