Hitchhiker Ch. 02: The Telling

2021 Nellskitchen. All rights reserved. The essayist asserts her right to identify as the author of 'Hitchhiker 2 -- The Telling.' This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author except for brief quotations in a review. If you see this story on any website other than Literotica.com, it has been pirated without the author's permission. All persons appearing in 'Hitchhiker' are over the age of eighteen.

Hitchhiker II -- The Telling (Edited)

A chilly upstate breeze cut through me during an anxious wait at Thruway Exit—36. Despite a suggestion of spring, April is cold in New York, and in defiance of the sun's warming trend, snow continues to lurk in the shadows.

Seven of us huddled together, each holding improvised signs with destinations scrawled in bold magic marker; mine read, 'Harrisburg.' With a bit of luck, I would catch a lift to my Danny—happiness was mine!

"Stop, you prick," I mumbled as the banged-up V.W. van barely passed me by. The driver sported scraggly hair and a grungy beard, a look I did not like. He glanced at me, however, so I smiled, nodded—and winked. Sometimes, being a girl is just plain fun! He slowed even more after my second wink!

The timely ride was perfect. With Harrisburg two hours away, Danny and I could spend a whole weekend together! What luck! Fuck yes!

The unsmiling driver pulled over. I grabbed my backpack and jumped into the front seat. "Hi," I said, "appreciate the lift." Dense marijuana smoke filled the cab, and I wondered if I might get a welcome buzz. While I fastened my seatbelt, the man passed me a miniature glass pipe.

"Here," he growled. His offer felt like a demand. Changing my mind, I shook my head. "Suit yourself," he said, expressionless. "What's your name, girl?"

Thinking first names were more than sufficient, I said, "Jayden." He glanced over at my cardboard sign. "Jayden—pretty name. Who's in Harrisburg?"

"My boyfriend...he's..."

"...cool," he interrupted. "So your boyfriend knows you're coming?"

"No, um, well, yes; I mean, he suspects, I'm sure." The guy's questions felt like an interrogation and made me edgy; worse, edgy is how I sounded.

"Hey, Jayden, you're in luck. We're passing right by Harrisburg," he added, a wry smile crossing his face. Before turning to look out the window, I caught him in profile—he saw me looking.

"Whatcha' lookin' at?" He asked, turning to face me, he grinned.

"Nothing," I said, pretending to fuss with my iPhone.

Without being overly direct, what I could see was not bad looking, in a gruff kind of way. There was a rasp in his eerily empty voice, and a thought struck me. He had said, 'We're passing right by Harrisburg.' Who, I wondered, is 'we?' Anxiously, I glanced over my shoulder and into the back of the cab. As I did, a second voice surfaced. "Hey, girly-girl, you're awful pretty."

"Hi," I answered cautiously. "Um...thanks." Chillingly, four men sat on the floor behind me; their presence, startling.

"So, where are you guys going?" I asked nervously.

"Florida!" One boomed. "Yeah, fuckin' sunny Florida," reinforced a second.

"Florida. Wow. Are you all in school there?" I glanced at my watch; it was almost one o'clock.

"Yeah," two hollered in what felt like counterfeit harmony. Scarcely muffled laughter followed their flippant response.

I had not expected this and would not have accepted the ride had I known about the other guys. I did not like vans, and being the only girl, alarmed me. The vehicle lacked side windows, and hitchers are never sure how many people might be riding in the back. By then, we were speeding south on Route 81. The group in the back turned quiet—the driver too. Happily, my nerves followed suit. Relaxing, I dozed off.

Part II

Deep ruts beneath the van jarred me awake. Opening my eyes, I felt a chill of uncertainty. The highway had gone missing, replaced by a dirt road in a heavily wooded area. I looked over at the driver and sleepily asked, "Where are we?" He answered with his signature blank stare and, driving forward, recklessly splashed through the makeshift road's yawning puddles.

I rechecked my watch. I had slept for two hours. What happened to Route 81? What were we doing on some abandoned road in the middle of a forest? "What's up, man?" I asked guardedly. The driver glanced at me. Managing a cynical smile, he replied, "It's a shortcut to your boyfriend. NOW SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

"What did you say?" I demanded. His tone chilled me, and he grinned, even as I glared at him.

As the road narrowed, the forest closed in on us, and the needles of weeping pines screeching against the windshield sharpened my agitation. I considered jumping from the van, but we were moving too fast, and I was afraid. Finally, I had no choice, and summoning courage, I spoke out again—this time vehemently. "I need you to bring me back to the highway, mister!" A mocking silence followed as if the first to react might be the loser in some cruel game of 'shock the girl.'

Instinctively, I flinched as a heavy branch struck hard against the front of the van; my arms flew to my face as jeering laughter riddled the cab. "See that bitch jump?" One of the guys shouted.

I begged, this time looking directly at the driver. "Please, man, I mean it." My voice cracked under the growing tension, and I felt my body twitch.

"Please what, cunt?"

"Look, stop that. Take me back to Route 81! I'll hitch another ride with somebody else." By then, we had driven into an isolated clearing where the road looped into a circle. Stopping the van, the driver hunched over and resting his forehead against the steering wheel; he acted as if he was turning something over in his mind.

Lightly, he touched the gas pedal again, bringing the van around. "All right," he groaned. Switching off the ignition, he calmly reached for an open pack of smokes—I grasped the door handle. "DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT, GIRL," he ordered.

With my eyes frozen to the road ahead, I repeated myself, saying, "Take me back." Meant to be unyielding, I realized I had barely whispered and sounded submissive. Compliantly, I relinquished the handle.

"We'll take you back when we decide to take you back," the driver announced. He drew heavily on his cigarette and, turning, blew smoke into my face. Refusing to cough, I turned away. "Anyway, you're kind of hot, so getting ya back to Route 81 will take time." Quiet followed. My heart pounded. He flicked the cigarette out the window—the stillness in the van shattered as the rear doors flew open, and all four passengers bounded out to block my escape.

I grabbed the handle again, but the driver lunged, seizing my wrist. The strength of his grip startled me. I had always thought I could fight a man off, but he was too strong. I raked at his face with my nails. Drawing blood, I screeched, "Let go of me, asshole!"

He reacted with eerie calm, murmuring, "You fucking bitch." He looked down at my heaving chest and smiled. "You're a little fighter, aren't ya; I like fighters."

"Don't touch me!" I yelled. He grinned. The door jerked open, and the others grabbed me, dragging me from the vehicle. I fell hard to the ground but jumped to my feet and backed away as the menacing men surrounded me.

The driver's door slowly opened, and the others, parting ranks, opened the circle. Their leader stepped forward and backhanded me. The force of the blow sent me to the ground again. He kicked me in the stomach and, moaning, I curled into a ball. "That's for scratching me, whore," he hollered. Despite my sobs, I could hear highway traffic nearby.

Somehow, I drew myself up and backed away from him, irrationally thinking a slow retreat might hide my intentions to run for the sound of the traffic. But by then, my thoughts had turned ragged; panic replaced a hitchhiker's dream of surprising her lover in Harrisburg.

Recklessly, I tried to push one of the men aside; his response was laughter and pursuit. It was no use. The road seemed alive under me, and I tripped and fell again. The five took up positions, resuming their hunt. They surrounded me. I searched for escape. They yanked my hat away, and my golden hair fell over my shoulders, prompting a leeringly offensive, "WOW! Will ya look at that! Ain't she a fox? I've got a hard-on—LET'S FUCK HER!"

I searched their faces, my eyes darting from one to the next, to the next. My mind freeze-framed their grins as I crawled back through the high grass. Stumblingly, I lifted myself again. The attackers closed the circle. I accepted that my long hair had had a hypnotic effect on the gang of thugs. In desperation, I pulled it, stuffing long locks under my jacket collar. Mortifyingly, I wet my pants, a hated declaration attesting to loss of control. Vulnerability had replaced the self-confident woman of a few hours ago.

"Hey, bitch. Git rid 'a this!" The heavy-set guy barked. He seized my jacket with a hard jerk. Buttons popped, and he yanked my sweater away, leaving me half-naked. I covered my breasts; they smirked and closed more tightly around me. Long past desperate, I looked to the youngest, barely twenty, stupidly thinking he might save me. "Please, please, don't hurt me! Please!" They laughed more.

The young man hesitated, but the others commanded him, saying, "Get her, asshole! Get her now! She's yours! Fuck her first! Do it, man! No sloppy lasts!" Hesitantly obedient, the almost naïve figure inched into the circle. My eyes locked onto his face, and I saw it; that this was all too clever, too convenient somehow. They were playing out the latest chapter of a contaminated pastime, a gang of hooligans that trolled naïve hitchers at Thruway exits. There had to be other victims, desperate girls, who, like me, found themselves trapped in these same woods.

The thought ended when one of the attackers grabbed my hair from behind, wrenching my head back. With my spine painfully arched, I could barely move, and without my top, the frigid air attacked me too. Instinctively covering myself, I cried a baby's cry as they pursued me—a thuggish gang having transformed to a single, perverted mind.

"BLINDFOLD THE BITCH!" One shouted.

"No! Please! My money—take it! Let me go! Please! My iPad...it's in my backpack! You can have it." I had nothing to barter with—except sex, the one thing I did not want them to have.

A heavy-set man with a full beard brushed the boy aside and stepped towards me. Urged on by the others, he seized my arms, throwing me hard against the ground and forcing my face into the thick bed of autumn leaves. Grabbing my hair, he jerked my head back again, and as if inflicting a final act of isolation, he knotted my scarf at the back of my head as he growled into my ear, "We don't need no fuckin' iPad, slut!" Ashamed of my powerlessness, I sobbed.

I thought in flashes, each isolated from the next as they tore the rest of my clothes. I fell; someone ripped my panties away. A man grabbed my wrists, pulled them behind my back. A rope appeared out of nowhere. They tied me. I was paralyzed.

Unconsciousness followed; God had intervened.

Part III

A woman's cries shattered the silence of the woods, her permeating screams unceasing. Above it all, I heard faint voices and caught bits of words that seemed like directives. "Some...somebody help her," I heard myself say. "Listen to her; she's hurt—someone, help!

My thoughts re-formed, and I remembered where I was—what had happened. The bindings hurt my wrists, reminding me that the girl's screams were my own, that the shuffling feet all around were theirs, that I still burned in the hell of the secluded clearing. I raised my face skyward. The sun seeped through the blindfold. My breasts ached. Men took turns with them, pulling hard at my nipples; they grabbed at me, lifting my leaden body from the frigid ground. With cigarettes, they randomly touched my skin, the burns searing. I shrieked and twisted my body as I struggled to free my hands.

Images of the glowering men flashed through my brain. I remembered Jan's warning to shun hitchhiking. Unlike before, I recollected worry in her voice, fearfulness I had too casually disregarded. "Don't, Jayden," she pleaded. "Don't hitchhike all that way. It's not safe." Why didn't I listen? Why?

I remembered who I was, listened to my screams. I retched; unconsciousness abandoned me. Another man forced himself into my throat. Suffocating and repulsed by his semen, I could neither swallow nor spit.

Strong fingers held my nose, forcing breath through my mouth. Their attack alternately closed my lungs to air as one detested man after another intruded. They pulled my hair, used it as a device to secure me, each pushing in, finishing, then pulling away, forcing me to swallow in exchange for enough air to survive.

"Hurry up, asshole!" One shouted gruffly. "She's gonna conk out again, dick head! We need her awake!" The erection lodged in my mouth abruptly pulled away, and I gulped and gasped before the next took its place. Two sets of hands forced my shaking legs apart; someone lunged into me. I hurt. I was dry and flinched as they tore the delicate tissue of my sex. I twisted and screamed. In the end, their strength overcame me. Disregarding my groans, it continued, one following another, each finishing where he pleased.

Part IV

A fire crackled beside me. My head filled with the odor of burning wood. I heard murmurings. I rolled onto my side and vomited. Applause followed. "Holy fuckin' shit. How revolting is that? Let's fuck her more!"

"Not me," added another. "She's pathetic. I want outa' here!" It was his voice, the younger man I tried—and failed to reach throughout my struggle. He did not want to be here.

"Why?" I groaned.

"Why what, cunt?"

"Why do you hate me?" Silence followed.

"Nobody hates ya bitch," one finally admitted. "You just happen to be fuckable, that's all! Yeah, fuckable!" Cheers validated his response.

"I'm sick," I moaned. "Please. Please don't hurt me more, please." Though I had scrutinized each of the men, their particular features had mysteriously vaporized; the mind's mechanism of self-defense. It was as if they had pillaged my thought process, selectively purging their features after taking what they wanted from my body. It did not matter anymore. Lying face down in the brittle leaves, I lost a will to fight, leaving only whimpers of the beaten.

The atmosphere around the fire changed suddenly, replaced by an odd stillness. The driver's raspy voice broke the hush. "Move it!" I heard the sharp sounds of snaps, buckles—zippers. Receding footsteps followed. Doors opened and closed. The van's engine roared to life.

Still pressed hard against the cold ground, I shuddered as lingering footsteps paused near to my face. They stopped, and I heard a jackknife snap open. "Please," I pleaded. "Please don't cut me." A man slit the ropes at my wrists.

"You'll be OK, baby," said the young man with a soft voice. "But whatever ya do, don't take that blindfold off till after we're out of here. And don't never tell nobody! They found ya once. They'll find ya again! Sleep now. We're done with ya—it's over." I lapsed back to unconsciousness as the vehicle's engine noise faded.

Part V

Convulsive shivers awakened me to the now silent woods. My body ached, but my hands were free. With sore fingers, I lifted the blindfold. Embers lingered from the waning fire, but otherwise, all was dark. I looked up to where Orion stood silent watch in the heavens and cried. My sobs continued in vengeful scorn, and I averted my eyes from the inky blackness. "Guardian of the night," I called, "they stole what I was!"

I felt for my clothes. Like the remnant of my body, they were torn and filthy. Gradually, my mind cleared, my memories raced—to Danny; my boyfriend's face suddenly filling my head! What will Danny say? Will he think it's my fault?

"Oh, God!" I heard myself cry out. Holding my jacket to my tortured eyes, I cried, "Oh God, dear God!"

"Jayden! JAYDEN!" My husband's voice echoed through the daze of my slumber. Slowly opening my eyes, I observed Danny's soft features as they replaced my sleepy blur. His naked shoulders hovered over me, and he stared down in that loving way of his. "The dream, Jayden. It happened again." His face was a study in worry. With loving fingers, he wiped beads of cold sweat from my forehead, his calm and reassuring whisper rescuing me from the torture of sleep. "Jayden, you're safe now; it was a long time ago; I'm here with you—it's over."

I looked up and past him. With my eyes fixed in icy blankness, I thought about the horrifying events of ten years before. I should have drawn him down to me. Instead, I turned away from his love. But my protective husband was right; it was over—again.

End

Epilogue --

For the better part of one year, Jayden had attended an all-girl's college in Rochester, New York. After the events of that April, she never returned. To the present day, the terror she endured in the woods remains unreported.