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My wife, Chrissie and I both worked for the Rooter-Viedt Corporation, manufacturers of timing devices. This was unusual in 1935, but we wanted to accumulate a nest egg before we started having kids. I worked in Graphics and she worked in Inspection. At first, we both worked in the Holstead Avenue plant, very near each other, so that I got to know the people she worked with and her Supervisor, Jacques Delaporte, otherwise known as "God's gift to women." Jacques was always rubbing up against the girls, groping them if he got the chance, making sure that they saw his pants tented out by a boner, and making suggestive remarks. Even in the Men's Room, he always took his huge cock out before he got to the urinal, to show it off and make the other men jealous. In short, he was a real prick. When Rooter-Viedt expanded their operation, they transferred the Graphics department to the new building in East Hamford. Now, it wasn't practical for both Chrissie and me to go to work in my 1930 Studebaker Commander 6. So, I bought her a jalopy, a 1928 Model A which had seen better days but still got from point A to point B without falling apart. Since we commuted to/from Wethersville in separate cars, we seldom got home at the same time any more. So, I wasn't worried if Chrissie was a half-hour late at times. Some special inspection jobs took longer than expected, so she might have to work a little after closing time. But, one day, she was still not home at 6:00 and I was getting worried. By 6:30, I was frantic and about to call the Police, when the front door opened and Chrissie came in, looking as if she'd been through Hell. "Chrissie, what's wrong ?" I asked. "I've been raped" she answered. "Oh my God ! Where ? By whom ?" "One of the reasons I'm so late is that I stopped at Dr. Craven's office on the way home and got a D & C. I'll be damned if I'll carry a rapist's bastard for nine months." "Good thinking." "You'd better get us both a drink and I'll tell you all about it." We'd been given a bottle of cognac for Christmas, right after the repeal of Prohibition and I decided that this was the time to open it. I poured us both a snifter . We toasted each other and then Chrissie got down to brass tacks."We're working on a government contract, special timers of some kind for the Army. Their inspection protocol is different from ours and takes longer. The results had to be in by tomorrow morning, so I worked overtime to finish it. I was maybe 15 minutes late when I left. Everyone else had left, or so I thought, when I got out into the parking lot. You know how dark that lot is in the winter. I was just about to get into my car when somebody grabbed me from behind and squeezed the sides of my neck. I passed out. When I woke up, my panties and skirt were around my ankles, a man with a silk stocking over his head had his thumbs on my windpipe and was pushing me back against the side of my car as he shoved something that felt like a baseball bat into me. That thing could make a horse jealous and it hurt like the devil. He didn't make it last the way you do, though. He went off after only a minute or two. When he was done, he squeezed the sides of my neck again and I passed out again. When I came to, a car was leaving the parking lot so fast that the tires were screeching. I'd know the sound of that engine anywhere. It was a supercharged Auburn 851, and he was using the supercharger. There's only one of those at the Holstead Ave. plant, and Jacques owns it." Of course, this "evidence" wouldn't stand up in court for 2 minutes." "No," I agreed. "Jacques has money and he can afford a much better lawyer than we can. He'd tear your testimony to shreds in no time. Even if a jury accepted your identificastion of the sound of the Auburn's engine, it doesn't prove anything. So, Jacques left the parking lot hastily right after you were raped. That doesn't prove that he did it." "That's why I don't want to accuse him. It's embarrassing enough to testify about being raped, without being made to look like a fool. But, I can't work there any more." "You don't need to. We have enough saved. It's time you quit and we started raising a family." " I hate to see Jacques get away with it, though." " Leave that to me. I have the germ of a plan festering in my devious mind. It will require that you go with me to the company picnic in June at Simmons Park. I'll need you for an alibi." "But, he'll be there." "He won't even look at you., for 2 reasons. He won't want to attract attention to himself by showing any interest in you, and, he's the Don Juan type. You don't interest him any more. He's had you, now he's intent on some fresh conquest." Chrissie never returned to Rooter-Viedt. She resigned her job in writing, citing personal reasons. We sold the Model A for $50, which was a pretty good price for a 7-year-old car with nearly 100,000 miles on it. As anticipated , my income was enough to live on comfortably.I threw away my Trojans and we spent the next five months trying to make a baby. Chrissie finally got pregnant in late May. The company picnic in Simmons Park always took place in mid-June. Chrissie wanted to know what my nefarious plan for Jacques was, but I wanted to surprise her. All I would tell her was "Expect screams from the boathouse." Jacques would surely behave as he always had at the picnic. Because Simmons Park is a privately owned facility on Long Island Sound, male bathers were not required to wear jerseys as they were on public beaches. Most of us would wear almost identical swim suits: dark blue jersey, dark blue trunks with a white web belt, probably over a jockstrap. Jacques would doubtless wear no jersey, white shorts with a black web belt, and no jockstrap. This outfit , when wet, would show off his male equipment to best advantage. Jacques could be expected to arrive somewhat late, dog-paddle around in the water long enough to get his trunks wet, and then parade about showing off his physique and the forms of his cock and balls. Then he would descend on the beer keg and proceed to drink himself shitfaced. When he could barely stagger, he would lurch over to the boathouse for shelter from the sun, and pass out inside. He had done this every year, though, of course, before Repeal, he had had to resort to his hip flask to get drunk, beer being still llegal. Chrissie and I arrived at noon and set up out beach umbrella and blanket about 100 feet east of the boathouse. Jacques arrived at 1:00 wearing nothing over his swimming trunks. The rest of us, wore trousers over our trunks and took them off on arrival. He swaggered down to the water and dog-paddled out only a short distance from shore, well to landward of the strong longshore current. Jacques was a lousy swimmer. I usually do the Australian crawl and I can swim under water for about 2 minutes before surfacing for air. Jacques kept his head up out of the water, throwing himself off balance, and knew no other stroke than the dog-paddle. He really didn't intend to swim anyhow, just to get his white trunks wet so that they'd cling to his crotch. He did have an enviable physique, and when he got out of the water, he walked around self-consciously posing and showing it off. This time he had a partial hard-on which attracted much attention also. When he tired of exhibitionism, he gravitated to the beer keg and proceed to get blotto. It took him about 20 minutes to get staggering drunk. While he was doing that, I swam under water over to the boathouse, surfacing inside it. I made sure that the door was inlocked from the inside. I wanted to be sure that Jacques could get in. Then I swam back to where Chrissie was waiting and we both watched Jacques swilling down the beer. Finally, he got up and lurched over to the boathouse and went in. I put on the black rubber swimming goggles which many of the swimmers wore. They were just as good as a mask in case he should see my face. Having allowed enough time for Jacques to pass out, I swam out about 60 feet and then ducked under and swam underwater to the boathouse. Surfacing inside, I looked around and found Jacques, lying near the door, conveniently facing it. If he had been facing the other way there would have been more risk of his seeing me. I got up onto the floor and silently crept to the door and locked it.Anyone trying to come to Jacques' rescue would have to break down the door. Jacques was lying face-down, the position I wanted him in, but not just yet. I rolled him onto his right side, unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his fly and pulled down his trunks. He never stirred. I took ahold of his cock and balls as I rolled him back over into a face-down position with his sex organs between his thighs, neatly packed together. I turned my back on him and put my left foot on the floor beside his right thigh. Then I raised my right foot and slammed it down on his cock and balls, five times in quick succession while Jacques puked, screamed, and struggled trying to roll over and get up. After the third time, I was just stomping on a bloody pulp. I dived into the water and swiftly swam under water, diagonally to the left. This time I swam out to the longshore current and let it carry me about 100 yards down the beach. Then I swam rapidly inshore and ran along to beach to where Chrissie was standing staring at the boathouse where Jacques was still screaming and sobbing.A crowd had already formed and I joined them, obviously coming from the east, and asked "What happened ?" Nobody knew (except me, of course). Eric Swanson, built like a football guard or a professional wrestler, tried to open the door and, finding it locked, broke it down as if it were made of balsa wood, and emerged a moment later with Jacques' arm around his shoulder. Jacques white trunks were soaked with blood which was running down his legs. (Eric must have pulled Jacques' trunks up, finding them down around his calves.). By this time, Jacques had stopped screaming, retching, and sobbing and sunk into unconsciousness.. Somebody tried to call the Police from the pavilion and found that he didn't have a nickel for the pay phone. Finally somebody else went back to his car and got change. We all milled around and asked who could have done it. Nobody suspected me. After all I didn't even work in the same town with him. The Police car came first and the cops soon found that nobody could give them any information except maybe Jacques who was in a coma from shock. Finally, after another 20 minutes or so, the ambulance arrived and hauled Jacques off to St. Joseph's Hospital. Chrissie and I had lunch and both went swimming before leaving about the same time as the others. When we got home, I brought out the cognac again and we both drank a toast "To Jacques Delaporte. May he have a long sexless life." He did. |