It had been a horrible ideal of shame and pain for the eighteen-year-old Carol. Physically she hadn't been too badly hurt. A three-week stay in the hospital, more for recovery of her emotional stability than her physical health, had made life bearable for her again. She had been released in the custody of her aunt, who cared for her like her own child, carefully putting a stop to her former tales of rape and the necessity to protect a girl's moral purity. She hadn't been made to feel any great lingering shame about the night with her father. It hadn't been her fault after all.

Her life hadn't been particularly unhappy with her aunt. She had gone to the best schools and had learned to adapt to her fatherless home life. She

had learned that aggressiveness was necessary in the business world, the world that she had chosen to conquer. And her aggressiveness had served her well. But even though her life had been happy from outward appearances, enough remained within her from the terrible night her father raped her to make her life far from complete.

She had found it terribly difficult to enjoy sex with the many men who lusted after her, although she had managed to admit them to her bedroom and to her cunt. But something always made her hold back. She had orgasms, sometimes even came close to enjoying herself when fucking a horny admirer. But there was always fear lurking somewhere in her mind, fear of the hairy, struggling, sweating man who had raped her so brutally.

Lately she had begun to fear men even more. As her lovers approached the age of her father that terrible night, she began to see hint in them, began to imagine the same disgusting motivations in them that she had seen in her father that night.