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NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 20 May 2003 19:22:53 -0500
From: Rachael Ross <rache18us@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Interview with a Rapist (rache18us@yahoo.com) M/F, Rom, No Sex
Date: Wed, 21 May 2003 06:10:04 -0400
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Disclaimer: A free story rated PG-13 for Mature Themes and Situations.
No sex, sorry about that, but it is romantic and one of my favorites.
Written for a Hallowwen writing contest. It did pretty darn good too!

Seattle October 2000

-------------------------------------------------

Interview with a rapist

Fiction by Rache


I wasn't sure I wanted to be here at all, at the party. A friend got
an invitation from a friend of a friend, all of which only means that
we would not really know anyone there. Of course, sometimes that's not
a bad thing. My date, my ex-ex-boyfriend to whom I had come crawling
back a few weeks before. Self-abuse is hard to stop.

Did I tell you how much I hate Halloween? That's what this party was
about. Halloween, a chance to be someone or better yet, someTHING else
for a night. Tonight I was Eva Braun, a German Paulie-Girl looking
dress and a neat almost-real bullet hole in my forehead. Not very
politically correct I guess and not everyone got the joke, but I
didn't want to be just another vampire in a crowd of vampires. You
know what I mean.

Like the one my ex-ex was talking to. An Elvira look-alike complete
with breasts over-inflated by about 30psi. I couldn't help but look
down, why do I do that? Even my 45-dollar Victoria's Secret push-up
satin wonder-bra didn't help very much. I thought about canceling my
check, but settled for a rum and coke from the erstwhile Frankenstein
tending the bar. He at least didn't talk, just grunted and groaned a
lot. Not like the leprechaun to my left. Who invited him? He was drunk
and putting on the fake Irish brogue, putting his hand on my hip too.
What he's saying will forever be mercifully lost to the passing of
time and that thought gives me some comfort at least.

Elvira is very very close to my ex-ex, he's a vampire. Just another
one, but it suits his personality and so I can understand why Elvira
is rubbing her breasts against him, he looks over at me. Almost
apologetically and I raise my glass in a silent toast. Bon-voyage, I
mouth with exaggerated lips. Good riddance. It will only be a few
minutes before they're out the door. It's like deja vu all over again.
What was her name? Oh yeah, Jenny, my best friend. She didn't mean
anything he told me, so that made it okay. I guess, I was the one who
called him, remember?

My friend, my ride home is with her husband, looking wifely. Like
Wilma Flintstone, she decided to be a cave girl. She had visions of
Raquel Welch in that old movie, but she looks like Wilma. At least
they're happy, but it's only been 5 months. They still have sex
everyday. Oh! Bad thoughts, I look down again, a little lower
wondering if it really is like riding a bicycle. I can't seem to
remember at the moment. But Lucky the Leprechaun isn't helping, I have
to get away.

And so I ended up on the terrace, if you could call it that. With all
the people who can't smoke inside. The sweet smell of death surrounds
me and I inhale deeply. I used to smoke; now I just get close to
people who still do. One gentleman is kind enough to offer me one,
care for a nail? I decline and look at him underneath the orange
lights. Halloween. Orange. God. He tells me it's the socially accepted
form of suicide, but not in this country. Not anymore.  But it's
sufficiently clever enough that I look at him, being a bitch all the
time is hard work.

There's something out of place. I put my finger to my lips as if
shushing him; no I'll figure it out. Suddenly it strikes me, he's not
in a costume. No props, no mask, no mascara. Ok, I give up. What are
you supposed to be, I ask. Because we are all supposed to be
something, aren't we? Why am I wearing 20 pounds of dress otherwise?

"I'm a rapist."

'Excuse me?" I ask in a slow clear voice. That's the way I speak when
I hear something I didn't expect, like English from a taxi driver for
example. It's like a foreign language and we all know how to speak to
foreigners: slowly and clearly (louder works too...Well, not really,
but it feels good).

"A rapist, you know...Sex. Violence." He looks at my face. "Don't you
watch TV? It's all the rage."

And that of course makes me laugh because he is laughing too. "Yes,
I've heard of it. I'm not sure about your costume though."

"Why not? Most rapist look like the guy next door. You could be living
next to one and never know it."

"I suppose." I wasn't entirely convinced. My neighbor is 72 and wears
an oxygen mask. But I got the point.

Jim pointed to another guy, like him in his mid-twenties, wearing a
suit. "Guess what he is."

"Ummm...A funeral director?"

Jim laughed, "No. But that's very good! He's a serial killer. His wife
is around someplace, she's wearing a big milk carton."

Yes, I'd seen her. It was a good costume, but it looked like she
belonged at the county fair. 

"Oh, you didn't look close enough. She's a missing person, her bio is
written underneath the hole for her face."

"So who's he supposed to be Ted Bundy or somebody?" He looked like a
shoe salesman I thought.

"No." Jim laughed a little. "Ted Bundy got caught. He's the Green
River killer."

Jim looked me up and down for a second. "I don't think he'd go for
you, he likes the birds of night."

I feigned disappointment and wondered what a bird of night was.
Probably another stupid vampire, I thought and looked over to the spot
where Elvira had made my ex-ex my ex. A headless horseman stood there
now, pouring a drink into his shirt.

This was all getting to be too much for me. Jim was cute, sure. And he
hadn't asked why I was dressed up like a Bavarian wench with a hole in
my forehead. I appreciated that, but I had to say, "Why don't you just
admit it, you were too lazy to get a real costume?"

Jim looked hurt and I laughed. "I have one, right here." He pulled a
rolled up nylon stocking out of his back pocket.

"No ski mask?"

"Too warm for a ski mask, besides L'eggs are only 2 bucks and I get
two stockings!" 

We made our way back inside after Jim finished his cigarette. I
watched reluctantly as he blew a final cloud of blue dead air into the
orange glow. Well, I thought, he's nice. Rather cute and a little
clever. So far my choices were down to a frugal rapist or a drunken
leprechaun. Did I tell you how much I hate Halloween? And then, at the
bar I saw Lucky had disappeared and it was just as well, I'd made up
my mind anyway.

Another rum and coke, my third, which is just about my limit. I was
determined to drink it slow and find out why "You haven't asked my
name yet, Jim."

He smiled. "I don't want to know my victim's name."

"Oh?" he was speaking another language again. "Am I your victim?"

"Not yet, but the night is young." Another smile. I felt something
inside and I knew he was wrong; I was already his victim and we both
knew it. I felt like a deer in the headlights of a speeding car. I
knew I should move, but I didn't. It wasn't that I believed he was
really a rapist, who would say such a thing? It was a fear of failing
once again, losing out in a relationship and being alone. Or worse,
crawling back over the telephone wires to leave a desperate message on
an answering machine.

"Do you have an answering machine?"

Jim didn't even blink, as if he'd been waiting for me to ask. "No. I
don't even have a telephone."

Do you believe in love at first sight, dear reader? I didn't. Not
until he said that. Everybody has a phone I protested, but to no
avail. He was quite positive that he didn't. He lived alone, in a
studio. Worked an anonymous job at Boeing like everyone else in
Seattle. No wife, no kids. He has a girlfriend, but only as an alibi.
He's not particularly interested in her in he tells me. But she loves
him, so she will lie for him. 

"That's the test of love," he says. And we're outside, in the parking
lot. It's cold and the wind is blowing up my skirts. Jim wraps his
arms around me and I like, God help me, it is like riding a bicycle.
Familiar feelings spreading that funny kind of warmth, which can't be
explained. "Will you lie for me?"

It's a serious question, he's not smiling. Some kind of test? I wonder
and I think it is. But his arms feel good and it's cold outside. The
orange glow behind me is casting strange shadows and making me see
things I don't want to. "I don't want to be your alibi."

He smiles suddenly and his teeth are white and sharp, coming towards
me. Half of his face is dark, in a shadow and I wonder if he knows
that. Half a man and the other half? Something unseen, I think I am
finally seeing him without of his costume. I open my mouth for his
kiss and touch my tongue to his teeth, expecting to feel pain, taste
blood. But no, they are smooth and taste of cigarettes and whiskey.
Whatever I had been thinking seems foolish to me now, the light is
fully on him and he looks so ordinary. I'm disappointed and watch
silently as he opens the car door for me.

....people are strange, when you're a stranger,
faces look ugly, when you're alone...

"The Doors?" I ask, watching the lights of I-5 go by my window. I
haven't asked where we're going and he hasn't said. It's better this
way. Falling into the victim role is so easy for me. I've done it
before and learned to enjoy the ride. Yes indeed, nothing wrong with
the ride I say to myself and blow a little breath on the window next
to me. Two quick jabs with my finger and a little curve underneath. I
smile at my smile. When the ride is done, that's when it hurts. Saying
yes makes victims of us all. Absently I breathe some more, just enough
to draw a bumpy milk carton around my little smiley face.

"Yeah, Strange Days." He stares at the road. It's raining, as usual.
"Do you like it?"

....women seem wicked, when you're unwanted,
streets are uneven, when you're down...

"I don't know. I never really listened to them." We sit in silence for
a few moments and the sad melody moves along with the windshield
wipers adding it's soft rhythm. Another pattern, like all the others I
think I see. Trying to put order in my life is the least of my sins,
but trying to order the world around me may be the greatest. Like
silently wishing the song was half a beat faster, or the wipers a
split-second slower.

After the song was over Jim reached down without looking and turned
off the radio. Seattle was behind us now and we were on a different
road, traveling towards Enumclaw and Mount Rainer hidden in the night.

"Have you ever been caught, Jim?"

"No, I'm very careful."

"Don't you worry about catching a disease? Aids or something? It seems
to me like being a rapist is a high risk occupation." Like being a
girlfriend? I remembered the thrill of being told that Jenny had a
little 'problem'...A social problem and she may have given it to my
ex-ex-ex (confusing I know, but I refuse to say his name dammit!) and
he in turn might have blessed me with a little reminder of his
infidelity. I guess it was only marginally better than finding out I
might be pregnant, but only just. I at least had the satisfaction of
knowing I was clean, although for the 3 days it took to find out I was
reading the anarchist's cookbook, just in case. 

"It's a risk," Jim allowed, "but I find the girl's I'm attracted to" a
look at me, a smile, "are very rarely dangerous."

I didn't know if I should be flattered or not. "Dangerous in what
way?"

"In any way." Jim was smiling again, but only at the road. We were
driving up, into the mountains and it was a bumpy ride.

Where was I? That thought hit me hard. I didn't know. No more than I
knew what I was doing here with a man I'd just met and knew only by
his first name. He didn't seem particularly dangerous, except for that
moment in the parking lot. He was playing a game, certainly and maybe
that's why I'd come along. A new game to divert some thoughts I was
saving for when I could be alone and put my face against my pillow and
scream.

"You're a rapist, so that means....You're not a murderer, right?"

Jim pushed a cigarette between his lips and then pushed the lighter
into the dashboard. We both sat there listening to the wind, barely
heard in the tall trees around us. Jim had stopped the car and it had
long since stopped raining. Even the clouds had thinned enough to let
a shadowing moonlight the hillside with a soft pale glow. The silence
was strange and loud, but I was waiting for an answer, the way my
father had when I was a child. I could wait all night and that thought
gave me some little bit of bravery. I stared at his dimly lit face and
crossed my arms across my breasts. 

*POP*

I jumped and felt my face redden as Jim calmly pulled the lighter up
to his face and lit his cigarette. There was a bright orange glow,
more reddish than orange. A warmth which spread over his features.
You'll wonder what I expected, sitting alone in a car in the
wilderness with a self-professed rapist. It is unreasonable, ludicrous
even to imagine it. I told that to Jim, realizing I was not my father
and I couldn't wait all night. 

"I don't know what I'm doing here, this is so wrong. I'm sorry Jim,
maybe..." My voice trailed off. This guy would have to be the nicest
guy in the world if he was going to turn around and drive me home
after going 50 miles to be alone. That thought frightened me, but not
so much. I'd given away sex for less after all. Pride was the going
price for pleasure these days. I say that because I knew I would enjoy
giving in to him, even though I would be screaming into my pillow
tomorrow.

"I understand, but let's stretch our legs and watch the stars for a
bit, okay?"

That was too reasonable. Pride? What was that? I wasn't going to let
him take me home, not until we'd finished this strange unexpected
dance. I confess, I wanted to play the virgin and say
"No...Nooo...Nooooohhh...kay....." and keep a little dignity, a shred
because I'd at least tried. Now Jim had me, I was out of my league. A
simple "I understand..." was all it took and I was going to have to
beg to ride that particular bicycle again. God! I hated him in that
moment. I looked around for a pillow.

"Go ahead and scream." Jim was leaning on the damp hood of his car.
"No one can hear you. If a tree falls in the woods..." He smiled and
took a drag of his cigarette.

"Wha...What do you mean?" Did he think I'd try and stop him? The
warmth was back and it was spreading quickly. I wasn't sure what this
game was now; I don't think I was ever sure.

"I mean, why do you think all those girls end up on milk cartons?" Jim
flicked his cigarette away and reached into his back pocket.

"I...I don't know...I..." I watched as Jim slowly covered his face
with the nylon stocking, stretching it around his handsome face so
that he became distorted and grotesque. It wasn't human and he bared
his teeth at me like a wild thing. I didn't recognize him and I
realized his was the best costume of the night.

The End

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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