Resurrection of Crazy Jane Pt. 04

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I sat in the parking lot of the apartment complex where Beth lived, and I just stared at my knuckles. They were gripping the steering wheel and were solid white. To be honest, I was still almost shaking from adrenaline.

“You’re dead, motherfucker! You’re fucking dead!”

His words and what came afterward kept echoing in my head on a constant loop. Simply remembering them made my heart race.

It made my heart race even more to realize that this night wasn’t even close to over.

With a sigh, and working up the nerve, I opened my car door to go upstairs and fetch Beth.

At least this I could explain.


“When you boys get home, each of you has a job to do.”

Ever since we left The Creek, Jon’s car had been silent. All that could be heard was the contented mews Zoey made. Sitting in the front seat, squirming and moaning proudly to herself, Zoey’s eyes were happily lidded, halfway falling asleep in bliss.

To Zoey, cum must’ve had the effect of warm milk.

“What’s that, babe?” Jon asked, his hand caressing Zoey’s thigh as he drove.

She looked down at Jon’s hand on her thigh, and calmly brushed it off of her. I was sitting in the back seat, thanking my lucky stars that she wasn’t sitting next to me as she led me even further down the rabbit hole of sexual madness.

Then she smiled a devious, arousing grin at me. Fuck, she was still in charge.


“Tonight,” she began, brimming with confidence and absolute authority, “you will fantasize about me,” Zoey decreed, making eye contact back at me. “Both of you. You will pretend you’re fucking me.”

Excuse me?

“But,” She interrupted herself, “you will fantasize about a threesome. And it will be a threesome with the three of us.”

“What the…” Jon gasped, laughing. “You want us to what?” He was incredulous. And he stole the fucking words out of my mouth. That is, if I had words to say. Back at The Creek, a cat stole my tongue the second I came like a geyser at the sight of Zoey with my friend’s cum in her mouth.

“I’m not finished,” Zoey continued. “So you get one end, your buddy gets another,” she said to both of us.

“No way,” I protested, chuckling. “I’m not thinking of this douche nozzle.”

“Yeah,” Jon added, turning the corner as we returned to the bookstore parking lot to take Zoey back to her car. “This numbnuts and his big floppy donkey dick is getting nowhere near my jackoff fantasies.”

“Mmmm,” Zoey said, biting her lip. “Do you know what I heard just now?”

“Uhhhh…” Jon said, confused.

“I heard that both of you agreed you’d be thinking of me when you jerk off tonight,” Zoey deduced. “At this point, we’re just quibbling about details.”

Jon and I both got quiet. Zoey is pure fucking evil.

“Thought so,” she said victoriously. “Now, you’ll each be thinking of tag-teaming me, shoving your huge cocks in whatever holes you like.”

We were stupidly hanging on her every word.

“Now, while you boys let your perverted minds take you wherever they want to go, I will be fantasizing about being taken by both of you at the same time. BUT…”

She left us hanging with a pregnant pause. Jon finally broke.

“But what?” Jon eked out excitedly, parking his car in front of the bookstore. She had parked her car on the far end of the shopping center parking lot, but he was too far gone with bliss at this crazy conversation.

“But,” Zoey continued, “I’ll get an extra warm feeling in my belly knowing that each of you are cumming, thinking about me. And, while I masturbate …”

While you what?

“… I’ll be losing my mind thinking of the depraved things both of you were wishing you could do to me.”

Stunned. Silence.

I couldn’t see Jon’s eyes, but I was sure his got as wide as mine. I didn’t even know how to react. He reached over and, again, began to stroke her thigh. Neither of us could get a word out at this unbelievable shit that was coming out of Zoey’s mouth.

“That sounds like implicit agreement,” Zoey giggled, looking down at Jon’s hand caressing her.

She smiled at him with a glint of evil in her eye. Calm but defiant, Zoey made a show of removing his hand from her lap.

“And, my dear Jonny Magnum,” Zoey began, “From now on, I want you to only think about what it’s like to touch me. To pretend. Because, I don’t allow just anybody to feel me up.” Zoey reached out to him and ran a finger from his shoulder down his arm. “And, Mr. Magnum, one little tasty cumshot doesn’t entitle you that.”

My jaw practically hit the floor. That was harsh! I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and hearing.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said. “You’re right.”

This is beyond fucked up. Zoey’s proclamation that she was suddenly off limits to Jon, that he couldn’t touch her, was a smack in the face to him, obviously. But she said it in a way that sincan escort made you feel honored to even hear it. Her voice was so high and soothing, it was as if she was merely stating facts, not shooting a guy down. The fact that she followed it up by lightly touching his arm made it seem like, somehow, he just won.

Calmly, as Jon parked his car, she opened her passenger side door and slunk out. “Good night, boys!” she teased, heading to the far end of the parking lot to her car.

And just like that, she was gone. And this ridiculous night was over.

Still sitting in the back seat, I looked at the back of Jon’s head, and he began to turn back to look at me.

“Seriously, what in the fuck just happened?!” Jon exclaimed at me, a huge smile on his face.

I began to smile back, but whatever did happen was majorly fucked up. Bros before hos, right?

“Fuck me,” I said under my breath, shaking my head. “That girl’s trouble. She is so much fucking trouble. Dude, seriously, we should both make a pact to stay the fuck away from her.”

Jon just looked at me, as if he was heeding my advice. If she was going to pull this shit on him the way she’d been pulling shit on me for the last week, he needed to be warned. Because, fuck, I jacked off for her while she blew my friend mere feet away from me. And I was powerless to stop it. How in the fuck do I explain this to my girlfriend??

Simply put, Zoey is a damn evil temptress.

Then, that proud smile of his had worn away. Instead, it was replaced by steadily building rage. He started to get a bit of crazy eyes, eyes I haven’t seen since senior year when three jocks threw him in the deep end of the school swimming pool

“You mother fucker,” Jon seethed at me, almost beginning to froth at the mouth.

“What?” I asked, confused.

But Jon was almost beginning to hyperventilate. “You fucking cock blocked me all night long! First, when we met her here. Then, that shit in the back seat, whatever that was. This whole time, you thought she was going to suck your dick!”

My eyes popped wide open as I began reflexively shaking my head. What the hell is he talking about?

“You’re just pissed off that she sucked my dick instead, and you’re trying to throw me off the scent, you fucking piece of shit!”

“No, I didn’t… What the hell are you …” was all I could stammer out. I had never seen him look at me like that.

“You’re dead, motherfucker!” he shouted at me as he opened up his door and quickly got out, ripping open the back door almost in one fluid motion. “You’re fucking dead!” he screamed, leaning his body into the back seat to grab at my legs and drag me out.


As Jon came back to get me, I jumped back to the passenger side back door as I heard what sounded like firecrackers going off. The Fourth of July was just a few weeks back, and I thought this was a hell of a time for kids to start fucking with firecrackers.


“What the fuck!?” Jon yelled while he jumped, looking around frantically, not even looking at me. He just slammed the door behind him and crashed his body into mine, but instead of attacking me, he just looked out his back window.

I was shaking, as I was ready to defend myself from this fucker. Then, he’s suddenly looking out of the car like he saw a ghost. He just looked at me, turning his head slowly, his face clammy and white.

“I think I just heard a fucking gun!” Jon shakily said.


Immediately, he and I changed positions. He was huddling as far underneath the seat as he could go while I looked up, trying to see what the fuck was going on outside.

The shopping center parking lot in front of the bookstore was pretty much abandoned. Every store was closed, including the bookstore. All the lights of every business were off, well past 10 p.m. on a Tuesday night.


I turned my head toward the sound of a continually honking horn in the distance. I saw a car with its lights blinking like a car alarm had been tripped. The car was blinking and flashing and going crazy, its car honking over and over.

Then my eyes adjusted to see a guy running like hell from the car, looking back while he sprinted as fast as he could.

I looked back at the honking car and saw a body emerge from behind it. I saw a fist go into the air, and a woman with long hair screaming at the top of her lungs, jumping up and down.


“What the fuck is going on out there?” Jon asked from the floor, obvious fear in his voice.

I pieced it all together in my brain. Just what the fuck am I seeing?

A guy running for his life. A car acting like it had tripped its alarm. Zoey screaming, her hand in the air, holding something.

Shit, is that a gun?!

“Fight or flight” is a tricky response. It’s an instinct, and by definition, doesn’t incorporate ankara escort much thought. You don’t know how you’re going to react until the choice is truly presented to you, and everybody is different. Do you run away as fast as you can? Or put your head down, full of steam, without much of a plan, to fight?

I knew my answer when I suddenly raced through the parking lot, running toward the guy who was fleeing from Zoey.

My senses were on high alert, my hearing supersonic, focusing on the sounds as I barely felt a chill from the air.

“Rape!” I heard her scream faintly but powerfully from a distance. “Rape!”

Hearing those words made me lower my head further, timing my run, like I was trying to cut off a touchdown run.

3 … 2 … 1…

I flew through the air, barely able to see, as I tackled the guy at full stride, knocking him and myself to the concrete, barely feeling my elbows crunching against the ground as I brought this little fucking rapist down.

He was a scrawny guy, honestly. Little Mexican dude, about 5-foot-7. I could barely focus. Visually, I could make out no details.

But I heard his breath. It was loud, heavy and quick. I heard a periodic faint whimper as I brought his body under control. When my vision finally focused, I remember his eyes. Green, tear-filled eyes that jumped off of his light brown face. They looked up at me at mercy.

He was scared.

Fuck him, serves him right! Just because he got caught!

I got in a fight once. It was in the 4th grade. It was a cartoonish bully thing you saw in old TV shows. He picked on me daily. Pushed me around. His habit was to sock me in the back during gym class while we ran laps, then he’d laugh about it and tell me if I told on him, the next day, he’d draw blood. It was a hollow threat, but I was nine years old, and I believed it. And remarkably, though it happened almost every day, the gym teacher never fucking saw it.

I had to take matters into my own hands. I asked my dad for advice, and God rest his soul, he told me in a drunken stupor, “Punch the little fucker in his mouth and see if he keeps laughing.”

So one day, I did. Over and over. In front of everybody. I let my young rage take over. I ended up giving him a black eye and a fat lip.

The rest of the school year, he literally brought me a bag of chips out of his lunch every day. I never even had to ask. He just handed them over and smiled at me. After two weeks, I told him to quit kissing ass and never speak to me again. So he didn’t, and the next year, he changed schools.

It was the stereotypical tale of punching the bully in the mouth.

Somehow, that scene kept me from getting blatantly fucked with for the rest of my school years. At least by other guys, anyway. Somehow, girls were always mean to me, but that’s a tale for another time.

But with that little 4th grade dust up as my frame of reference, I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know how to throw a punch or how to put my weight behind my swings and hooks.

But like I did in the 4th grade, I just punched. Over and over.

Eventually, I finally missed his face, now bloodied, and hit the bottom of his jaw with my knuckles.

And it fucking hurt.

As I grabbed my hand in pain, the dude weaseled away from me, got back on his feet and sprinted out of sight.

I would have run after him, but Zoey suddenly ran into the back of me, grabbing my shoulders and squeezing her big tits against my back as she held up her hand, yelling.

“That’s right, motherfucker! Run! You’re lucky he didn’t fucking kill you!”

Shaking with adrenaline, my vision still crooked, I began to turn my body around to look at her, I immediately brought my non-punching hand up to her face, stroking it, cherishing the sense of touch as my brain tried to regulate itself.

“Are you okay?” I asked softly, my voice shaky.

She suddenly jumped into my arms, wrapping her legs around my torso and her arms around my neck, kissing me passionately. But “passion” isn’t even a strong enough word for it.

Her lips sloshed over mine, often missing the mark, wetting my lips, tongue, nose and chin. She moaned into my lips every time she closed her mouth and went back in to continue, and I quickly felt the cool air bouncing on my moistened face.

And you bet I returned the kiss. The adrenaline of the moment, the absolute raw fucking humanity of this, both of us bubbling over with fear, created a slow boil in my spine that seemed to travel up and down repeatedly, creating chills that just never went away. Almost like a mild orgasm that just hummed through every last cell in my body.

We heard a loud squeak and a revving motor.

It was Jon, peeling out, his high RPMs communicating his emotions.

It was obvious. He saw us kiss, got pissed, and sped the fuck out of there.

I was stranded. etimegut escort And Zoey just kept on kissing me with every last bit of her soul.


“… And then she took me back to my car and asked me to come get you. Just in case.”

Beth was laying on the couch, watching TV, a small mountain of tissues stacked on the coffee table in front of her.

She was feeling a bit better, now finally able to sit up periodically on the couch to watch TV instead of lying constantly on her bed.

She nodded, also shocked by the recounting of the story, but communicating it with docile head bobs.

“You saved her? You?” she said in a way that made it sound like she didn’t believe it. Or the role I played.

“Yes, Beth. Me. Unfortunately, he got away.”

With her red nose glowing, she looked up at me and gave what looked like a forced grin. “Well,” Beth began, “I’m sure she appreciated it.”

I thought back to that kiss. That amazingly mind-erasing kiss. That kiss I didn’t tell Beth about.

Yes, Zoey sure as hell appreciated it.

“If you’re feeling up to it, I’d like you to come with me to the police station,” I told her. “She’d really like you there. She said she doesn’t have any friends or family to call on.”


After we left the bookstore parking lot and the passion of our kiss calmed down, Zoey told me a bit of her story.

She had moved from the West coast, leaving behind her family and two brothers, deciding to transfer schools after a year in community college. She decided on my school, mostly, because it was so far away from home and tuition was low, with it being a state school. It was all by design.

She also told me she was just 18. She got emancipated at 17, dropped out of high school and got her GED, immediately enrolling in community college and moving into a small apartment with her boyfriend at the time. The fact that she had just turned 18, only a few weeks before I met her, really shocked and surprised me.

She confessed that she’d only been here for a little over two months and didn’t have any actual friends yet. Just “acquaintances” as she called them, even using little quote-marks in the air for effect, that visited the bookstore from time to time. Like Jon.

It made me wonder if she blew her other acquaintances, too.

She told me she’d been raped twice. Both back home. Once in high school and once in community college. The community college rape is part of what made her want to flee.

I didn’t give away a lot of details, but I recommended she talk to Beth about her rape experience. I simply told her that Beth would be a great friend to share her story with, and left it at that.

Zoey gave a genuine, thankful grin when I told her about Beth. I think that helped her decide to ask me to get her. She really needed some sisterly support.

We also hatched a back story.

It was simple, really.

I was studying late at the University, and around 10 o’clock, I pulled into the bookstore parking lot to look for Beth. But she wasn’t there, and Zoey was. Zoey asked me to get her a burger to eat as well as get Beth some sickness supplies, like cough drops and NyQuil. When I came back to meet Zoey after she had gotten off work, I saw the whole grisly scene.

Luckily, I remembered to get the NyQuil and cough drops on my way to Beth’s, so as to further sell our version of the story.

No matter what little white lies I told, the truth was somebody tried to attack Zoey in that parking lot. And she needed help to find the fucker who did it.


As I finished my plea for her to come with, Beth sighed and got up from the couch.

“Okay,” she said, wiping her nose with the arm of her long-sleeved pajamas. “Just let me get dressed.”

As she walked away to her bedroom, I tried to read Beth. Was she upset? Sad? Betrayed? Jealous? I just couldn’t figure out this flat response to our crazy evening. It was almost as if she knew Zoey and I did something tonight. She seemed to be just seconds away from tearing my head off, crying, or some other outburst.

Or maybe it was all in my head. Who knows?

As I did with most things involving Beth, all I could do was shrug. I sat on her blankets lining the couch and picked up that Yeats book, thumbing through to the next Crazy Jane poem I hadn’t yet read, focusing on the end of “Crazy Jane on the Mountain.”

There in a two-horsed carriage

That on two wheels ran

Great-bladdered Emer sat.

Her violent man

Cuchulain sat at her side;


Propped upon my two knees,

I kissed a stone

I lay stretched out in the dirt

And I cried tears down.


“… So I knocked the gun out of his hand and he began to run away.”

Zoey and I talked about our story as far as what to say to Beth, and that’s about all we got in during our short car ride before she dropped me off at my car and headed to the police station to file a report. Hearing the version of the story Zoey told to the police officer was different than what I remembered.

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