Johnny Wraith Stories

In a Chicago suburb, about 37 years ago, a high school football stadium was teeming. The home crowd was wild as hell, especially for its favorite player, a 17yr old fullback from Hades. He carried the ball like a charging bull, snorting fire. He hit so hard you could really hear the pads crack.

When the fullback removed his helmet, he had long, sweat-drenched black hair and an angular face. He was 225lbs of muscle at 6’2”. The next Prom King. He was contemplating Nebraska, but had plenty of options.

The option he had his eye on next was a bubbly little cheerleader. She’d just turned 15. Blonde hair like snow, baby blue eyes, no more than 5’ tall. Barely 100lbs before breakfast. The only child of a professor and a doting mother. She lived in a big house in a ritzy suburb. The fullback couldn’t get her out of his head. The way she giggled and blushed when he’d stop at her locker. Her childlike innocence. The way she filled her tight sweaters, how her legs looked in short skirts, how he’d catch a glimpse of her panties when she did high kicks…

It was a night to look forward to. She’d said “yes” to a post game date. In the locker room he showered with haste. He combed out his wet hair, struggled into tight jeans, pulled on a t-shirt and Converse tennis shoes.

She was waiting for him in the stadium parking lot, leaning into her girlfriend’s VW Bug, giggling. She saw him approaching and quickly threw her pom-poms into the back seat. Just before his arrival, the headlights popped on, the engine started. The car drove off. The driver waved goodbye.

She and he stood there alone. He towered over her.

"Hello."

"Hi,” she replied, then dropped her head, blushing.

"Like the game?"

She fidgeted, bent her ankles out, tugged at the hem of her skirt before answering. “Yup,” she answered, biting her lower lip.

"Want to go for a drive?"

She fidgeted more, then nodded.

The white Mustang started. The V-8 purred. It had blue stripes down the side. It turned out of the stadium parking lot.

He shifted into second, then cupped her knee. She tensed. “You like the game?" He asked again.

"Um... yeah," she answered.

He shifted into third and put his hand back. Neither spoke for a few minutes, just stared out the windshield.

He glanced at her. "You're cute," he said. He slid his hand higher. She quickly clamped his fingers between her thighs. He pulled his hand back and shifted into fourth.

"Almost there," he said, then downshifted.

He pulled into a dark parking lot, drove behind an old warehouse, killed the engine and lights. It was silent, but for the engine cooling. Tink. Tink.

"Let’s make out,” he said.

She looked at him with wide eyes. He kissed her forcefully. She clinched and said, “please stop,” but he didn’t. Then she started kissing back. He slid his hands up her short, pleated skirt.

"Let's get in the back,” he whispered.

She climbed in the back. He moved the seats forward and joined her. They started kissing again. The windows started steaming.

“What are you doing?” she mumbled, between kisses. He abruptly pulled her panties down, over her knees, off her ankles. “What are you doing!”

He didn’t respond. He just unbuttoned his jeans. He started kissing her more forcefully than ever. His hips began prying her knees apart.

She jerked her lips away. "What are you doing!"

He forced their mouths back together.

She again cried out. “No! Please!” He was too strong. She couldn’t escape. He dug his chin into her shoulder as he grunted. With tears running down her cheeks she kept pleading, “Stop! Please!

He didn’t stop.

They never spoke again. He drove her home. She got out of the Mustang. He drove off. Quietly, she unlocked the front door and went inside. She tiptoed up the steps to avoid waking her parents.

She fell asleep crying into her pillow, wearing panties soaked in blood and semen.

I was born less than 6 months later, put in an incubator, legally delivered into the hands of the Department of Social Services.