I recently edited this story of my rape and near-murder that took place in September 1990.

My dear friends and readers, this one is not for the faint of heart, nor for those who would feel pity for me with the ordeal I endured. Indeed, like all of my stories, every word of it is true -- so if you decide to partake of this one, my guys and gals, be prepared to get probably more than just a little bit upset and angry about what happened to me that all those years ago.

I do want you to read it though, and for several reasons: The first one is that I want you to rejoice with me now, for in the end I not only survived it all, but I came out of the tragedy with flying colors -- as a better person, in spite of it all. I am here today to tell you my traumatic tale, about the ordeal I went thru which was perpetrated upon me by a socio-psychopathic man by the name of David Kost.

If you find it difficult to continue reading it -- put it aside for a bit, take a break, and then go back to it. But finish it, OK? Cuz another reason I want you to read it is this: I have come to love you all so very much, and I feel as if you are like my family in many ways. I want you to know me, and I want you to know me intimately... And the best way I can accomplish that across these many miles of cyberspace that we exist in is by sharing my life with you in every way -- all the good, the bad and the ugly included.

So, as my friends and as people who have come to care for me, too, please take a read below...

Love and kisses,
Leslie

The Nightmare    The Nightmare    The Nightmare     The Nightmare    The Nightmare    The Nightmare     The Nightmare    The Nightmare    The Nightmare

A Survivor's Triumph Over Tragedy    A Survivor's Triumph Over Tragedy     A Survivor's Triumph Over Tragedy    A Survivor's Triumph Over Tragedy     A Survivor's Triumph Over Tragedy

©2010 by Leslie Blue

It was nearing 4:30 a.m. on that dreary-looking Saturday morning, September 15, 1990, when I peeked out of my living room window. The sky was still pitch black and the ocean air hung heavy with an almost oppressive humidity. It was the old, familiar calm-before-the-storm, I sensed. But the silence was almost deafening to me, for the throbbing in my head from my heavy imbibing in shots of tequila on the Friday night before. I had engaged in some pretty wild sexual activity with a gorgeous guy I met at the bar that night, and in my poor drunken judgment, had just returned to my apartment from driving him home to the next town.

My living room floor was strewn with my bra, panties, and other articles of lingerie from a strip tease dance I barely recalled performing. The images of me dancing my sexy dance for him were flashing by briefly in my mind, interspersed with dreamy visions of me sucking his cock and him fucking me madly, mixed in. The scenes were playing in my head at strobe-light speed, making me nauseous and queasy, while the echoing beats of blasting disco music were still pounding away on top of it all.

Despite my desperate desire to fall unconscious on my sofa and catch a few zzz's of some much needed sleep, my thoughts turned to my seven stray cats that resided near the boardwalk by my home. I knew they would be anxiously awaiting their breakfast meal, as it was my daily habit to walk the block and a half up to feed them every morning about that time. My sister, Gail, who was then living in a neighboring apartment to mine, would join me every day for my feline feeding mission, followed by a two mile walk down the "boards". We had done this without fail every single day -- come rain, snow, or shine -- for nearly two years. During extremely inclement weather, I would skip the daily walk and drive my car up to the cats, being forever faithful to never miss one single day of feeding the strays.

I called them strays, but the truth of the matter was that I really thought of them as belonging to me. When I first encountered them in the winter of 1988, they were untouchable -- totally feral and wild. After feeding them became my daily habit, I realized I had to take responsibility for their well being. So I patiently and painstakingly humanely trapped each one of them over a two-week period about two years earlier, and had them all neutered or spayed and vaccinated against rabies at the local SPCA spay clinic. After their overnight stays to recuperate from their respective surgeries, I would transport them back to the only home they knew -- The Boardwalk -- and release them from the Have-A-Heart traps that had housed them for nearly two days. They found shelter there among the abandoned and burned out buildings that stood in that section of town, since a fierce fire had burned down the entire fishing pier in 1987.

Now all of those "fur people" -- as I had affectionately dubbed them -- loved me dearly, and I returned that affection to them with fervor, from the bottom of my heart. I felt honored that they all allowed me to pet them now and most even permitted me to pick them up and cuddle them close to my warm body on the occasions when the seasons turned cold. My vet once told me to never give a stray cat a name; hence he would no longer be a stray because he would then belong to me! How true his words had become in time, since every one of the seven boardwalk cats had been formally named by -- yes, indeed -- yours truly!

The approximately twenty-pound, huge, inky-dark, shiny-coated male head of the colony was Blackie. Mother, on the other hand, was a tiny, gray-brown tabby female, and being the oldest one of the bunch, she was the mother cat to almost all of the others. Millie was Mother's plump, white-with-black-patches daughter, and Mookie was Millie's slim yet studly young black and white son. Othello was the battered-but-now-gentle midnight black tomcat, and Bo Diddley was the newest male member to appear to the group, and he was easily worming his fluffy black-and-white self into the welcoming cat colony.

Then there was Girl Cat. She was a fat and fairly nasty tabby and white female, who never missed an opportunity to take a swat at the other cats while they ate their food. She would also take what had seemed to be now her daily swipe at me, as I placed the filled bowls of food on the ground for all of them to partake of. She obviously relished exercising that certain kind of power over the others, and I think she even enjoyed instilling some kind of fear for her in me, with her razor sharp claws always drawing blood on the few times she was actually adept enough to reach out and scratch me. I loved her dearly, in spite of her bitchy behavior and I very much admired her strong disposition and will.

I remember thinking then that this morning seemed not much different from any of the other days a.m.'s, in what had become my daily routine, as I donned my turquoise, cotton-knit loungewear suit, putting on only panties underneath it with no bra, both for comfort and the speed of getting dressed in a hurry. I was trying to get up there fast so I could finish feeding my cats before what was obviously going to be a rain storm ensued. I took the time to put on heavy white gym socks with my slip on sneakers, then hurriedly tossed a few snap open cans of cat food into my mesh bag that I kept just for the purpose of carrying the felines' food, water and paper plates.

One thing that made this morning somewhat unlike the others is that my sister was out of town visiting friends for the weekend. And because of my aching, hangover head, not to mention the rush I was in to get done with the daily feeding and back to the comforts of home, I decided to skip the walk entirely, and drive my car up to the felines' feeding spot instead. I grabbed my purse and keys as I sprinted out the door, and was surprised at my sprightly energy, despite the fact that I had severe cotton-mouth-after-boozing effect going on. I was still just a little bit drunk though -- rather than actually hung over -- and I felt fairly alert and clear-headed instead of feeling foggy-minded and confused.

It took barely two minutes to reach the section of the boardwalk where my cats were and I pulled my car into a parking space directly across the street from where they all waited anxiously for my arrival with the goods! I quickly grabbed their mesh bag and leaving my car door unlocked, I crossed the narrow oceanfront street to "my guys". The sight of the cats running towards me to meet me halfway was heartwarming and welcome, and it seemed to clear my head even further, as I also breathed in a gush of fresh, ocean air. I greeted them with my cheery "Hi, guys!" as always, and sat down cross-legged Indian-style on the sidewalk, hurriedly taking their dishes out and putting the food on it.

The furry felines acted as if they were starving every single day, even though they were on a pretty strict daily feeding schedule. They were gobbling up the juicy morsels of meat and fish even before I could get it fully on the plates in front of me!

There was something strange in the air though that morning, and I had an extremely odd and eerie feeling inside of me, although I could not actually define it. I felt jittery and anxious for some reason. But I attributed it to the fact that I was alone up there without my sister today, and it was still pretty dark outside, since the sun was barely about to peek its head above the eastern ocean horizon.

It must have been the nearing storm that was giving the sky an almost greenish colored tint to it, and the whole heavy, humid atmosphere around me was so oppressive that my breathing seemed slightly slow and labored. Another odd thing is that not one single person was around -- not even any of the usual walkers, joggers, or fishermen that were typically there during the week in good weather. The nearest I could pinpoint my demeanor would be to say that I had a strange feeling of foreboding, as if something bad was going to happen to me, and I did not have my usual feeling of being safe and sound in what had become a very familiar territory to me in the past two years.

Little did I realize how actively alive and astute my female intuition was operating that day, because to say that something BAD was about to occur was a serious understatement in describing the upcoming events as they were about to take place.

Suddenly he appeared at the corner of the block nearest me -- startling both the cats and me, making us flinch -- about 75 feet in front of where I was sitting. He was a white guy with dull brown hair, about 5 foot 8, with an average build but just a bit on the stocky side, wearing a black and white wide striped T-shirt and khaki tan Dockers. He was walking rapidly right towards me, in a near run, from the corner of Laird Street and Old Ocean Avenue.

He was a completely unfamiliar sight -- a total stranger to me. And although he was a fair distance away when he first appeared -- his deeply set, dark and beady black eyes drilled right down into the very core of my being, by exuding a kind of evil that filled up my soul on the inside and flowed out of me -- surrounding the entirety of my space. To put it bluntly, I knew I was screwed and in big fucking trouble the instant I set my eyes on this bastard. There was not one single thing about his manner or mood that said NICE.

"Can you give me a ride to Second Avenue?" he blurted out, as he came closer to where I was still sitting on the sidewalk.

All the cats had run away from their food and me as the man approached us except for Girl Cat, who was perched on her haunches right in front of me in what looked to be a kind of scaredy-cat crouch.

I could not overcome my trepidation and fear of seeing his evil eyes, so without looking up at him, I snapped out my lying reply. "No, I don't have my car here."

"Oh, I thought that was your car," he remarked as he pointed at my Buick.

"No, it's not, I walked up," I lied to him again. I already knew I had a serious problem with this creep, and at least I was quick-witted enough to avoid being abducted by him in my own vehicle.

He was trying to act casual by asking me a series of generic questions about where I lived and what I was doing with the cats. I remained unreceptive to his banter, ignoring him and being purposefully rude, in the hopes that he would just get bored with me and move along on his way. But he did not seem to be taking my overt hints to heart too readily. 'Ignoring him, not working,' I thought, 'time to try a different approach.'

"Listen, buster!" I spouted at him, raising my voice from an inaudible whisper to a near shout. "You don't get it do you? I just came up here to feed my cats, and I want to be left alone. In other words -- SPLIT! NOW!"

"OK, OK," he muttered under his breath to me, and off he traipsed, back around the same corner from which he had come.

'Got to get out of here quick!' I was already in panic mode, as if leaving that spot instantly would not be soon enough.

I was trembling with total terror as I fumbled with the half empty cat food dishes, trying to gather and stuff them into the bag at the same time, and make a rushing dash for the safety of my car. I did not waste any time in looking up to see if he was gone or not. Instead I concentrated on getting the hell out of there in a hurry. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw the stripes on his shirt coming closer and closer by the mini-second.

As I began to raise my ass up off the cool cement walk, I felt his hot skin pressing against my throat, as he wrapped his entire left arm around my neck in what felt like a sure death lock. He grabbed me in his tight grasp, and yanked me right up off of my seat on the sidewalk. In one fast move he had me fully on my feet and was flashing a large piece of jagged broken glass in front of my eyes with his right hand.

"IF YOU DON'T DO EXACTLY WHAT I TELL YOU TO DO I'M GONNA KILL YA!" he grunted brusquely in my ear, as he tightened his grasp around my neck with one arm, pressing the razor-sharp glass to my throat with the other.

In the next instant all I knew was an intense, unbearable pain stabbed me in the chest, as he either dropped or pushed me down the hard, dark wooden steps. I was pummeling down, face first at a fast clip. Suddenly, a flash of a second later, I was laying with my face pressed into the gray beach sand.

I realized he had pushed me down ahead of him and my mind was consumed with wondering how I could get up fast enough to run away -- I knew he was going to kill me.

I pushed up a few inches off the beach with my arms, but the intense, sharp pain in my left chest was excruciating, and rendered me incapable of moving much at all. I was sickeningly short of breath and rasping for air. I knew something horrible had happened to my body and I thought this must be how it feels to have my very life sucked out of me -- one terrified gasp after another. I was totally unaware of the fact that --in my flight down the staircase -- I had broken at least five ribs on my left side and punctured that lung in the process.

Time was moving so fast, it seemed, and yet why did I feel at the same moment that everything was moving in slow motion? That's when I felt a strange time-lapsing sensation, as if my spirit left my body, and the remainder of my ordeal came to be as if I was watching someone else's nightmare.

I never lost the feeling that he was going to kill me and that I was going to die. Yet there is no denying that all of my senses felt a strong aura around me -- like the presence of God, Himself, being very near to me -- so close, in fact, that I almost could feel Him touching me, holding me.

So it was that way for the next hour and a half, I intently watched -- not my own -- but someone else's bad dream play out...

The stabbing pain in my left chest had made taking in even short breaths nearly impossible. Something was desperately wrong with me, as I struggled to raise my body up off of the soft-but-rough-cool sand of the beach. Time was still doing that mind-tricking thing, with slow motion movements passing by on Fast Forward. I was near paralyzed, while my attacker stayed quick-on-the-draw with lightening speed actions against me!

I barely succeeded in raising my now sand-soaked face from the beach, when that rat bastard had me by my neck again, in a deadlock elbow grip. I noticed the broken glass was gone -- I never did see his icy weapon again after being tossed like a piece of light-weight trash down the staircase. Despite trying to concentrate on surviving -- by paying close attention to what he was doing to me -- the sight of Girl Cat's terrified, protruding, green eyes were seemingly seared into my brain.

"NOW I'M REALLY GONNA HAVE TO KILL YA, YA FUCKING BITCH!!!" he screamed fully into my face. He was spewing out his words, with his hot spit hitting me in my eyes with every word he spoke -- causing me to cringe and blink like a frightened-for-its-life baby rabbit, cornered by the big, bad, growling wolf.

"Puh-leeeaaassseee!" I was pleading with him in a sort of piteous pant. "Please don't hurt me -- something is wrong -- I can't breathe!"

But he was not interested in listening to my pleas. He was intent on committing some kind of horridly evil act upon me, and despite my cries and my begging for my life from him now, he was determined to carry out his vicious will against me.

Ignoring my every word, he proceeded to again drag me by my neck -- and intermittently by my hair alone -- across the length of the beach as it lies for another 400 yards or so, until we came upon what was the old fishing pier. No longer was it a pier, however, since the devastating fire nearly burnt it into the ocean the year before. All that remained were a few charred wooden pillars, surrounded by broken cinder blocks, covered with the un-burnt part of the boardwalk. Underneath that walkway, the beach appeared to be a garbage dump site, with thousands of beer, soda, and liquor bottles broken all over the place, and nothing but papery trash to cover the sand. Pieces of driftwood and huge logs were strewn every which way, in a sort of chaotic maze that had no actual solution for exit.

He kept thugging away at my body -- punching, pushing, and pulling me further underneath that dark, dank place -- until we were so far toward the back of the boardwalk that we could no longer stand up fully erect. Not that I was capable of standing straight anyway -- I felt like an injured puppy dog who had just peed on the carpet and then got the shit beat out of him by some sadistic master. I had given up trying to talk sense to this monster, who now had me his complete and total prisoner. There was no escape for me, even if I had the gumption to go for it.

He ripped off my cotton jogging suit in one fell thrust, and tore my white cotton panties down my thighs in an equally violent fashion. I stood there trembling in fear, naked as a jaybird except for my heavy white socks. My sneakers must have come off me at some earlier point, perhaps during my tumble down the stairs. As he began tearing his own clothes off, I sensed a brief but definite chance to run for safety and leave this whole fucking nightmare scene behind me. So, I took it.

Without considering the consequences, in case I failed in my run for freedom -- I tore off truly like a bat out of hell toward the general direction of the damaging staircase. Just as I hit a few strides of speed -- BLAM!!! Both of my knees slammed into something like stone, and I hurdled head first over a fallen cinderblock pillar, landing on that damn left chest of mine that was throbbing beyond belief with agonizing, stabbing pain.

Once again, he was on top of me before I could take a breath, flipping me over frontwards with one jerk of my hair. His other hand formed a fast fist -- punching me full force with all the power of the crazy man that he was -- solid in my left cheek above my lip. I felt my teeth gouging out the soft skin on the inside of my mouth, and the metallic taste of blood flooded my tongue before rushing into my throat. I was amazed that I wasn't spitting out teeth with the spurts of blood, as I choked and gagged while he strangled me with both hands pressing hard around my neck.

"YOU FUCKING BITCH! YOU FILTHY CUNT! NOW I AM GONNA KILL YA!"

Just as suddenly as he was squeezing the life out of me with his death strangle, he released my throat after jerking me up onto my knees. He was standing naked in front of me, leaving me staring straight at his soft, shriveled little pink dick hanging between his thighs! Its one squinty eye was looking right back into my baby blues!

As if a command for more horrible things to happen was given -- the heavens opened up the clouds in full force, and hard pelts of rain began teaming down, while thunder boomed in the western sky, and lightening flashed over the ocean to the east. Within seconds of the torrential deluge, both of us were soaked to the bone -- drenched and dripping wet. The sudden storm simply added to the melodrama of what had become a bad, grade B, low-budget, horror movie by some seedy, second class film director.

"SUCK IT!!" he screamed at me from above, as he tugged his little, limp prick and shoved it into my mouth. "SUCK IT, AND SUCK IT RIGHT OR I WILL FUCKING STRANGLE YOU AGAIN!"

My mind was in a blurry state of nightmarish confusion, and I was barely aware of what my body was doing as I obeyed his every single, screaming command and sucked his rubbery cock into my mouth, in full. And I sucked and sucked just like that fucking creep told me to do. But unlike the warmly familiar feel of a lover's rod, his cock stayed as soft as vanilla pudding on a warm kitchen counter, and he was getting more and more pissed off about that fact, despite my every sincere effort to make it firm.

"FUCKING SLUT BITCH, YOU'RE NOT DOING IT RIGHT, WHAT THE FUCK'S THE MATTER WITH YOU!"

Pushing me, shoving me, throwing me backwards now, he forced me into a full-fledged, flat-on-my-back position, and was instantly on top of me, his entire body covering mine. He pried apart my legs by the inside of my thighs and tried to fuck me up my pussy with his still-limp penis poking almost aimlessly in his effort to find my fuck hole. No go! Frustrated and furious, he whipped me over onto my belly, and grabbing me by my hips from behind, he tried next to find my asshole with his poor little pecker not doing very much to cooperate with his attempts to sodomize me.

After what felt like another eternity in time to me, finally I felt a meager excuse for a hard on come over him, and he weakly but somewhat successfully penetrated my asshole one or possibly even two or three times. I was no longer feeling any pain whatsoever -- my spirit was long since gone from my person, and as far as I could tell, I was sitting up in the rafters of the bottom of the boardwalk, back toward the corner of it -- with God sitting beside me -- His warm, comforting, robed, right arm wrapped protectively around me, like the real Father that He was to me, cuddling me, and keeping me -- his precious child -- from harm. There My Old Man and I sat like two birds of a feather, watching this immoral, mad moron attack the beautiful blonde Cat Lady, with certainly no other intent than to drain her very life from her and leave her for dead.

"GET ON YOUR KNEES, BITCH, NOWWWWWW!"

My body obeyed him while my heart and mind denied.

"SUCK IT AGAIN, SLUT, SUCK ME SUCK ME SUCK ME NOW! AND DO IT RIGHT THIS TIME. I SUPPOSE YOU'RE GOING TO TRY TO TELL ME YOU ARE A VIRGIN NOW, BITCH!"

I whimpered a soft, shy NO, but he still was deaf to my words.

"SUCK IT RIGHT, YOU WHORE!"

I sucked it without any more feeling for him than the disdain I would have for a dog's turd stuck on the bottom of my shoe, but suck it I did and I sucked it for what seemed to be a good, long while, too.

Suddenly his grunting commands turned to just plain old grunts, and he was starting to groan loudly, too. I knew he was about to cum and I would be goddamned if I was going to do him the favor of swallowing his poison squirts, even if it meant he was going to kill me for the refusal of doing him that courtesy.

I felt the canal in the back of his cock get stiffer, and knew his cum was moving up his rod rapidly. So I spit out his organ from my mouth as hard as I could to be sure it was gone from my lips, just as he spurted his nasty, hot, yellowish load of sticky-shit cum all over my face, up my nose, into my eyeballs -- I was gagging and coughing in an effort to hold down the vomit, almost as if he had released his last dirty deed right into the spot where he had desired -- my throat!

His trembling orgasm finally quit, and he stood once again in front of me, now looking like a haggard old homeless bum, instead of the studly young guy he was sadly trying to imitate. He reached out to me, still kneeling in front of him, and took my hand in his as if he was my polite suitor for the evening! Just as he touched my fingertips with his, the rain suddenly ceased as speedily as it had began pouring down.

"Come on, get up and put your clothes on," he softly almost whispered. "Where do you want to go now?" He was acting as if he had just taken me out for a date on the town, and now was bringing me home after some kind of romantic evening spent together!

"What?" I asked him incredulously. "What do you mean where do I want to go?"

"Well, do you want me to walk you home?" He spoke almost like a gentleman now, as we hurriedly gathered our clothing from the damp sand, and put it quickly back on.

I know my shirt was inside out and so were my slacks, and my panties remained in a bunch right there on the beach, simply because I was not going to waste precious minutes searching for them while he was being so nice to me. I almost felt as if he was going to let me live now, in simply saying thanks to me for letting him violate me so viciously only moments ago.

'Think fast, baby,' I said to myself, as if coaching my very will to live on just a tad further than it had to go.

"Well, my friend Tony lives right in that white house over there, and I think I will just go pay him a visit, if you don't mind." I was sort of asking him a question, and sort of telling him, too, what my plans were to get the hell out of there in a hurry now, and find safety in someone's home.

It just so happened that my friend Tony really DID live in that house, and so as my rapist-near- killer took me by my hand and walked me back up the stairs that I had fallen down, back up to the main part of the boardwalk, I steered him as discreetly as I could do, in the direction of Tony's big, white beach bungalow, toward the corner of the house where the front porch stood.

Just as we got to the corner of that porch, I jerked my hand away from his murderous grip, and broke into a high-speed sprint, until the next thing I knew I was at the top of Tony's porch steps, pounding mercilessly on his front door. It must have been nearly two hours past since my ordeal had begun, because the sunlight was just about completely over the eastern horizon now. I looked through the glass panes of the porch door to see -- Thank You God -- my dear friend and fellow cat-lover, Tony, coming quickly in his bathrobe to open the door for me.

I was unaware of where my attacker was at that point, and to be perfectly honest with you, until Tony got the door wide open for me to enter inside, I still thought the son of a bitch was going to come up behind me and kill me. Just as Tony reached out to open the porch up to me, I turned to my right to see where my mad rapist had gone. The creepy bastard was strolling casually down the sidewalk of the street, and as he got a few feet further down the block, he turned around to look at me, standing in a limp, wet, ragged, bloody heap on Tony's top porch stair.

"Good night, now!" he called up to me. "Good night, and I'm sorry."

I'm sorry. He said, I'M SORRY! Was he fucking kidding me, or what? As if any I'M SORRY from his lips would ever in a million years make up for the trauma, tragedy and pain he has just perpetrated on my entire life.

I turned back to the welcoming sight of my dear friend Tony, beckoning me inside of his home with both hands.

"Tony, call the police right now! I was just raped and beaten," I whimpered almost emotionlessly, feeling nothing but an overwhelming desire to have my Daddy holding me in his arms like his baby.

And with those words, I collapsed into an armchair on the porch, while Tony's live-in ladylove, Virginia, draped a wonderfully wooly-soft and warm, comforting afghan over me.

"Oh my God, you poor, poor thing," she murmured over and over again, like a stuck record, as she paced back and forth in front of me, wringing her hands with every step, while we waited for the local police to arrive. "Oh my God, you poor, poor thing!"

My rapist, DAVID C. KOST, 1992 and 2000 Prison ID Pics

In the ER at the hospital immediately after the assault

©2009 Leslie Blue