Archive for February 2012

Decisions   14 comments

Dreams came to me tonight. The two hours of sleep I got were aparently very productive and now the words are insisting on erupting  again. The past couple of days I’ve had suggestions to put my words  into book form. It is time, I believe. Too many signs pointing to the deal to NOT do it. Perhaps I can use some of the proceeds to help those in need to get out of this hell I went through. The addictions, the abuse, all my life I’ve been wondering why me. Now perhaps I’ve found out my path. With the encouragement of my newfound friends here, I will put my life to paper. The tags will give some insight.

 

Hold me…. I’m afraid…

A Miracle in Blue and Red   6 comments

It was snowing hard and he had to pull over to chain the tires. He had me get dressed and help him. He’d gotten me some boots and sweat pants earlier in the week so I dressed  and learned how to chain truck tires. We got finished as an officer pulled up. Master told me to get in the truck, quickly. I complied and sat, shivering, in the truck as they talked. Master came up to get his log book and growled for me to get in back and be quiet. I lay in the sleeper and began crying.

After a seemingly long time I hear the door open and a flashlight shining into the cab. A loud voice asking if there were anyone inside. I bit my lip and felt the truck move. He was coming in! His head peeked round the corner of the door, gun pointed at me. I shrieked as he was shoved forward. I hear the crunch as he falls to the floor, Master climbing in behind and  slamming the door, He yelled at me to get the chains and shoved the rig into first gear. He barked orders at me as he got us rolling  down the road. I bound the man as he instructed, my hands shaking, sobs of fear slipping from my parched lips. He told me to check the man for a pulse. It  was there and strong but the man was bleeding from his head. I’d had basic first aid so I put pressure on the wound and wiped a damp rag over his face till he came to. He was silent for a few  minutes as I’d given him sign to be quiet. I kissed his lips softly and whispered what happened to him. He nodded and wriggled a little testing his bonds. I whispered “no use, I put them on you. I’m sorry” I started crying as Master yelled “get him onto the bed and strip him slut” I groaned as I struggled to get  him in the bed, his gear making me nervous. I call out to Master “cut them off?” “yes” He barked as the officer shakes his head. He indicates his shoulder where there is a mic. I look at him confused so he whispers what to do. I turn down the volume and put the mic to his mouth so he can speak into it. It takes a few minuets to get the dispatcher to get someone to his car to verify this was indeed a problem. apparently he had only stopped to see if Master needed help but was alerted by how fast I got back in the truck. Masters demeanor made it worse so he came to see if I was ok. I shook my head and told him my story. When I finished he said “sweetheart, I’m getting you out of here. Take off these chains.”

I had used zip ties to bind the chains together so I asked if he had a knife. “left pocket” I took it out and placed it in his hand as Master yelled for me to come up front. I scampered up and sat,  looking at him “what are we gonna do with him?” His eyes glued to the windshield, he speaks softly “a drop off a bridge will be best” I can see he’s afraid and I feel badly for him “it’s ok, Master want me to take your mind off it a little?” He glances at me and chuckles “turning you on is it?” “oh God yes it is, Master” I say as I catch movement from the sleeper. He grins and unzips his pants then pushes the seat back. I slip out of my pants then straddle him, knocking the truck out of gear as I do. He wouldn’t notice till we started back uphill  and by then, hopefully, our captive can figure a way out of this mess. I see his face peering at me, a look of mild shock in his eyes before they disappear again into the darkness of the sleeper. I keep Master occupied, bringing him and myself to release just as I spot lights flashing from behind us, lighting the snow as it whipped past. “FUCK!” Master screamed as he sees the lights and pushes me off. “get in the back and strap in, now” He had shown me how to use the safety straps just days ago so I scramble back and strap myself in, noticing my visitor is strapped in already. “you know something I don’t?” I ask him. He grins and just says “hold on”

I hear Master fighting to find the right gear. He slams it in and revs the engine up  to speed as we hit a downgrade. I can’t see his face because I’m behind him but the officer is watching him intently. I can feel the truck picking up speed as the snow flies past, looking like a million red and blue fireflies. The night takes on a surreal tone as things fade into the background, the snow my focal point that’s keeping me quiet. The crash comes as a surprise to me as I’m thrown forward against the webbing. I don’t remember what happened next, only waking up, tangled in the webbing, the officer saying not to move, that it was imperative I stay awake. I’m cold and tasting blood when he asks if I’m hurt. I whimper because it hurts to move my jaw. His voice is so soothing and I’m so cold. Please just jet me sleep.

Three days later I wake up in a hospital in California, my jaw wired shut to heal from the fracture. I have three broken ribs and these really weird bruises EVERYWHERE. I have a tube in my nose and wires everywhere and I’m looking into the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. I recognize him as the officer that had been with us. I motioned for paper and pen and asked him “is he dead?” He grew a somber look and nodded “I’m sorry, he is” I smiled and wrote “I’m not”

Alex visited me every day I was in the hospital, talking to me for hours at a time, once I’d healed enough to talk, I talked his ears off. He was awarded a  medal for bravery for his quick thinking in our situation but, he secretly told me that it was me that saved him. He was so cute. When he tried to tell me he was grateful it took him a bit. He wasn’t sure why I had sex with our captor so he asked and I said “would you turn down a girls offer of sex?” He bushed cutely and claimed the fifth. He kissed me softly that night when he left.

After a month in the hospital, it was time for me to go. Alex offered to take me to the airport and I accepted. He had even gone out and gotten me some new clothes to wear. Such a fine man. I do hope he’s doing well and has found himself a loving partner. He deserves it.

I met the police at the airport. They had an officer to escort me back to Denver for testimony. I fied the report with them and I went home to my mother. It was almost like I’d never been gone. We fought that night and I left, back to the life I knew and thought I deserved. Sorry Alex, some promises are too hard to keep.

Posted February 27, 2012 by I'm taking a nap in Memoirs

The Road (thankfully) less traveled   2 comments

“Here, use this” he hands me a Big Gulp cup. I look at him in astonishment “you want me to pee in this?” “it’s that or the side of the road and it’s 15 below out there. You got a coat?” I sigh, supposing I should be grateful for his kindness. He watches me as I  almost fill the vessel. He hands me a tissue and I hand him the cup. “Am I going to be allowed food today, Master?” He tosses the urine out the window then turns back to me “I gotta get you something to wear first. We get to a Wal-Mart and I’ll get ya a dress and coat but you have to earn them.” I nod and sit on the bed, giving him my best seductive smile “Like this, Master?” He grins and comes to me with a growl “good little slut, you learn fast.”

He makes sure the chains are tightly locked, this time around my wrists, ankles and waist He hasn’t even gotten my measurements yet and I’m worried he’ll get the wrong size. He locks the door and goes into the store. I fall asleep as I wait for his return and dream about my mother, She told me to be strong, To keep my eyes open and come home. I woke with tears on my cheeks and an ache in my heart. Looking out the windshield, I let the tears flow. The chains holding my frail body were nothing compared to the weight of the pain I felt in my heart. I had just given myself to my jailer for a DRESS for crying out loud. Was this what God wanted for me? I’d been through so much in my young life…

All too soon he was back with a couple of bags. He jokes about things and seems in a really good mood now. He unchained me and hands me a bag “lets see you in this” I take out the dress and slip it over my head, It’s a little tighter than I like but it pleases him. He hands me shoes with tall heels and I slip them on. He had gotten my shoe size from me do they fit and were so pretty. I smiled at him and thanked him sweetly. I was learning to take everything with gratitude. He handed me a coat with the softest liner I’d ever felt. He nodded and said “only when I say will you wear those. Now. undress, I have something you WILL wear.” I quickly stripped and he handed me a flimsy nylon nighty that covered nothing really. I shivered, feeling even more exposed than while naked!

He chuckles and starts the engine. Looks back at me again an growls softly before putting the rig in gear. “Oh, got something else for you” He tosses back a bag that thumps on the floor. I get the bag and open it. Grabbing things out and tearing them open, stuffing the sweet Strawberry cakes into my mouth, I realised I hadn’t eaten in a week. He made sure I had water, he kept track of my output. He tells me to come up front and sit in the passenger seat so I grab the bag of food and head to the chair, looking around the cab with wonder. I’d only seen it on my way in and missed so much. He tells me that he needs me to keep him awake. We have to be in Memphis by morning and he needs a distraction. We talked for hours as he drove and listened to music. It was snowing when we hit Memphis and found where we needed to be and went to sleep.

Most of the days and weeks that followed went this way. He would drive and we would talk. He would use me then quickly fall asleep with me in his arms. I started being comfortable calling him Master. Made sense since the only other name I’d ever heard him called was his CB handle. I loved that CB. He never  knew I talked on it when he’d leave me untied. Many times I told people that I was a captive but they thought I was just a kid playing on a home base or something. I began to understand that what Master was saying was true. No one cared. After being told that if I wanted to be arrested for false reporting, I stopped trying. I didn’t want to go to jail. I wanted to go home!

It would take a miracle to get me home. I didn’t believe I had any more coming. Besides, he wasn’t that bad. He fed me, gave me clothes and all he wanted was sex.  I could do that… I’d been trained, after all.

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Posted February 27, 2012 by I'm taking a nap in Memoirs

Rules of the Road   5 comments

The hissing of air breaks jolts me into the world of my new life. I look around in a panic, not knowing for a moment where I am. He slips into the sleeper and sits by me on the bed. He looks at me in the darkness and softly asks me my name. I tell him and his hand lashes out, striking me across the face, hard. I cry out with the pain and scramble away from him, into the corner of the small space. I taste the blood from my lip and hear his voice, a growl of anger “you are who I SAY you are. You HAVE no name till I give you one, slut” I sat there in shock, sobbing as he continued “You will call me Master at all times. You are my property, mine to do as I please with. You are NOTHING, do you understand?” I sobbed an affirmative and he struck me again, I yelped “yes Master!” and he nodded, satisfied. He ordered me to undress, telling me the only time I’d be allowed clothes is when I left the truck. He reached behind me and pulled a thick chain from behind the bed, attaching it to my collar. Then, after I undressed, he raped me viciously.

 

I lay awake for hours, listening to his snores, his arm draped over me as my aching body throbbed with the pain of his assault. I thought of the gun back at the house and sighed softly. He murmurs in his sleep and rolls over. I move, thankful the bed is so hard it doesn’t move and disturbe him. I look at the chain he’s attached to me and follow it to the opposite end. It’s attached to the wall with a padlock. I wonder if he’s done this before and if he has, what happened to the girls before me. I shudder and look out the front windshield into the darkness of night. I can see blurry lights out there but nothing else. God I wished I had my glasses. My foot brushes something cold and I pick it up. A bottle of Pepsi in my hand, I feel the thirst like a desert in my throat. I open it and take a big swallow, the sugar screaming nto my veins like a freight train. GOD that was good! It’s been WEEKS since my last soda and I’m smiling, painfully, as his voice growls from behind me “did you ask for that, slut?” I go rigid and whisper “no Master” as I put the lid on quickly. He grabs my hair and pulls me to him, biting my arm roughly. I scream and try to hit him to get away but he’s too strong and suddenly I’m on my back, his hands around my throat. “NEVER try that again bitch or I’ll kill you and dump your ass over a bridge” he growls, his face close to mine. I choke out a “yes Master” and he releases me, gasping and crying, from his strong grip. He pulls me to him and begins his assault afresh. He is relentless and vicious till the sun creeps in through the windshield.

I am laying by the back wall on the bed, looking at him as he dresses. He’s laying out the “rules” that I have to follow but I’m so exhausted that I’m drifting off to his words. He slaps my face to rouse me and continues. I can’t go out of the sleeper without permission, can’t pee without permission, can only eat if I beg ect.. I ask him if I can go to the bathroom and he says no before getting out of the truck and heading into the truck stop. I lay there and cry while he’s gone, so exhausted, so worn to my very core that I can’t move. I feel the truck shake with the howling winds and feel so alone in my misery that I just want to die. He returns and starts the engine without a word to me. I feel the wheels beneath us start to turn and sigh softly, finally able to go to sleep because I know, as long as he’s driving, I’m safe. I fall asleep to the song “16 Wheels and a Dozen Roses”

Posted February 25, 2012 by I'm taking a nap in Memoirs

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Perceptions {NSFW}   5 comments

Many years ago, when my middle child was just a baby, I was told that I exaggerated how bad my life was. This was told to me by my “life coach” The one person that was supposed to believe me and help me get back on my feet. It wasn’t till I entered the hospital, manic depression going haywire, that she realised that I WASN’T exaggerating. I TRIED to tell her I was on the verge of a meltdown. I TRIED to tell EVERYONE. I even went to the ER at Denver General and tried to admit myself with suicidal ideation. They had no beds so, they turned me away.

I remember leaving there, crying and walking toward downtown, feeling so depressed that I truly wanted to die. I walked through the park, seeing all the happy people, feeling even more empty inside. I honestly don’t remember how I got from there to University hospital with a handcuff attached to my wrist. They say I walked into oncoming traffic, right in front of a police car and DEMANDED he run over me. Needless to say, he didn’t and realised there was something obviously wrong with me. I wasn’t doing drugs, I’d been clean for about a year. They put me in a locked ward with the other “nonviolent” patients and there I was diagnosed with “fast cycling manic depression with suicidal ideation alternating with PTSD episodes, flashbacks and possible multiple personality disorder” I was pretty fucked up.

My case worker and my “life coach” held a meeting with me, four days into my “stabilization period” to discuss my life in detail. I told of my abuse as a child, the trafficking I’d been involved in, becoming a widow before I was 29, the unexpected birth of my son and the years of drug and alcohol abuse. I spoke, nonstop, for two hours. I vomited out every vile thing I’d done, everything that had been done to me and how I hated myself and everyone else so much that I was afraid. Afraid I’d hurt someone like my son. I’d been a cutter for years, slicing into my chest and belly when I couldn’t do anything about the overwhelming feelings. Then I’d cut just to be able to feel SOMETHING. Something about the pain centered me, grounded me… made everything ok for a while.

I’d gotten so good at hiding things, from the trafficking to the cutting, that no one thought there was anything wrong with me. Everyone that saw me thought I had a wonderful life. I had a great job, a beautiful baby after 16 years of infertility, a Mustang… I had everything I wanted yet I was struggling so hard to keep it together inside.

I was promiscuous, screwing every man I could get to bed me, including one man on the stairwell of my mother’s apartment building at 2 AM. I didn’t even know the man’s name and had never spoken to him before that night. I was spending myself broke every paycheck, getting things for the baby that he didn’t need, shit for myself that I’d never use, spending just enough that I wouldn’t bounce any checks. I drank a lot, going to the bars EVERY night, just to pick up a guy or a gal, just to get laid. I was fixated on sex, EVERYTHING became sexual and I couldn’t get enough. I was always horny, always ready. I guess I’d snapped or something because the night before I went into the hospital, I vaguely remember being at the bus stop in a bad part of town, dressed scantily. I talked to a guy sitting at the stop and there it gets really scattered. I remember sporadic things of him on top of me, in me, us beside the stop on the ground and me clawing into his back and crying. I think he raped me but hell, I don’t know, maybe it was the other way round. That’s when I figured it was time to do something myself, before someone REALLY got hurt. I decided that next morning, as I stood in the shower washing mud and blood from me, feeling the pain in my body and feeling so empty that I wanted to die, I decided that it was time to get straightened out. For my son if not myself. I didn’t want him growing up with a mom like me and I DAMN well didn’t want anyone else raising him.

 

It was a full year before I allowed a man to touch me after I left the hospital. A record for me, honestly. Since I was 9 I had been bedded at least weekly, usually daily. It’s been many years since this life has been so messed up but I am reminded, daily, of my journey with the scars on my belly and chest. I have a loving husband that knows of my past, all of it, and loves me in spite of my flaws.  My closest friends know most of my past as does my mother and they accept me the way I am. I thank my Higher Power every day that my life has become what it is now. Even with all the daily stress, I still love my life and wouldn’t trade my friends and family for any of Trumps billions.

So, what do you do for a living?   15 comments

Back when I was working the streets and I’d take a day off, I’d often be asked that question by people I met and even my mothers friends and coworkers. I would say things like “I’m an entertainer” or “I’m in public service” I even told someone once that I was part of the “welcome comittee” for the Denver Arts council, specializing in customer relations. Sometimes I’d come up with off the wall shit and it always slipped from my mouth like I was telling my name. I was never asked what the job entailed.  It was strange how easily I fooled people.

When I disappeared at the age of 18, noone thought much of it. My family never called the police and filed a missing persons report. They figured I was just off finding my way in the world. It never occurred to them that I might be in trouble. I’ve never asked them why, it’s just never spoken about. I’ve not told anyone in my family about this time in my life, I was too ashamed.

Posted February 14, 2012 by I'm taking a nap in Memoirs

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