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Warning: This is a vintage hard-boiled full length (100+ Pages), post-censorship erotic novel. This is bad stuff. Both bad meaning bad and bad meaning *good*. The story is so crazy, we can't even give a proper description. Check out the free sample if you can.
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A story in the paper caught Debbie's eye. A young nurse had been raped on her way home from work, right in Debbie's area. The article went on to say that it was the second assault in the neighborhood in a week.
After reading the story all the way through for a second time, Debbie started wondering about what it would be like to be raped. The rapist in the article had threatened his victim with a knife, and now Debbie shivered as she imagined the feeling of cold steel against her neck.
She lit another cigarette and left her chair, pacing and puffing in an attempt to settle her nerves. She didn't like to be ruffled, and prided herself on her cool approach to things.
However, her mind kept going back to the rape story in the paper. When she finished her cigarette, Debbie returned to her chair and re-read the article. When she finished, a thought was nagging at the back of her mind.
"Of course," Debbie said to herself after a moment of mental dredging. "I'll bet it was Sheila who got raped."
The newspaper story had withheld the rape victim's name, but had reported that the attack had occurred on Maple Street, a couple of blocks away. Debbie's friend, Sheila Ryan, lived on Maple. And Sheila was a nurse who worked the nightshift at the local hospital.
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A story in the paper caught Debbie's eye. A young nurse had been raped on her way home from work, right in Debbie's area. The article went on to say that it was the second assault in the neighborhood in a week.
After reading the story all the way through for a second time, Debbie started wondering about what it would be like to be raped. The rapist in the article had threatened his victim with a knife, and now Debbie shivered as she imagined the feeling of cold steel against her neck.
She lit another cigarette and left her chair, pacing and puffing in an attempt to settle her nerves. She didn't like to be ruffled, and prided herself on her cool approach to things.
However, her mind kept going back to the rape story in the paper. When she finished her cigarette, Debbie returned to her chair and re-read the article. When she finished, a thought was nagging at the back of her mind.
"Of course," Debbie said to herself after a moment of mental dredging. "I'll bet it was Sheila who got raped."
The newspaper story had withheld the rape victim's name, but had reported that the attack had occurred on Maple Street, a couple of blocks away. Debbie's friend, Sheila Ryan, lived on Maple. And Sheila was a nurse who worked the nightshift at the local hospital.