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Marie (m/f, f/f, cons/nc, ins), Part 13
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
MARIE13
-- from Friar Dave
CHAPTER 13
If you read MARIE1 (or MARIE2, etc.) you know what to expect and if
such things offend you for any reason, this is a good time to erase the
file. This is based on interviews with a woman recounting almost a
quarter-century of sexual experiences and she's not an old woman;
you figure it out.
Some names and a few locations have been changed. I've done the
rewriting for the sake of smoothness. Other than that, this is what she
had to say, based on her recollections and extensive and detailed diaries
she's been keeping for many years.
In this, the final installment, I have pulled together material we
originally intended to comprise four chapters. Due to trends on-line, I
felt it was necessary to do it all at once and convey her feelings on her
experiences.
I must warn you: This is quite unpleasant in places.
Marie Tells:
I went crazy that year, 1969. The whole country was going crazy and
I guess that just made me feel like I had to get even crazier. In May, I
was out catching some rays -- sunning myself -- on one of those strange
Ohio May days when it feels more like August. I was wearing pieces from two
separate bikinis, so I almost had one that fit, for a change. Not that I
had a choice in the matter. The Toledo police were cracking down on
everyone for exposing themselves or even hinting at it, so the black
bikini covered my tits almost completely and most of my ass.
So this guy comes up to me. He's got two cameras and a camera bag
and he's got a card, with his picture on it, hanging around his neck,
identifying him as WORKING PRESS and an employee of THE TOLEDO BLADE.
He wanted to take my picture for the Peach Section.
[The Blade's entertainment pages are printed on this peach-color
paper. It's got movie listings and the TV schedule and the comics and
columns like Earl Wilson --
[He is? Oh. Well, it's got Erma Bombeck and whoever in it. And they
always run pictures of girls in bathing suits. Local girls in the warm
weather, Australian or Brazilian girls in the winter months. They run
the editorials bitching about sex magazines in another section of the
paper.]
Well, laying out in the sun on a May afternoon had me feeling kind
of Who-cares? so I said sure and he took about two thousand pictures and
then he gives me this release to sign. I read it all the way through and
told him I couldn't sign it, because of the part where I was supposed to
attest that I was eighteen.
"How old are you?"
"Fourteen."
"Fourteen??!!?" His eyes were on my tits.
I nodded. "Sorry."
"Listen, get your mother or father to sign it, okay?"
I shrugged. His eyes bugged out, because the bikini usually covered
me, but all warranties were off when I moved like that. He jammed the
paper in my hand and stalked away, muttering.
Mom was okay about signing the release, but Dad threw a shit-fit.
He was ranting and raving about showing girls naked (hah!) and sinful
lust (hah! hah!) and the temptations of the flesh, et cetera, et cetera,
ad hypocritical nauseam. And eventually agreed.
Mom signed.
The pictures ran and I became something of a celebrity at school.
Marie The Brain Shows Her Assets. Marie The Honor Student Featured In
Local Paper. All This And Brains, Too. I guess thirty guys hit on me
between the time the pictures ran, the Tuesday before Memorial Day, and
the arrival of my Phantom Step-Brother, on July 2.
And, in the interim, I got myself scouted. I guess my picture got
around, because it was like all of a sudden, the rest of the world
discovered we had sexy girls in Toledo. Naturally, since my age had been
clearly hinted at, only two people approached me. One guy called on the
phone and wanted to know if I had any older sisters willing to model for
a magazine layout. I told him no, not really, and he thanked me, told me
I was a beautiful girl and wished me good luck with school!
[Eventually, he did find a model whose pictures ran that December.
[You remember her name? All I remember is she had gazongas even
bigger than mine! I didn't catch up with her until -- Oh, never mind.]
The other one came up to me while I was walking to the store. He
offered me a LOT of money to do a layout...or maybe even a movie. I said
No Thank You, remembering that OTHER movie and those OTHER pictures, and
continued about my business.
When my Phantom Step-Brother finally arrived, I was out on my first
date in about four months -- some otherwise-forgettable guy from the
Latin Club -- so I got to greet him when I came home. He was the only
one awake, about one in the morning. I was wearing this really decent A-
line miniskirt that emphasized my legs, rather than my boobs, which were
up to 34-D and were absolutely ridiculous on my 4-foot-10 frame.
He looked like shit.
"What's the matter, big brother?"
He took his arms from around me, where they had been ignorantly
rekindling my interest in men in general and him in particular and said,
"Nothin'. How was your date?"
"A bore. What's been bugging you? Love life? School?"
"Sort of both. I dunno. Want something to eat?" He turned toward
the kitchen, those wonderful wide shoulders slumping.
I wanted to grab him by the waist and spin him around and demand an
explanation, but I was afraid to. I watched him shuffle into the kitchen
and dispiritedly begin opening and closing cupboard doors.
"Want some Tide?" he asked, and laughed pathetically at his semi-
witticism. Something was desperately wrong. My Phantom Step-Brother had
not immediately seized on his peanut butter-and-jelly? Call the
hospital!
I took matters into my own hands by getting two beers from the
fridge, handing him one and confessing that I really needed to talk
about something. As soon as he heard that, it was like someone turned on
a circuit inside him. His eyes focused on me, he straightened up and he
led me by the hand into the TV room.
[The only time the "living room" got used was when we had a lot of
company or someone was staying over...like him.]
"So what's the matter?" he asked, taking a single sip of the beer
-- and then putting it down and ignoring it. I gave him some cock-and-
bull story about a guy I thought was cute being a genuine asshole,
concocting the tale as I went and trying to tailor it to what I guessed
was his idea of what a sweet girl from Ohio would have to deal with in
Love and Life. Mostly, though, I was trying to spot something in my
story that he would react to, something that would give me a hint of
what was bugging him.
By three in the morning, I still hadn't gotten a flicker from him.
At some point, I had traded my A-line for my bathrobe and --
[No, I don't remember exactly.]
-- and I was sipping my fourth beer and he still looked like hell.
I decided to give it a shot.
"Dan, what's wrong?"
"Huh?"
"You look like you've just lost your best friend. What's bugging
you?"
"....Nothin'."
I shook my head more violently than I'd intended. "If you don't
tell me what's wrong, I'm going to take off my robe, my bra and my
panties right here in front of you!"
[Yeah, well, you have four beers and see a person you love in agony
and you'll do whatever it takes, too. Okay?]
He stared at me for a minute, a very long minute, and then said,
"Okay, you want to know -- I'll tell you! My girlfriend just dumped me
for a guy with the IQ of asphalt because he has a red Corvette. I've
been accepted to every college I applied to, but can't afford any of
them. I think I'm going to let my student deferment expire."
The first two items were Bad News, but the last one made my eyes
bug out. I stared at him, stunned. Dan was going to subject himself to
the draft? No!
"But -- why?"
"Because it's wrong," he muttered. "It's not fair."
"But the war -- "
[The War was Vietnam, of course. It was just getting into high gear
as a grinding machine.]
"The war is wrong." His eyes were slitted and furious. I hadn't
seen him that mad since he beat up the guys on the porch. "'Sure, he's a
son of a bitch, but he's *our* son of a bitch.' Is that anything like a
good reason to pave a big portion of Asia?" He shook his head. "No. But
the draft is wrong, even wrong-er."
"What if they call you? What'll you do?"
"I don't know. Probably go to jail. But I won't kill to support
'our son of a bitch.' I can think of a lot of reasons to kill, too many,
but that isn't one of them." He picked up his beer -- flat and warm by
now -- and drained it. "But guys *are* dying for 'our son of a bitch.'
We've got a Gold Star mother down the block from me."
He was confusing me. "How can you be against it and object to the
draft and -- What are you talking about?"
He gave me that odd smile of his. "And the thing that really scares
me is that I love the guys who go over there and fight because they're
doing what they think is right. They don't like it, but they do it and
I love and respect them because I don't know if I'd have the guts." He
stood and stared at me. "I revere the warriors, but I hate the war. Make
any sense?"
I shook my head.
"Not to me, either. Which is one of the things that's bugging me."
He put on a happy face for me. "Don't worry, little Marie; I'll be
okay."
I didn't believe him, but I knew there was no point in arguing. And
I wanted nothing more than to just take him in my arms and tell him --
truthfully -- that everything would be Alright. What happened, though,
was that we went to bed -- separately, of course; I'd almost given up on
that count -- and he spent most of his visit making the rounds of
relatives and the night before he left, I met Gary.
I never figured out what it was that made me respond to his pick-up
line. "What's your sign?" How tired can it get? And he wasn't
particularly good-looking, either. He was almost twenty, six years older
than me, and had dropped out of high school. He worked for a service
station out on Monroe Street, where he was (I was told) a very good
mechanic. His deepest reading was the sports page and his main hobby,
aside from fixing cars, was weight-lifting.
But he met me at Bargain City, where I was looking at beach towels
and Mom was getting a broom or something, He asked me out and I agreed
and that was that.
We went out to a pizza-and-beer-and-billiards place near Clay
Center. I was wearing a pair of old jeans and a vest that buttoned up
the front. We danced a lot and it was nice and when he kissed me out
back, near the trees, that was nice, too. Nice -- not magic. He started
feeling me up and I was feeling pretty horny so I went along with it.
And then it got magical. He always seemed to know exactly how to
touch me, exactly where and when, like he could sense what I wanted just
before I did. Inside of about five minutes, I was soaking wet and hot
enough to glow. I started running my hands over his brawny chest under
his shirt and then rubbed his crotch. He had one big dick and it was
rock-hard. I unzipped his jeans and pulled them and his shorts down.
His cock was absolutely gorgeous. I guess it was about seven or
eight inches long, but it was thick, too, almost as fat as my wrist. I
kind of bent at the waist and started kissing and sucking it and then
dropped to my knees. I was not letting that nice prick out of my mouth.
As I sucked his cock, I started digging one hand down into my
jeans. I was really hot! He was resting his hands on my head, just
caressing me, and he wasn't trying to ram his dick into my throat. But I
knew he was awfully turned on because he kept gasping and moaning.
Then he warned me that he was going to cum, which was considerate
of him. I wanted that big cock inside my hot cunt, but I was pretty sure
that'd happen anyhow, so I just latched on with my lips and sucked and
licked as well as I could.
His dick suddenly swelled up even bigger and then he came. Wow! Did
he ever! Most guys don't cum that much, really -- maybe a teaspoon or
two. Not Gary! His first spurt was huge and long and it seemed like it
went on forever, like he was pissing cum. I had to swallow and then
there was another blast, just as big! I was surprised and so turned on
by this I thought it was going to make me cum. I swallowed again and
kept sucking him and he shot three more times, each of them more like
what most guys' first ejaculations are like. And it was thick, too, with
a very smooth consistency -- almost like some kind of gel. I liked the
taste and I liked the consistency and that's not always the case, let me
tell you!
By the time he'd finished cumming, some of his semen had leaked out
around my lips. I was kind of dazed and wiped it off on the back of my
hand. I stood, one hand still in my jeans, and grabbed his prick. It
hadn't shrunk much. I started stroking it.
"Dammit, girl, that was great," he whispered.
"C'mon, do something for me," I whined. "I need it!"
He just picked me up and carried me over to where an old wooden
double-swing was hanging off a tree. He set me down on the swing, pulled
my jeans and panties down, got on his knees and started eating me. He
didn't grab my tits first or anything else. Just zip, strip and eat.
Again -- it was exactly what I was craving, even more than his
dick, at the moment.
Gary wasn't a great pussy-eater, even for a guy, but he was
enthusiastic and attentive. He ate me for a few minutes, sucking on my
clit a little harder than I liked, and after I'd cum a couple of times,
he raised his glistening face and asked if I wanted to fuck, now.
I was too horny to talk. I grabbed his hair and pulled him up to
his feet. His dick was rock-hard again, already -- goody! Because of the
difference in our sizes, I wondered how we were going to accomplish this
without a bed. Gary, as I discovered, was either experienced in this
locale, or very clever. He got me on my knees, leaning over the back of
the swing with my butt sticking out. Then he walked up behind me and got
into position.
I remember the first time I felt his cock against my pussy, even
now, and it still makes me wet to think of it. He rubbed that fat knob
up and down and muttered about maybe it would be too small and this
would hurt -- and then he said, "I gotta have you!" His voice was just
dripping with lust and even if I'd had doubts, I knew I had to have him,
after that.
"Just fuck me!" I said, but it came out like a moan.
Gary held me and that swing in place with one big hand and with the
other hand he started stuffing his prick into me. As wet and as horny as
I was, it was still a stretch and I moaned again as I felt it push into
me. When the knob was inside me, I started to cum again, panting and
humping back at him. He grabbed me by the hips and pumped back at me,
going in deeper each time.
I guess he was getting about two-thirds of the way into me when I
really started to cum. What an orgasm! It just seemed endless, ebbing
and flowing a bit, but never completely stopping. His dick was rubbing
something inside me that just sent electricity all through my body.
He was really squeezing my hips, too, holding them tighter and
tighter while he fucked me harder and deeper, there under the night sky.
I could feel his wonderful balls smack against me now and his prick felt
like it was pushing my insides out of shape and it was wonderful.
"Cum in me!" I told him. "It's okay! Cum in me!" I really wanted to
feel his load in my cunt.
Almost on command, his cock swelled longer and thicker, really
filling my pussy. He stayed deep in me, just fucking very fast with
these short, tiny strokes. I was cumming like crazy when I felt his
first spurt inside me -- and believe me, I FELT it.
It was a huge load, as if he hadn't cum gallons just a few minutes
before, and it filled my already full cunt and started dripping out
around his cock. He spasmed inside me again and it was another big shot
and now I was cumming so hard I could barely think and his jism was just
drooling out of my cunt onto his balls and my thighs.
He came again and again, jerking me and the swing on his prick.
When he finally stopped cumming inside me, I didn't stop cumming on him.
I couldn't stop cumming until he finally slipped his prick out me.
I was too weak to move yet, so I just knelt there with all this
stuff pouring out of me. I still felt kind of like I was cumming for a
few minutes. He sat next to me on the old swing and pulled me against
him. I was limp and so, finally, was his dick. I just kind of sprawled
in his arms, my back to him, and for the first time he put his hands
under my vest and bra and played with my tits. Well, not played, so
much, as just kind of gentled them, the way you'd pet a scared puppy.
After that, we couldn't get enough of each other. When we couldn't
see each other, we were on the phone, getting each other hot and
bothered -- even masturbating.
It was totally physical. I mean, he was a nice enough guy, but dull
-- outside of sex. When we were together alone, we hardly spoke; we just
stripped and fucked. Sometimes we didn't strip, because we were in too
much of a hurry. Sometimes we weren't even alone. He shared an old house
with two other guys, over by Wallbridge. They were all into weight-
training and none of them was exceptionally bright or ambitious. Many
times, Gary and I would be banging away in his room and I could hear the
television or record player through the closed door.
The thing that as amazing was his virility. We kept count a couple
of times. He came five times in one session that started at four in the
afternoon and didn't end till eleven that night -- and he was hard all
the time and still hard when he took me home. Gary told me he'd always
gotten hard pretty fast, but never like he did with me. That was fine by
me because I wanted him hard all the time!
[No, it wasn't so much that. I mean it was great to feel so filled
up by him and his cock did hit some spot inside me that most don't and
that made me cum a lot. But it wasn't so much that size thing you guys
always have. It was like a chemical thing, almost. Fero --
[Yeah, pheromones. I guess that was it.]
We tried everything and I do mean everything. Sometimes he would
just hold me in the air with my back to him, his hands on my hips. He
was so big and strong, I could just let myself hang limp and he would
fuck me back and forth on his cock. And I'd cum. Or I'd sort of crouch
over him, just his cock and my cunt touching, and I'd pump up and down
and squeeze him inside me. Sometimes I'd hold as still as I could and
just try to milk his prick. And I'd cum.
I loved sucking him off, even more than I liked him eating me out.
Sometimes I'd cum two or three times while I sucked him and then again
when he came in my mouth. I experimented with his cock in my mouth,
trying to see how much I could make him cum at once. That was when I
learned about massaging the prostate. I slid my finger up his butt --
this was when we hadn't seen each other for almost a week -- and I
thought someone had uncorked a hose in my mouth. He must have cum for a
solid thirty seconds. What a gusher!
We tried tit fucking and discovered that it was no big thrill. We
tried vibrators and discovered that it was a big thrill -- but the noise
was distracting. We talked about getting another girl to join us, but
neither of us really pursued it.
We tried butt fucking. To my astonishment, once he got inside me,
that big prick felt really, really good. Once it was all the way inside,
I came with just about every one of his slow, careful strokes. After he
came in my ass, though, I'd have to hurry into the bathroom and attend
to business, if you know what I mean.
It was a shame we weren't more compatible in other ways, but --
especially when school started -- the great fucking was enough. And
neither of us ever tried to pretend or make it anything beyond that.
I guess we would have gone on like that for a much longer time if I
hadn't showed up at his place one afternoon without warning and found
him and one of his roommates sucking each other's cock.
I was shocked and disgusted and I should not have been. I mean, I'd
been getting it on with girls and women and I knew there were queers --
sorry, "gay" -- guys. And it was the era of Free Love and all.
But it really grossed me out for some reason. There was Joey, with
his dick in Gary's mouth and there was Gary's gorgeous cock balls-deep
in Joey's face.
What put me over the edge was Gary seeing me and not even saying a
word, just staring at me. His eyes were glazed with pleasure while Joey
drank his load.
Sure, he tried to explain that he went both ways and it shouldn't
change anything between us. But I was fourteen and I just couldn't
handle it. All the chemistry I'd felt for him went flat.
But school was under way and my sex drive was reignited. I went out
with a bunch of guys and fucked some of them, and I fucked a couple of
teachers. I got to be real good friends with Laura, this girl I'd sort
of had a nodding acquaintance with since grade school, and sometime
around Christmas discovered she was bisexual, too. Eventually, we were
monogamous, which lasted well into the next June. Then her family moved
to Arizona. We vowed to stay in touch. We exchanged a few letters and
then she wrote about a guy she'd met. The letters kind of petered out.
My Phantom Step-Brother came to visit for a week. He'd let his
student deferment lapse, as I'd feared, but he'd gotten a very high
number in the draft lottery. I was so relieved at this that I could
almost offer prayers of thanks. He was relieved, too. He'd also taken a
full-time job and was going to class at night. I did my best to tease
him, even "accidentally" stepping into his room when I wearing nothing
but a towel. He just shook his head and sighed and told me nothing had
changed except I was sexier.
The one time we talked at any length, he told me he was not
involved with anyone and hardly even dated. "I've got my life under
control and I'm never letting romance screw it up for me again," he
said.
I didn't expect that to last long, and it didn't. He needed sex and
love just as much as I did. I had found a happy balance, dating around,
fucking around. I had mostly outgrown my phase of getting into wild
fucking parties -- except for the time I went home with a guy I picked
up. Then I got really stoned on mescaline and fucked him and all four of
his house mates all night long. However, I did get the clap from one (or
more) of them and I swore off the gangbangs forever. Hah.
To my astonishment, that Thanksgiving, who should show up for a
visit but -- my Phantom Step-Brother.
The bad news came when he introduced his fiance, a girl from the
area who'd met him while she'd visited New York. I think she and I hid our
surprise rather well. For one thing, she was only two years older than
me, seventeen. For another, the last time I'd seen her she was being
filmed getting fucked by the biggest cock I'd ever seen in my life while
she was utterly ripped out of her skull.
It was Bonnie.
I kept my mouth shut. It was obvious that Dan was head-over-heels
in love with her and she was -- well, she clearly liked him a lot. And
there was also quite clearly a sexual chemistry between them, just like
there had been with Gary and me. Their hands were all over each other
whenever they thought they were unobserved, and the night after
Thanksgiving, I caught them imitating rabbits in the darkened living
room. I was too worried about Dan to be more than a little jealous.
Of course, as soon as he'd gone back to New York, I got her on the
phone and we had a chat. She was glad I hadn't said anything, because
she didn't want him to find out about her past. She'd changed, she
swore, and wasn't going back to her old ways. I really wanted to believe
her -- too much -- and knew he had to find out from her or he wouldn't
have a chance. I tried to put it out of my head.
That was made easier by Mark. We'd seen each other a few times, but
nothing special had ever happened. Oh, sure, there was some physical
attraction, but he was too quiet and low-key to turn me on the way other
guys did. He liked stuff like concerts and the occasional play. He liked
serious movies, especially French films, and listened to classical music
half the time. He managed a small diner.
But we went out one night a few weeks after Thanksgiving and he
managed to get the whole sordid story about Bonnie and me and Dan. We
got closer and closer and just sort of found ourselves together almost
all of the time.
We did a lot of stuff together. No, not just fucking. We traveled,
spending a weekend in Chicago or New Orleans, even going to Los Angeles
for five days. Gradually, I learned that it was not coincidence that
Mark always had a lot more cash than the diner could provide and
always seemed to have plenty of grass, hash, coke, pills and
hallucinogenic drugs.
But I didn't care about that. I was having fun, going places and
meeting people. Mark always bought me nice things and always treated me
well. I was fifteen and already I had a perfect life. Oh, sure, Mom and
Dad went through the roof the first time we went away together. And
then, again, when I told them I was dropping out of school.
But what did I need school for? I was fifteen and already was the
envy of every woman who saw me. Mark was good-looking, had plenty of
money and was always generous with me. I wore beautiful clothes, had my
hair done at the best salon.
The sex was great. Mark was no stud, but he was an expert. He knew
how to use his hands and lips. He knew how to use the toys I selected
from catalogs. He knew when I wanted him to be a little rough and when I
wanted it slow and gentle. Sometimes we would pick up a woman and take
her to bed with us. We'd all get stoned on his array of drugs and we'd
fuck and suck for hours. When we were in Houston we picked up a
ravishing redhead and none of us left the hotel room for three days.
Another time, one of the guys he was meeting was really a hunk. Mark
told me to go and enjoy myself -- and even gave me some PCPA. I did the
guy and two of his associates for a day and a night...and Mark welcomed
me back with open arms.
That winter was a busy one. Dan married Bonnie. St. Alexis divorced
her husband when he suggested joining a swapping group. Jeanne got
pregnant and got an abortion.
But as the cold Ohio winter finally relaxed into a warm Ohio
spring, Mark and I were falling in love. We were starting to talk about
what a home should be like and sometimes we talked about how kids should
-- and should not -- be raised. He'd met my family and confessed he
didn't really care for them, which was more than amply returned: After
our first weekend together, he wasn't even allowed to park in the
driveway. I had to go out to the street to his car. He did want to meet
Dan, though.
Mark started looking for ways to get out of his main cash business
and he was finding that it wasn't as easy as saying "I quit." The people
whose merchandise he distributed at wholesale didn't want him to get out
of the business; once he left, he no longer shared the penalties they
did and he might be willing to deal with the law for immunity. And he
did want out, since we agreed that our kids shouldn't grow up around the
same drugs, whose sale to kids, had financed so much of our fun.
That summer, Dan found out about Bonnie. He saw some of the
pictures from the party fuck -- in a magazine! -- and mentioned them to
her. But that wasn't what did it. That had been in the past and she'd
already told him she was pretty wild before they met.
No, what did it was when they had a housewarming party in their
new apartment and Bonnie got stoned and fucked some of their new
neighbors. He didn't make a scene but approached her the next day.
They needed to talk about this, he said. She declared that no, she was
not going to promise anything. It was too much fun to deny herself
those pleasures -- drugs and sex -- and if he didn't like it, she'd
leave. He didn't like it. She left.
By the time we got to New York that fall -- October of '71 -- Dan
was almost rational again. I'd already confessed to Mark my unrequited
desire for Dan and he told me to indulge myself, if that was what I
really wanted; he would still be there for me. Considering that Dan was
the only man who could have taken me away from Mark by then -- and Mark
knew it -- that only increased my love for Mark.
I really had my trap laid for Dan, this time. At sixteen, I was an
inch over five feet tall. My hair reached almost halfway down my back.
My measurements had finally stabilized at 34-21-32. I wore DD cup
bras, custom-made because of my narrow back. I worked out at least
three times a week at a private club and swam almost every day. To
this day, I can look at photographs of me from that time and see what
a beautiful girl I was. Young woman, really; no one ever questioned my
age when we went out. I was sexy, too, and smoldering with the perfect
tan I got under the sunlamps. I wished my legs were longer, but a pair
of high heels gave me all the illusion I needed there.
Mark had business the first afternoon, Saturday. He checked us in
at the Plaza and left for his meeting. I dressed to kill. Under the fur
coat, I was wearing a black minidress, tight and cut low. I wore black
stockings and black heels. I had a red silk scarf. I spent forty minutes
applying my makeup in the hotel room.
I took a cab to the Village, to the restaurant where I was to meet
Dan. I remember looking out the window of the cab at the busy sidewalks
in the late afternoon. No matter what happened with Dan, I knew I could
never live in New York -- or leave Mark. I knew what his business was:
He was pleading with the top drug guys to just let him walk away from it
and start a new life.
Dan was wearing dark slacks, a black turtleneck sweater and a
Harris tweed jacket. He'd grown a beard. He looked awful; he looked
great. I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek in the cold October air and
then, when we were inside the restaurant and I'd checked my coat, I
threw my arms around him and gave him a big kiss.
I'd originally planned to give him the kind of kiss I'd ached to
share with him for so long, but I was too overcome with joy at seeing
him -- and, somehow, relief. Dan was here. Dan would take care of
everything. Dan would make everything okay.
We chatted. I had lobster and Dan picked at his chicken dijon.
Finally, he said what I hadn't wanted to hear.
"I know about some of the things you did."
I swallowed my morsel of lobster, dabbed at my lips and reached for
my wine. My fingers were trembling. "Oh? Bonnie told you?"
"I asked her. I saw some of the pictures from that party,
remember?"
I hadn't realized it until that very moment and it hit me hard. I
drained my glass.
"What did you ask her?"
"It doesn't matter. I asked until she told me everything. When did
you start?"
So I told him, all of it -- well, not all of it. I didn't tell him
about the first time.
[Very soon, I promise.]
I told him about the neighborhood boys and the ones I could
remember from school. I told him about Roger and about Kelly's Island. I
told him about watching him with our little cousin Irene and with my
former best friend. I told him about the fuck parties and the gangbangs
and women. I didn't tell him about Jeanne.
When I finished, he said, "So it wasn't so much that you were after
me -- you were after just about everybody."
I reached across the table and took his hand. "Dan, you have to
believe this. I was after a lot of people, a lot of kicks -- but I
specifically wanted you."
"Why?"
The question stunned me. Why, indeed? Because he was so different
from the rest of the people around me? Because he was kind and smart?
Maybe just because he refused me?
"Just -- I honestly don't know." I poured myself some wine. "I want
to know something."
He nodded. He gave up trying to eat and lit a cigarette.
"If you had known some of the things I was doing, would you have --
surrendered?"
He grinned at that. "'Surrendered'?" He shook his head after a
moment, very slowly. "I don't think so. There's was going to be a time
when we'd really need to talk and that would have gotten in the way."
"Something else?"
I think he sensed what it was. He didn't answer but I asked anyhow.
"Did I ever turn you on?"
He spoke very slowly. "You can not imagine how much I have wanted
you, really wanted you, or for how long."
"Do I still?"
"Of course you do," he snapped, as if annoyed. "I'm male, I'm
straight and I'm alive. You're gorgeous and exude sex and you know it.
Hell, if you lean over one more time, I'm probably going to make a mess
in my pants."
I licked my lips. "I still want you."
"What about Mark?"
"He knows. It's okay with him."
Dan looked skeptical. "I don't think it's a good idea, Marie."
I could hear the control in his voice -- tight, iron-fisted. I
wanted him more, at that moment, than I ever had before. I withdrew my
hand from his, afraid I was going to cum if he so much as stroked my
wrist.
"Alright," I said. "I don't understand it all, but -- "
"Good enough. Shall we get a check?"
I checked my watch. "No, no -- Mark will be here in twenty
minutes."
He frowned. "What if I had 'surrendered'?"
"Then when Mark got here and we weren't waiting for him, he'd know
what we were doing."
"And spend the night in a bar?"
I shook my head. "No, he got a separate room at the hotel. If we
were gone when he got here, he was going to stay in the other room and
leave the suite to us."
Dan nodded thoughtfully. "I have the feeling he loves you an awful
lot."
"And I love him an awful lot. And he knows it. He thinks that if I
do get you in bed, maybe I'll get it out of my system."
"Or maybe not. Maybe we'd be wild for each other."
I half-suspected he was right. I stayed calm, taking my cigarettes
from my bag and lighting one. His eyes widened at that.
"Oh, yeah, for a while." I waved the cigarette airily.
We chatted a bit about his work, his nonexistent love life -- but
mostly, he wanted to tell me how important it was that I finish my
education.
Mark showed up. He was expert at sizing a person up on first sight,
so I was not surprised that he immediately liked and trusted Dan. Dan,
of course, was a lousy judge of character -- witness Bonnie -- but I
could see that the mind was at work. He remained careful, but not at all
unfriendly as Mark ordered and quickly ate a light dinner.
Of course, one thing Dan was excellent at was drawing a person out.
Mark wanted to be drawn out, too -- but not too much. Eventually, he was
telling Dan much more than even I knew about his business and his desire
to leave it...and that it was very difficult to just walk away from it.
My heart fell at that. I knew then that Mark's plea to the top
bosses had been denied. He was in the business for life.
We went to the Lion's Head later for some drinks. We all got to
know each other better and I learned things about Dan I'd never
suspected. I hadn't known he'd been beat up by classmates for bringing a
black girl to a dance. I didn't know he'd been stabbed helping a woman
stop her husband from hitting their little boy.
But I could not stop worrying about Mark and me and pleaded that I
had a headache. Dan and Mark shook hands.
Mark and I didn't exchange a word in the cab back to the Plaza. When
we got to our room, he turned and smiled at me. "I'm glad we're together
tonight." We smoked some grass and made love, very slowly and then
again, very urgently, passionately. Mark ordered some wine from room
service. I got very weary, suddenly, and fell asleep in his arms.
I woke up alone.
All of his clothes and cases were gone. All of mine were there --
and with them, an airline ticket and an envelope. Inside the envelope
was $2,000 in various bills. The desk said he'd left and the room was
covered by his credit card for all expenses until the following Tuesday,
which was when my flight left.
I understood that he'd slipped something into the wine. I knew what
he was doing and why. I was numb. I dressed and went out. I walked all
over Manhattan. I went to a museum, but I don't remember anything about
it. I sat on a bench in front of a statue until it began to rain. I went
back to the hotel and fell asleep, fully clothed and without having
eaten in 24 hours.
I woke up that Monday morning totally aware and determined to make
myself deal with it. I forced myself to shower and change, ordered
breakfast and choked down every bite. I went out and shopped. I bought
casual clothes and shoes. On the way back to the Plaza, it began to
sleet.
I called Dan and he agreed to come to the hotel for dinner. I
didn't mention Mark and Dan didn't ask; he was assuming Mark would be
there, now.
I took a very hot shower, scrubbing my flash vigorously. I washed
my hair and used the blow dryer provided by the hotel. I ordered food
from the room service menu and told them to deliver it at seven-thirty.
Dan was due at six.
At five-thirty, I put my hair under a shower cap and again got
under the hot spray. After ten minutes, I wrapped myself in a towel and
left the shower running. I stood there in the bathroom doorway, letting
the steam fill the hotel suite.
At a couple of minutes after six, I heard his knock. I turned off
the shower and answered the door. He stared at me.
"Come in, come in -- or do you want someone to see me besides my
very own brother?"
He entered and I locked the door behind him as he shed his coat.
"Where's Mark?"
I took his coat and tossed it over the back of a chair. "He had to
leave town early, so I thought you and I could have a nice, quiet family
dinner together." I saw his gaze flicker to the tops of my tits,
squeezing above the towel, and to my hardening nipples. He glanced down
at my legs. The towel barely reached to my pussy and covered maybe half
of my ass.
"Well, aren't you going to kiss your little sister hello?"
He bent awkwardly, keeping our bodies apart, to peck me on the
cheek. I took his face in my hands and then I laid it on his lips. The
towel fell. I pressed up against him, wrapping my arms around his neck,
but he wasn't trying to get away, now. I felt him shiver and then he
grabbed me in both arms and began kissing the hell out of me. I could
feel his cock, stiff and throbbing, through his trousers. I ground my
cunny against his thigh. I felt his hands move over my bare back and
then cup and squeeze my butt. I was going to cum in about another ten
seconds and I wanted to make this last. I released him, planning to get
his pants out of the way.
As soon as I let go, so did he and he stepped away.
I moved toward him, but he held his hand up, palm toward me. "No."
"But you want it! I want it! Mark's gone! Why the fuck not?"
"Something just doesn't feel right about this, about you."
"Don't give me that 'sister' crap -- "
"Not that. Something else. Desperation? I don't know. But I know
this is wrong right now. Every instinct in me says it's a bad idea."
I turned and ran, butt-naked, in the bedroom and threw myself on
the bed, crying. The only thing I heard from him was when he stood in
the bedroom doorway, eyes hungrily devouring my naked form. "Good-bye,
Marie. When you're ready to talk about it, I'm ready to hear about it."
After room service came and went, I took some pills. I had become
an expert on this. I washed them down with a half bottle of wine. It was
only eight-thirty, but you better believe I slept.
I went home a day early. I got a job paying minimum wage at Big
Boy. I wore the shortest skirts and the lowest blouses and got the
biggest tips. I moved in with five other girls in an old house in a bad
neighborhood on the East Side of Toledo. I partied. I coped.
I never saw Mark again. He wouldn't see me, wouldn't allow me into
the diner, wouldn't call me or return my calls. I knew why, but it
didn't help -- when they found his body a month after New York. Four shots
to the back of the head. I was never approached in any way; he'd made it
clear to the watchers that I was not involved in the business, didn't
know anything or anyone.
Of course, by then I knew I was pregnant.
Gerald, One of the guys I'd occasionally dated in high school, had
stayed in touch with me as a "friend." We dated more often after Mark's
execution and he finally told me he'd really been in love with me for
two years. He didn't care whose baby I was carrying; it would be our
child. So we married in the spring of '72, a small ceremony at city
hall. I was almost eight months gone. I didn't love him, but he was a
good guy and devoted to me and our child.
Raising a kid is tough on anyone; for a 17 year old, it was hell.
For someone as young as I was, it could only get better, I figured.
Wrong. Remember the Oil Shortage? Gerald's job disappeared with most of
the others when his plant closed. He began drinking. I joined him more
often than not. When he was drunk, he wanted rough sex and if I was
drunk, too, so did I. When he was sober he whined. I took it as long as
I could and for a while, when he was getting regular work with a local
contractor, things improved enough that we regarded my second pregnancy
as a hopeful sign. When my second son was born, Gerald was true to his
vow: the boys were identically loved and revered in his eyes.
But Gerald was always looking for a get-rich-quick scheme. He
finally got into the kind that involves selling shares of a company that
doesn't make anything.
[Yes, a Ponzi.]
Somehow, he couldn't find anyone in the Midwest as gullible as he
had been. We ran out of money and he started the drinking again halfway
through his unemployment insurance. He borrowed money from the wrong
kind of people, the kind that Mark had been involved with, and began
pressuring me to pose for some pictures that he could sell to them to
get them off his back. I did, twice, both times after I'd gotten
myself high as a kite. When I saw the second set of pictures, I
realized that I'd gone far beyond posing and I didn't remember any of
the men or the woman. My husband then began grinding my face in it and
I'd feel bad and get drunk or stoned...
I was a mess.
One of my cousins finally helped me get straightened out and I left
Gerald in '75. Mom and Dad and my sisters helped me out as much as they
could.
I settled down, for the most part, but I had to let loose every now
and then. I could always tell when it was coming. The nightmares would
start and I'd start drinking two or three beers in the evenings, after
the boys were in bed, to help me sleep without dreaming. Then I do a
countdown of the days till the boys were staying over at someone's
house.
Finally, I'd get dressed up in what I called my "fuck-this-no-
good-slut" clothes. You know, flashing some tit and making sure every
line of my body was visible. I always went to the same two or three
places and word got around. One night, as soon as I walked in, half
the men in the place started cheering.
They knew I was going to get drunk or stoned and fuck somebody's
nuts off. One night, after the place closed, I took on 18 guys and
provided seconds and thirds as needed. By then, of course, I'd learned
something: condoms.
Eventually, in late '82, I was contacted by maybe the only person
in the world who could have gotten me to act: Bonnie.
She'd heard from a boyfriend about what I was doing -- I'd done
him one night in the bar -- and came over to see me. She had just
finished detoxifying on a methadone program and was in AA and therapy;
she recognized the signs and made a suggestion. Which was when I
started the therapy. It was very, very tough, but it helped. I'm not
all the way there yet, but I'm closer.
I didn't see Dan again until '85. Mom and Dad had sold the house up
north and moved to one of those little developments near Scottsdale,
Arizona. Dad had a heart attack and Mom needed all of the kids around
her for support. She flew me and my younger brothers out; the rest paid
their own way.
It had been fourteen years since that last night in the hotel room
and I hadn't let myself think about him at all, in that way, since then.
Older now, stockier, a little silver creeping in the beard, the sight of
him still sent a thrill through me. But there were more urgent matters
at hand, not the least of them my inner conflicts over Dad. A lot of
memories and anger, long suppressed, were boiling over now. I was going
through wild mood swings while they did the bypass on Dad. He would be
fine, they said, but he had to stay calm and follow a regimen till his
health was restored -- and then he'd be better than new.
The night before he was to come home from the hospital, my sister
and I dragged Dan out to one of the local nightspots. My other brothers
had already returned to Ohio -- to school and a precarious job,
respectively.
Jeanne and Alexis knew the club from previous visits. Their
description sounded great to me and awful to Dan, whom we voted to be
the designated driver.
I felt sure enough of myself to have a few drinks with my sisters.
Dan, of course, indulged himself in a glass of red wine and then drank
nothing but seltzer the rest of the night. Alexis and I got pretty
rocked. Jeanne was just woozy. Once we got into the car and started
driving through the unfamiliar night, I was glad Dan was sober.
Jeanne and I talked pretty freely in the car. On recollection, I
know that our conversation was meaningless to Dan, since we were
exchanging references that only we three sisters would understand. At
that moment, though, I was just messed up enough to be sure he knew
everything we were talking about.
Back at the house, Mom was already sacked out -- she'd been taking
a lot of medication to calm her nerves -- and snoring. Dan went into
kitchen and got himself a beer while Alexis crashed in the spare
bedroom. Dan was going to sleep on a cot in the basement and Jeanne and
I were going to share the pullout in the living room.
That last beer hit Jeanne pretty hard, though, and we started
kidding and teasing. At one point, I kind of said, too loud, "So,
Jeanne, do you want to play Yellow Pages like we used to?"
I didn't mean it, of course, and we both knew it. We laughed like
the drunks we were, then giggled uncontrollably.
Then Dan's voice from the kitchen, where he was sipping his beer,
smoking a cigarette and trying to read a book: "'Yellow Pages'?"
"You know," Jeanne giggled, and we both started singing "Let your
fingers do the walking in the Yellow Pages."
Dan stuck his head into the living room. "Oh, so that's what you
two were up to in the bedroom all the time. And you were what, Marie --
eleven?"
"And I was just a wittle giwl," Jeanne announced in a singsong
voice.
"As busy as you guys were, and all the time I had to choke the
chicken when I was visiting," he said ruefully. I could tell he was just
kidding us.
"I seem to remember trying real hard to change that," Jeanne said.
"Yes, and you were much too little to be an object of my desire."
"I wasn't," I reminded him.
"You were, too."
"Alexis wasn't," I pointed out.
"St. Alexis the Pure never tried that stunt on me," he said. "She
was definitely not too little -- but she was also definitely not
interested."
"Was, too," Jeanne mumbled.
Dan stepped into the room and over to the pullout.
"How do you know?"
"She told me, couple of years ago."
"Too bad she didn't tell me many years ago."
"She's still sexy and pretty, isn't she?" I demanded.
"Yeah, sure -- "
"Well why don't you go get into bed with her and have sex with her.
She'd still like that, I know she would. She's still hot for you. Go in
and have sex with her!" My voice was getting shrill and angry. Jeanne
knew what it meant and cautioned me with a touch on my arm.
I shook her off. "But you wouldn't do that, would you? And you
wouldn't do it then, either. And you wouldn't do it when we wanted to!"
I had started crying.
"That's why we always wanted you to stay, because you wouldn't
have let it happen, would you?"
Jeanne had her arms around me and Dan sat next to me on the bed.
"Would you?" I demanded. "Would you have let him do it?"
"Do what?" he asked. I could feel the tension in him.
"Would you have let that -- that ANIMAL rape us?"
His head jerked back as if he'd been slapped. "Who?"
I couldn't speak for myself, but Jeanne could speak for me, for
both of us.
"Dad," she said quietly.
"When?"
"It started when I was eight," I whispered.
Remember when I told you how Dan looked when he dealt with those
three punks who wanted to force me to party with them? He got that
same look on his face. I had a terrible feeling that he was close to
exploding.
So then I told him. Until then, the only people I had told were my
Mom and, many years later, my therapist.
So then I told him. I didn't have to tell Jeanne or Alexis. They'd
gone through it, too. But I finally told Dan and now I'll tell you.
I was a little bit more than eight years old. We'd had a whopper of
a storm the night before. Frightened by the lightning and thunder, I
crawled into bed with Mom and Dad. This was not unusual. The next
morning, Alexis had already headed off someplace or other -- I don't
remember where or why -- and Mom had taken my Jeanne and my brothers to
the dentist. I had great teeth, always have, and didn't have to go.
Anyhow, I woke up alone in bed with Dad. It was still very humid
and hot and we didn't have any air-conditioning. Dad was wearing his
boxer shorts and I was just wearing my panties. At eight, this is no big
deal, either.
Dad was still fast asleep, but I was awake and alert. It was summer
vacation and I wanted to play!
I saw the big bump in Dad's underwear and when I reached out to
touch it, he woke up.
"What's that? Does it hurt?"
He got a funny look in his face. "That's special. It doesn't hurt,
but it will if it stays like that."
"It's special?"
"Very special. It's for big girls to play with."
"I'm a big girl, ain't I? How do you play with it? Can I see it?"
"Well, I don't know, baby. Do you really, really want to see it?"
I nodded my head vigorously.
"Well, then, let's see if my little girl is ready to be a big girl
for her daddy. But you have to promise to keep it a secret, just for you
and me. Men aren't supposed to let girls play with it until they're all
grown up and I don't want anyone being jealous and mad because I let you
start having fun early. Can't tell anyone, okay? Not even Mommy or
Jeanne or Alexis -- not ANYone, ever. Promise?"
I was fascinated that I was finally going to see one of the
Mysteries of Adults. I agreed whole-heartedly, saying "cross my heart"
and making an "x" over my tiny, flat breast.
"Well -- okay," he said.
So I uncovered his cock. It was swollen and hot and red and looked
absolutely huge.
"Gosh -- and it doesn't hurt?"
"Not if you play with it right."
"And it's fun for big girls to play with it?"
"Um-hmmm."
So he showed me how to grab it. My little hand didn't come close to
wrapping around it. He had me kneel up and jerk it with both hands a
little bit. Then he told me to kiss it and lick it on the end.
I thought that was yucky and told him so.
"It's not yucky when it's like that," he said. "Big girls know that
-- and big girls like being licked down there, too."
I suspected that was true because sometimes, in the tub, I'd felt a
nice buzzing when I'd touched myself down there.
"I'll show you," he said, rolling over. "Let's take these off -- "
He started pulling down my little panties, tickling me a little to
show it was fun. I rolled onto my back and squealed as he took them off.
"And now I'm going to eat you all up!" he said, just the way he had
when telling me bedtime stories. But this time he did. He got his face
between my legs and started lapping at my little cunt. It felt so good
that I didn't even mind the way his stubble scraped the insides of my
thighs. I didn't cum or anything like that, but it was incredibly
pleasurable and totally new to me.
He stopped after a few minutes. My cunt was saliva-soaked on the
outside and his face was wet with his own spit. My little nipples were
hard.
"Why'd you stop?"
"Now it's your turn," he said, and rolled over.
Well, I licked and kissed his cock and he showed me how to touch
his balls and then I tried to do what he said and put it in my mouth,
but my mouth was very, very small and I couldn't open wide enough. And
all the time I'd been doing that to his cock, he'd been fondling and
caressing me, and running his fingers around between my legs and up and
down over my ass and twat. They felt nice. And kissing and licking it
was not even yucky. Just like he'd said.
And then, he said, it was my turn to feel nice again. I was glad to
oblige, rolling onto my back and spreading my legs. As he got down
between them, I pushed my little slit up at him and said, "Eat me all
up!"
He grinned oddly and muttered, "Yeah, you're big enough -- already
telling me what to do, like a real grownup girl..."
Then he went back to eating me and this time it felt even better. I
think I was close to maybe even having an orgasm when he started working
one big, calloused finger into my cunt. It was a surprise and didn't so
much hurt as it felt funny to have something going in where nothing had
ever been.
He knew his stuff. He kept licking me and moving that finger
farther and farther, stretching me by stages -- until he hit my hymen.
That hurt.
"Owwww!"
He immediately pulled the finger back, still licking, and looked up
at me. "I guess we'll have to stop. You still have your baby skin there."
But the licking had felt so good, I didn't want him to stop. I told
him so.
"Honey, as long as that Baby Skin is there, we can't do this. We
have to wait for you to be grown up so it'll go away."
"But can't you make it go away -- like when the dentist took out my
baby teeth?"
He looked skeptical and warned me that it would hurt, maybe a lot.
"But then we can play this special game and I can have fun with
you!"
He made as if to get up and move away. I closed my thighs around
his head.
"Please, Daddy, please!"
"Are you sure...?"
"Oh, Daddy, I'm sure!"
"Well...okay."
And he did. He licked me and sucked me and then he rammed his
finger through my little hymen and I thought I was going to die, it hurt
so much. The blood at least lubricated his finger a little, but there
was no pleasure now -- just the pain between my legs.
He knelt up, my blood on his lips, and sucked the blood off his
finger. "There, it's all gone now!" he said. I just kept crying and
asking him to make it stop hurting -- and the blood scared me.
"And now for the nice part," he said, crawling up over me. I didn't
know what he was planning to do -- until I felt his cock against my
little cunt. His cock had seemed immense -- hell, it was immense
compared to my size -- and if his finger had hurt that much, this was
going to tear me apart.
I was terrified, hurting and bleeding. I begged him to stop, to not
do it.
"Yeah, a real grownup, a real bitch," he growled. "Get a man
excited and try to close him out." He forced his cockhead into my cunt.
I was sure he was splitting me in half. I screamed for him to stop,
to not do it, but he did it. He drove his cock all the way into me,
crushing the breath out of me with his weight, and started grinding his
dick in and out of me. It was like someone ramming a burning log up
inside there, just fire and pain and agony. But he kept doing it for
what seemed like hours and then he grunted and split me open even more
and then he collapsed on top of me, panting.
I tried to move him off me and he finally rolled away. His cock
hurt coming out, too, and what I saw was really scary: my blood and his
semen were all over my cunt, my thighs and his limp prick.
I got up and it hurt. I walked and it hurt. I went into the
bathroom and peed. Hurt. I washed off the blood, wondering how to stop
the flow, but it had already stopped. It still hurt. I couldn't stop
sobbing.
Over the next couple of hours, the hurt started to fade, though it
stabbed through me when I sat on something hard. When Dad finally came
downstairs, he gave me a kiss and said now I was a grownup girl and it
would stop hurting very, very soon -- even faster than having my baby
teeth pulled. I was a little reassured, but not much.
I didn't tell anyone.
But a week later, Dad and I were sitting up, watching television.
He was drinking beer and giving me sips. He told me to come sit in his
lap. I didn't want to. He ordered me to sit in his lap and I did; we all
knew how mean he could get if he'd been drinking.
Soon enough his hands were all over me and this time his finger
didn't hurt when he poked it inside. Still didn't feel good, either.
Then he took me down to the basement, put some Vaseline on his dick and
he fucked me again. I felt like I was being punched and bruised inside,
but there wasn't any blood this time. When he touched my clitty with his
fingers, it did, indeed, feel good. Very good.
Before too long, he had me getting into bed with him a lot, a
couple of times a week. He taught me to lick him and eventually, when
I could open my mouth enough, to suck him off -- the way he liked. But
he preferred to fuck my cunt, said I was the tightest and bestest
little pussy he'd ever banged.
He always licked me first, and sometimes it felt so good I didn't
mind the discomfort when he fucked my baby pussy. He'd taken to using
KY and other lubricants, which helped a lot. He didn't use them for my
sake, mind you; my dry cunt chafed his cock. See, at that age there's
no such thing as natural lubricant.
And he'd do things for me, too, like stick up for me with
Mom and slip me a little extra change when I went to the store.
Rewards for being his toy.
I got into the habit of having my pussy regularly strained by his
prick. And when it hurt too much, I'd just try to pretend it wasn't
happening to me, that it was happening to someone else.
But one night, when I was over at my friend's house on a
sleepover, he came home drunk. I found out that he and Mom got into a
terrible fight and she'd loaded all the other kids up in the car and
took them to grandma's, to wait for him to sleep it off. And as soon
as they were gone, he called my friend's house and ordered me home.
Drunk or not, he wanted to fuck. I said, "No, please" just once
and he hit me across the face hard enough to send me sprawling. Then
he grabbed me and fucked me, hard and brutal, no lubricant except my
bleeding. He did that three times that night and again the next
morning. Each time I pretended harder and harder that it wasn't
happening to me, that it was someone else, that it was a nightmare. My
daddy wasn't hurting me; it was some monster pretending to be my
daddy. I was trying to blot it out. I felt utterly helpless.
Mom and the rest came back that night and she asked me about the
bruise on my face. I told her and then I blurted out what he'd done.
She shouted and slapped me. She scolded me, saying Dad was a good,
hard-working man who did everything for us and how could I possibly
make up such an awful, evil lie? I was never to tell anyone or I'd be
put in a bad place for telling such a story, and I was to forget all
about this terrible thing I had imagined or made up.
I became feral, learning to avoid being alone with Dad until I
could stay out of his clutches for weeks at time. The memories
got easier and easier to suppress as I got older. And when I was ten I
started trolling for boys to fuck, and even men, and tried to -- I
dunno -- I guess somehow make it right by doing it on my terms. It
didn't work, of course. I had a lot of fun, a lot of kicks. But it
nothing will ever erase what that son of a bitch did to me.
When I finished the story, Dan was sitting there as still as a
stone. He cranked his head around toward Jeanne.
She nodded. "And Alexis."
"So I try to deal with it. Therapy helped a lot," I said,
remembering how much the remembering had hurt. "I try to forgive him,
and think I can -- and then this hurt and fear and anger comes boiling
up and out. I have to find some way to put it behind me."
"And you trusted me even after you saw me with Irene?"
"I knew the difference, still know it. She came on to you."
"I didn't try to fight her off," he said. "Even encouraged her to
do what she did."
"What she did," I echoed. "She started it, she knew what she was
doing and she wanted it and liked it. And you were so sweet and gentle
with her -- I was jealous."
He shook his head. "In answer to your earlier question -- yes, I
would have stopped it. I just wonder if it's stopped now."
"He hasn't touched me in -- well, not since I was twelve. But
inside, in my head, in my nightmares...it's never stopped. He's still
raping me."
Jeanne spoke: "We try to keep an eye on him, we even got him into
counseling -- twice. He showed up twice, then refused to go again and
'listen to those bitches' lies about' him. We never leave our kids
around him, even if someone else is there."
"We have to do something to be sure he doesn't fuck up more kids."
"We're still trying to deal with our own conflicts, Dan," I told
him. "You can't know how hard this is for us." I was starting to weep
again. "And Mom still won't face up to it."
I was crying then, and so was Jeanne, and we clutched each other
and Dan. I finally got my longtime wish...sort of.
I spent the night with his arms around me. I spent the night
sleeping, waking occasionally to touch his face and Jeanne's, reassuring
myself that it was not a dream, that I really was safe from the
monsters.
In the morning, they brought Dad home from the hospital. Things
seemed to go okay, except Mom just wanted to stay in bed all the time.
It was severe depression.
That night, Dad was holding forth about never seeing his
grandchildren, especially Jeanne's little girl. My niece had just
turned eight. My eyes filled up and I rushed into the kitchen. Jeanne
and Dan were right behind me.
Jeanne held me and I wept and wept and wept and finally I just
looked at Dan and sobbed, "I just don't know what to do...I'm always so
afraid the monsters will get me! I just don't know what to do!"
"I do," my brother's voice said. Jeanne asked him, but I knew
from Dan's tone exactly what he was going to say.
"Kill the son of a bitch."
We never touched him, never moved his pills away from him --
nothing. But with Mom doped into unconsciousness and Alexis on a 747
heading East, he was as much at the mercy of Jeanne and me as we had
been subject to his tender mercies, this unrepentant baby raper.
Dan drained the batteries on the cordless phone with a paper
clip, then wiped his prints when he put it back. Dad never noticed. He
was laying back in the big recliner, mesmerized by what Jeanne and I
were doing: talking.
Yes, we sat on either side of him and told him what we did with
each other, what we'd done with so many other men and women and boys and
girls. His blood pressure rose and his heart rate accelerated.
"Such sluts, such bitches -- Son, they ever take care of you? Don't
this stuff give you a hard on?"
Dan was sanding with his back to the door. "Show them who's the
boss, Dad."
"Yes, goddamit! Give me some relief, you bitches! Come on and
make it happen or -- " He jerked around as if to grab for us, as if he
wanted to get out of the recliner. " -- I'll grab you just like when
you was little! You think I can't still -- still -- "
And then his eyes went wide. His face contorted and he knew. He
finally knew what we had done.
Of course, none of the physicians were surprised. My little
brothers wee heartbroken. Even Jeanne and Alexis and I cried at the
wake and the funeral. Mom was medicated into the Twilight Zone.
Dan didn't cry. Didn't even get misty-eyed. Back at the house
afterward, Tod -- Darlene's brother -- chugged a couple of beers and
started in on Dan about not being a good son and not mourning his old
man's loss. Dan told him to shut up. Tod's dad, who'd taught his
darling son everything he knew about raping babies, joined in. Dan
invited them to continue this lively and stimulating discussion with
him out behind the garage. Alexis spotted him leading them through the
kitchen door and knew there was going to be trouble. She, not knowing
Dan as I did, was worried about our big brother. She was maybe sixty
seconds behind them. She was too late.
He had savaged them. Tod was unconscious, with blood all around
his head and his crotch, The only reason his father's fingers got
broken was that they were covering the remains of his own crushed
testicles. Alexis got Dan to stop.
We made sure my uncle told the doctors that they'd fallen down --
just like he used to make Charlene say at school if someone questioned
her bruises. We made sure he understood the irony in that. We also
made sure he knew what would happen if he ever touched another kid --
or knew of a kid being abused and didn't stop it.
Y'see, it's not enough to keep one particular kid safe. You may
get one little girl or boy away from an abuser, but there's always
more kids, more prey, more targets. And the abuse doesn't stop for the
kid, ever. I know; I'm still being abused.
Oh, sure, I had a lot of fun fucking and sucking and messing
around -- but only when *I* started it, when *I* wanted it. I probably
would have, anyhow.
But my abuse fucked up my character. It scarred me and hurt me in
ways that I tried to salve with indiscriminate fucking, with drugs and
booze. I've spent most of my life behaving in ways guaranteed to make
everyone see me as the one-purpose bitch-slut I'd been told I was,
always getting into relationships that were bad or wrong from start --
or seeing to it that they ended if they turned out to be good for me
despite myself. After all, if I ever loved anyone as much as I'd loved
my Daddy, I'd have to be hurt like that little girl was, wouldn't I?
I'm one of the lucky ones. A lot of kid hurters were hurt
themselves, the same way. Some of them have grown up to be even more
twisted. The next time you read about some mass murderer or torturer,
listen to the testimony in the trial. Over and over again, you'll hear
"abused as a child." Fact is, you should take the time to find out how
often abuse as a child is mentioned in the records of the recidivists
-- repeat felons -- who account for more than half of the crime in
this country. The percentage will take your breath away.
They have to be stopped. They have to be helped, if they're
willing, but they have to be stopped. The cycle has to end.
Even now, the monsters still pursue me in my nightmares, where
I'm always a terrified little girl. But sometimes now, that little
girl hears my brother's voice saying, "Kill the son of a bitch" and
she turns around and finds she's in the middle of a crowd of
frightened, weeping children. And up at the front of that terrified
mob, she sees a human wall standing between the monster and the kids.
The wall is all the other survivors and their families, standing
scared and weak and shaking -- but standing there, holding their
ground and staring the monster down. That little girl looks at those
people and among them she sees her sisters and brothers and her
grownup self and she just knows that if she can get through the crowd
to her, she'll finally grow up to be that woman in the front lines,
the woman who fights back and protects kids.
I just hope she gets the chance.
[Okay, you got all that, right? No, no, I'm okay. Just give me a
fucking kleenex so I can blow my nose.
[No, it doesn't feel better to get it off my chest. I never really
wanted to tell it all like --
[Maybe I did. Maybe that's why no matter how much I moved around, I
kept the diaries -- so I'd never really forget. Maybe I really wanted to
tell it all to someone. Especially the last part. But that was the
important part.
[It better. I'm not convinced this will work. I read what you did
with the first part and I think it's just going to turn a lot of them
on. I hope they get the point about forcing and tricking and abusing --
[That's why I said it.
[No, I don't want to see them. Just do like you said, okay? But I
want to know if this hotshot idea works, if anyone really does get the
message with this big mysterious computer network thing. Tell me, okay?
[I know. It didn't bother me because you didn't pretend it
didn't. It should have turned you on -- it was pretty hot. And you
didn't seem real thrilled when I told you about the first time. You
looked like you were going to barf.
[Now, you tell me something -- if you'd known me then and I'd come
on to you, what would you have done?
[I thought so. But then we couldn't have talked about it. Stay in
touch, okay?]
END
This concludes the MARIE series. More than this, deponent sayeth not.
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