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attacked, can’t fight back

      Even in the dim twilight her dark Mexican skin must be easy to spot against this wall of concrete.  She certainly couldn’t go down the rungs to be easy prey on flat ground.  The only way to escape was up.  She tried to skip a rung, stretching her foot way up so that her legs were almost a ballet dancer’s split, but she couldn’t get any muscle power that way.  So she just climbed faster.  Soon she was at the top.  She would hop onto the high ground and --

        But no.  The ground behind this retaining wall must have subsided.  As she peeked over the top she saw a yawning gap to an eroded plateau of dirt, too far for her to jump across.  Below was bottomless blackness.  Going on instinct again, she hopped over the top of the wall to hide herself.  As she clasped the lip of the wall with her hands, her feet dangled aimlessly, trying to find something to support her weight.  Her big toe found a little outcrop to step on, though it was too small for her other toes to grab.  Her other foot swung around, unable to find anything in the unknown darkness.  She needed more support.  In desperation she swung her foot up above the lip, and planted her heel on top of it.  Her legs were stretched wide, not as wide as a split, but it was uncomfortable, her Achilles tendon scraped by the concrete lip above, her toe struggling to hold on below, her breasts crushed again, not against gritty sand but this time against rough, ragged concrete.  She could stay like this for a short while though.

        She listened carefully.  What she wanted to hear was the fading sound of the police car leaving.  Instead she heard the crunch of approaching boots.  Then voices.  She couldn’t make out the words but from the lilt she could tell they were White.

        They were probably sent by Harry McNeil, owner of the local paper.  McNeil was a racist and played up any news he could get to prove that the Mexicans in town were lawless thugs, or loose women, a threat to civilized society.  He had a network of “informers” who were always calling in “suspicious activity” and of course the police were required to investigate.  It was all nonsense.  Even the Mexicans who were here illegally, like her cousins Rafael and Juan, and the Fuentes family across the street, were well behaved and honest.  For a deslegal to break the law would be really stupid.  By now everyone on the Mexican side of town had gotten used to the police coming in and searching their houses.  The funny thing was, the police were always nice.  They seemed almost embarrassed at having to do what they did.  When they knocked and entered into a Mexican house, the family chatted with them and sometimes made coffee for them while they did their perfunctory lookaround.

        Still . . . being found by the police out here at this hour --naked! -- was something she didn’t want to happen.  She saw flashlight beams passing over her in the night air.  She suddenly realized that part of her foot might be seen.  It would be an odd sight, the brightly lit sole of a girl’s bare foot, toes up, sticking up over a forty-foot wall.  Fortunately her foot stayed in darkness.

       She shivered -- what felt like an ant was crawling up her twitching big toe!  It crawled up her insole, tickling her, then steadily up her calf and now the inside of her thigh.  She wished she could shake it off but she couldn’t without losing her grip and falling into rocky blackness.  Now it was joined by another.  She bit her lip.  Please, please, police, go away so I can get out of here!  With dread she feared what the ants -- spiders?? -- would do when they got to her crotch.  It turned out worse.  Attracted by the moisture and warmth, they crawled into her pubic hair.  Due to her near-split her lower lips had parted.  In they went, exploring.  It felt like a lot more than two ants.  Maybe a dozen?  And now her anus, opened slightly by her stretched posture, was invaded!  She felt tiny legs poking at her most sensitive sphincter, then crawl inside.

        Guadalupe whimpered and wanted to cry out.  With a mighty effort she stifled her anguished moans.  Her body shook like a leaf in the wind.  Tears flowed silently down to her quavering lips.

        The tiny legs poked her in places she had never felt before, exploring the interior of her virginal vagina, and up into her rectum.  Now it felt like there were hundreds of them crawling around in there, having claimed her twin cavities as their home.  The ones in her butt were up so far, she wondered if they would climb her entire digestive tract, wiggling all the way, and crawl out her mouth.  The suffering nude teenager prayed and prayed for help.

        She hyperventilated, then tried to tamp down the sound of her breathing.  She thought of ordeals suffered by others, the suffering of Jesus, those fourteen Stations of the Cross along the walls in her church.  But Jesus was the Son of God.  She was just a helpless, nude teenage girl.

        Blessedly, she heard the sound of the police car driving away, tires on sand fading into nothingness.  Now how to get out of this position?  Her eyes had gotten used to the darkness of this side of the wall.  Looking to her left she saw that the plateau of dirt was reachable if she sidled in that direction maybe thirty feet.  Letting go of her toehold, and lifting her other foot off the lip of the wall, she swung her legs from side to side, while moving her hands along the lip with the swaying rhythm of her legs.

      It was an uncomfortable if not exactly painful business.  First she was trying to shake those ants off her legs.  She thought about squeezing her legs shut to kill the ants inside her, but did they bite?  Anyway she couldn’t do that while swinging side to side.  Worse was feeling the rough concrete scrape against her breasts, especially her nipples.  They were always sensitive, rubbing even against her bra. The stimulation would make them poke out through her blouse, which was embarrassing.  Since eighth grade she had learned to put band-aids over them before strapping on those huge 36DD things with the six clasps.  Now, her poor nipples exposed and being rasped by the rough mortar, the stimulation was too intense for her to bear.  With the police gone, she could now whimper out loud.

        Finally with another swing of her legs to the side, her toes grabbed onto dirt.  She brought her hands along, got her body upright, let go of the wall and fell back onto what was not dirt but gravel, digging into her butt.  It hurt.

        No matter.  She was finally out of that horrible pit.  She rolled onto all fours and jabbed fingers into her vagina, trying to clear out those ants.  Then, disgusting as it was, she painfully forced a finger into her butthole, and poked and swept around inside herself.

        She didn’t know if she had gotten all the ants but as if driven from behind she got up and ran, exhausted, her feet hitting the ground with a crazy zigzag pace.  She didn’t really know where she was going, didn’t think about it.  The sky was getting light.  She had to go somewhere.

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