Was I Raped?

byHornyman69WithU©

Let me share a story with you that happened to me many years ago in the late 70s while home from college on summer break. I've never told this story to anyone I know, and I'm sure you'll understand why.

My high school crowd would re-form during these breaks, and we'd all hang out and party together. Though I had a "college" girlfriend, my high school girlfriend and I had never officially broken up, and we just fell right back into fucking.

One of her best friends, Barbara, who was a friend of mine, as well, was the de facto leader of our pack. We generally ended up doing what she wanted where she wanted. That was just fine with everybody, as Barbara always had great ideas, plenty of money to implement them, and an upbeat, enthusiastic, take-charge personality.

She was from a very wealthy family who had all girls, and she was the youngest, so Daddy was even more generous with her than her older sisters. She went to a small, private, elite college in our home town, drove a block-long Mercedes Salon limo from the 1960s, and even had her own house near campus!

I must tell you, that despite Barbara's numerous positive attributes, she was no looker. In fact, she was downright ugly, in stark contrast to her three beautiful older sisters. She had a fat, squat, extreme pear-shaped body with thick arms and legs and no tits to speak of. Her face was flat, like a plastic doll that's been stepped on, with a shiny sheen due to her very oily skin. Her perfect, gleaming brace-straightened teeth; naturally gorgeous, long, thick light brown hair; and large, bright, hazel eyes did little to make up for her essential unattractiveness.

On a scale of 1 to 10, I'd give her a 4--and that's being kind. Barbara had never had a boyfriend, or even a date, as far as I knew, so, on a horniness scale of 1 to 10, I'd give her a 10.

We'd all often hit the bars or a party or music festival, she at the helm of the roomy Benz, and then gather back at her house. She was a lot of fun, and we all enjoyed her company and generosity.

Just about all young people did drugs in those days, and we were no exception. Barbara, in particular, was a veritable pharmacy of psychoactive substances.

There were just a few of the old crowd left in town by September, as the folks on the semester system had already left for college, leaving a handful of us on the quarter system in town for another couple of weeks. My girlfriend had left, too, for Europe, for her junior year abroad.

So the four of us remaining--Tom and Lynn and Barbara and I--went to the local Labor Day music festival and had a great time drinking and toking and partying all afternoon and into the early evening.

With the night young and plenty of energy, we all went back to Barabara's, where she mixed up Jack Daniels into whiskey sours and opened the "pharmacy," dispensing Seconals and Valium, to mention only two, as we drank and did bongs and laughed and talked.

Knowing that we were going to get pooty-faced, we'd all made excuses to our parents that we were spending the night at friends'. Tom told his folks he was staying at my place, and I told mine I was staying at his. Lynn told her parents she was spending the night at Barbara's. I never really considered where I'd actually be staying the night.

Well, later, our energy level was dipping a bit, and Barbara broke out the Ecstacy. X was new back then, having made its appearance for the first time to us earlier that summer, and the only way it came was in bulk, and she had a ZipLock bag full of it.


We'd all done it a few times and loved it, as it had a truly ecstatic and unique effect--a combination of hallucinogenic, amphetamine, and an indescribably thrilling rush feeling that put everyone in a super-positive, interconnected state of mind. We called it the Love Drug, as it gave everyone a sappy, happy emotional bond that would have you hugging and telling everybody how much you loved them.

The thing was, since it came in bulk and not in capsules or tablets like it did later on, plus the fact that it had such a fluffy and light powdery composition, it was nearly impossible to gage how much to take. Rule of thumb: When in doubt, take more rather than less!

As the evening wore on, the four of us are all getting more and more fucked up, hugging and kissing with legs draped over each other talking like the dialogue from a cheap romance novel. Lynn was Tom's girlfriend, and, of course, they would be fucking sometime later that evening. They are the same Lynn and Tom in my story, "Hole In The Closet Wall."

Lynn was real cute and was dressed in short-shorts and a halter top that did little to conceal her fabulous figure. With all the hugging and kissing and brushing of bare skin against one another, I was very horny. Tom was squeezing her boobs and butt, and I did, too, a few times, very briefly.

X sensitizes your skin, so that if you tickle it lightly, it feels really good, so we all started doing that to each other, and I danced my fingertips across Lynn's boobs through the thin, stretch cotton top, which perked her nipples up very pointy and made her giggle and smile. I didn't linger there, though, for I knew Lynn well and the last thing she'd ever do was go for a group thing, and Tom was too possessive of her even if she'd wanted to.

Well, Barbara was in on all this, too, tickling my and Tom's face and arms and legs. I must say, with her long, perfectly manicured hands, her fingers did feel good, but NOT sexy-good. Tom and I shot each other several I-hope-to-God-Barbara-doesn't-think-this-will-lead-to-sex glances.

Our conversation was about what felt best, and naturally, with the X at work, we all felt supremely comfortable and lovey-dovey. Somewhere along the way, we wandered into the what-feels-good-sexually realm. Tom said how he liked to have his balls tickled lightly with fingertips, and Lynn talked about how sensitive her nipples were and how she liked them stimulated.

Never the shy one and loose from all the drugs and alcohol, I described in detail how I liked to get a blow job, then Barbara described in at least as much detail how she liked oral sex. I remember thinking at the time who in the world would have ever done that with her and that she was probably just IMAGINING how she'd like her pussy eaten.

We all took a pee break, and when I came back into the den, Barbara had us all fresh whiskey sours in giant ice tea glasses, and I noticed the bag of X and other drugs, other than the herb, had been put away.

Tom had one hand up Lynn's halter and the other down her shorts, and she snatched them away when I sat down in the only available place--between her and Barbara--on the couch. But, as she pulled his hand away, I did get a good look at Lynn's perfect, pointy, freckled C-cup right breast before she and he ran down the hall to the spare bedroom. We would not be seeing them for the rest of the evening.

X makes you really thirsty, and that, coupled with the feeling I was coming down a bit, made me quickly down that huge whiskey sour. In no time, I was feeling really fucked up. The last thing I can say with certainty that I remember was Barbara and I running our fingers through each others' hair (which on X feels extremely good and is something everybody did while on it in those days).

I awoke, or should I say, came to, about noon the next day right there on the couch, disoriented and naked but for my socks. In a few minutes, I realized where I was, and slowly reconstructed the previous evening's activities---up to the point when Barbara and I were doing the hair thing. I slept naked when I had sex with my girlfriend and sometimes at home, but I thought it unlike me to strip as a guest on the couch, but just chalked it up to the drugs and alcohol.

I was very groggy and kept shaking my head back and forth to try to get myself alert. I went down the hall to take a leak, and felt a short stab of pain in my penis before my urine broke through--broke through the dried cum. Hmmm, did I have a wet dream or something? I drank some cold water from the faucet and splashed it in my face, trying to get my shit together.

I concentrated as hard as I could on what had happened and was only barely able to conjure patchy and uncertain images of Barbara--gazing up at her funky little bare breasts, a big naked bottom and thunderous thighs, looking down at the top of her head in my lap. Did I have sex with Barbara?!

At that notion, my whole body kind of contorted in chilling disgust.

I reached down into my crotch and rubbed around, then brought my hand up to my nose. Pussy, the distinct odor of pussy. Oh my God! I could not remember for sure, but I must have fucked the revolting Barbara! Or should I say, she fucked me. I washed myself thoroughly with soap and water, still trying to convince myself that it had not happened. Gross!!!

I hurried back down the hall, got back in my clothes and heard Barbara singing gayly in the kitchen. She was certainly in a good mood. The nearly empty ice tea glasses were still sitting there on the coaster, and I picked mine up. There was grainy residue in the bottom, and at first I thought nothing, as ice will leave such residue behind sometimes. But I looked in the bottom of her, Tom's, and Lynn's glasses, and there was no residue. Wait a minute!

Had she spiked my whiskey sour with something? Yes, that I was sure of: she'd made those last four drinks while I and Tom and Lynn were not present, and my memory went almost blank shortly after I drank it. And why would she feel the need to spike someone's drink who readily used all kinds of psychoactives? To fuck a guy who'd never otherwise have sex with her, that's why!!!

But I could not say for sure whether we'd actually had sex or not, as my memory was like that of a dream, only a few foggy splotches in no chronology. About that time Barbara came in with hot coffee, and though she was in high spirits, I could read nothing specifically in her behavior to give me a clue. And also as usual, there was absolutely zilch about her I found sexually attractive. Let's put it this way, if she and I were the last existing people, I'd masturbate before doing her!

Shortly, Tom and Lynn came in, hung over and dying for coffee. There was nothing in their demeanor either to suggest they knew anything about sex and Barbara and me. Or, for that matter, sex with Lynn, for she was the only other possible source of my vagina-smelling penis. Of course, that was pure fantasy.

Well, there was only one reasonable explanation for my dick smelling like pussy, and that was that it had been in Barbara's. Eeeeew!!! I decided the best thing to do was just not pursue it at all. I never asked or hinted to Barbara, and she never gave a clue.

However, the following Christmas break, she did have sex with another one of our friends, who had a ravishingly sexy girlfriend. He readily told me about it, saying that she broke out the X, other pharmaceuticals, and drinks and started the tickling routine. He said he could see right where she was going with all that, so he just asked her point blank if she was trying to seduce him. She said yes, and so he just put the drink down and proceeded to lick and fuck the hell out of her all afternoon! I was amazed he'd done her, as he was a super good-looking guy who acted in soaps and could have any girl he wanted, but he said he just felt sorry for Barbara, and did it as a favor—a pity fuck. And he said of all the women he ever boinked, she was by far the most appreciative!

Had he not surprisingly taken charge of the situation, it looked as though she was using the same modus operandi as she used on me.

So, here's the question: Was I raped?

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