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Subject: {ASSM} From TxM6 The Rape of Laurie Fallon
Date: Sat, 12 Aug 2000 10:10:08 -0400
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From TxM6 Taxi Murders Sextet Hyperfiction Novel
http://www.taximurders.com/lcfallon (updated August 1, 2000)
TxM6 is entirely a work of fiction for adults only.
Copyright (c) 2000 Sean Farragher
1059XLaurieIntro
Welcome to TxM6
Taxi Murders Sextet: Hyperfiction
Introduction: By Laurie Fallon
Novel By Sean Farragher
Copyright (c) 1992-2000 Sean Farragher. All Rights Reserved.
My name is Laurie Catherine Fallon.
In 2000, I will meet you on the Internet in some chat room
or your secret place. Maybe it will be AOL IM, ICQ. Maybe we
didn't meet online. I could have been walking without
looking, like I usually do, half assed, and you bumped into
me, just to say hello.
Of course I kicked your ass. Don't worry I won't tell your
wife that you fucked me imagining I was that 13 year old
auburn hair babe at the Paramus Roller rink that Friday night
when you were 17 and such a big deal. You know the old rink
that was at Midland and Rt. #17 for fifty years.
Yes, that's the one where your Mom and mine got fucked
in the washroom. Rink not there any more I bet.
FRIDAY, APRIL 10, 1992
My story started eight years ago.
In 1992, I was kidnapped and held captive for eleven months
by a man and woman self named Able and Lilith.
My name is Laurie Catherine Fallon. You will have to excuse
my nervousness although I am not sure why posting a story on
a news group would make me upset.
As I wrote my name at the top of the story, I found my self
saying it aloud. I love my whole name, middle included. I
love watching it scroll the monitor.
In 1992, my word processor was a sick green. Watching letters
pour over the screen is like watching a movie of yourself.
Some call me the star struck murderer. They claim I was guilty
of the same crimes that they committed against me. There is no
defense for murder when the murderer enjoys the crime. That is
what the prosecutor said. Citing the Patty Hearst case and war
crime tribunals like he was before the fucken supreme court.
Odd thing to say. I acted in self defense. My mistake was
to tell the world that doing the murder gave me pleasure.
Why lie? I am just another star struck babe just like Myrna
Loy made famous by a secret murder.
You will read about my theory about her and Peter Lorre when
you read my story page by page. For now, let me say, I loved
how Myrna could stare a man down before sucking him up and
spitting him out. She didn't even have to fuck them. In those
days America believed everyone slept in twin beds.
I loved Myrna more than a sister. I hear she is very sick.
I have modeled my life these last years after her, because
she always appeared in control.
Sean Farragher, the author of TxM6, who I adore, has made me
the star of a book about my own life. He is my ghost writer.
I had better love him. I have to pay him fifty percent of the
take. He says I will get more recognition by name than he
will. He says "he looks forward to how my face and figure will
light up the sign over the Hollywood Hills." He is of course
full of shit.
Just like Myrna Loy, he says, I have become the dark comedian.
Men watch, want me but can never know or have me and women
hate my ass imagining that I want their simple, uncomplicated men.
I actually do. I long for that tranquility. After all, everyone
pretends I am Myrna who made the Thin Man real. They do it to
humor my delusions. They are wrong. I am Myrna. Make no mistake.
What shit that writer puts in my mouth. Men are like that.
Ignorant of what is more than true. I tell him that all the
time. Just tell the story as I reveal it. No need to
embellish. I have many questions to illustrate, but the one I
most need to understand: why do people fuck each other up?
Brains don't matter. Why should they. We screw things up by
thinking too much? Why do we believe being mean makes us tough.
Henry, my lover, has been gentle. Wouldn't have any other man.
Henry has his masks. I wear mine. We pretend and the story is
unfucken believable, but it is true.
For ten months everyone believed I was dead even Henry did.
Reading this shit will fuck up Henry's head but I need to
push it all outside. I ain't faking it. Sure I'm a college
girl and can write sweet and not be vulgar, but this is the
way I fucken feel. Everyone is a shit. All of them even my
so called best friends, Angela and Aaron took their piece
of me fucking Henry up, helping him get past my death, when
I was alive pretending to be dead so I could fuck to stay
alive. If I hadn't loved that fucker he would have slit
my throat. I had watched him do it on super eight.
I could not hide from Abel. Once I tell my story it's
over. I am done with it. No more. If anyone asks anything,
I will hand them this silly small book that they pay me
several hundred thousand, and I will watch them laugh
when I flip them the bird. Fucken yes I hate them all.
Abel may be right about the fuckers outside. They are death.
Do you know I am in jail for killing Lilith. Right now as I write
this by long hand in a stenographic notebook, I am in fucken jail
convicted of manslaughter in her death, sentenced three to five.
My lawyer says Governor Fowler is planning my parole when it
is politically expedient, as my lawyer put it.
I was not convicted by my peers but by some the good citizens.
Right now to get off I have to let that pig matron suck my cunt.
She just finished with me. Can you feel her mouth? It still stings.
What do I fucken complain. I am just pen and typing paper of a
dime novel. I am more. I am real. I am inside Sean's skin
as he records my story. I love him but he can never touch me.
I asked Sean once: did you create this soap opera to imagine
what it feels like to be a woman murdering a man or did you make
it to feel like a woman?
He denied it, but of course he did, wanted to know the inside of a
woman's skin, smirking but refusing to answer.
What else would you fucken expect? Sean walked away from the
jail interview room, said he would be back in a few hours.
I knew he was pissed but I knew he would return smiling and I
fucken laughed my ass off pulling my long hair up atop my head,
shaking my head and ass almost beside myself.
I know he wished I were real so he could actually fuck my ass.
His girlfriend believes he is in love with Laurie. He is. Too fucken
bad honey, I am real and he is.
By the way, I am straight most of the time. Sean has this
lesbian fantasy about me, and I suppose I humor him with it,
just to keep the peace or give something up. I tell Sean all
the time what has that do with anything.
No, I am not really bisexual. You're right. Have no fucken
idea what I am saying here. Sexuality is such a sick issue.
Now, which head am I playing with, mine or yours. I am
confused about what they now call "sexual orientation" (makes
me think of those first days starting up in High School and
College) and really, after what happened, as you will read, I
was changed.
Is change possible? You either are or are not, right? What
the fuck am I saying. You want to read about sex, cock sucking,
giving deep throat how I was abused as a little girl, how I
sucked dick when I was 13 and almost bit the freaks dick off
when he tried to stick a wooden stick up my ass.
LOVERS (Before the Abduction)
My lover is and was Henry Whitman. I sometimes call him "Gramps."
He calls me "Little Girl" thinking that will get me off. You
kidding, honey, I say. I've been there, done that.
"No little girl here; my brain is woman. How absurd, as I like
to play, and "that is a howl" as my favorite actress, Myrna
Loy would gasp in her throat, with her sharp jaw and bright
eyes that large than life filled the screen with distilled sex.
She took control of the audience. Presence it's called. Myrna
and Harlow had it. I would love to meet Miss Loy. Heard she lives
on the west side of Manhattan. They say she is very sick and
goes nowhere. Hope she lives long enough for me to tell her
how much I love her.
Yes, I know good words. Know how to blow smoke up asses.
Ain't putting it on. After all, I am 26 and have been a woman
too long. It happened much too early if you must know.
No Little Girl, Henry, I tell him, repeating it, when I am on
top, in control, grinding, doing the real work as some dyke
girl I did for blow when I was 14. She was 15. She tried to
push me around as she ate my cunt. I had to set her straight
told her I hate being on top. You have to do all the work.
You fucken work or I will pretend to come. Amazing. Out of
the mouth of babes. You may be an old man, Henry, but I am,
at six foot, 160 when trim, and not pregnant, no little
girl, "honey." Am I a pregnant girl or woman, Henry? What the
fuck am I now, Henry, as I imagine myself pressing my tits
into his arm, and make him stumble. I love desire.
Better than the big O. Want him to get inside my head.
That is my fake face. I love to talk to myself after
sex. Don't you, darling?
I know how I am. Yes, my red hair shimmers and my mind
captivates. I am a conceited fuck, and yes, I do have a mind,
and am more than a hole to stick your dick, as Henry, to his
credit, preached.
He still asks, why I like to pretend I am not smart." I am
wrong, I tell him. "I am myself. Take it or fuck it."
Yes, I know dear mother, Henry is old enough to be my father.
I am capable of being his mother. Not that I would want that.
You say that mom, because you want to fuck him yourself.
Think I don't know that shit.
"Henry baby, didn't you take a chance letting me fuck you," I
asked him that last night we were together before the they
fucken abducted me, robbed me from life.
When I was 19, seven years ago, did you think having sex with me
would make all the teaching, support services, and intelligence
we shared, sorted, dirty, and that truth you preached, faked,
almost a lie.
Don't bullshit me Henry. It's what you always wanted. Me to
fuck you, so you could lay blame out there away from yourself
just like most of this fucked up world.
So what, I say. We are all fucked up and sad at times, and I
am no different. I know there is more to me, Henry. Just
listen for once.
MYSELF AND HENRY
Henry was 49 and I was 26 in April 1992 when the terror
started. Henry, dear, got some news for you: "I am pregnant
with your kid. I gave birth to her as you know now on June
16 1992. Born on Blooms day. I named her Molly."
Henry had thought some other guy I fucked is the father. I lied
about my LMP. I have, all the wise cracks considered, loved
him from the first day we actually physically touched when
I was 14 in his advanced poetry workshop. When I was in the
eighth grade, we had two live poets visit our glass. One was
this simple babe, who tried to be our buddy and told us
everything was a poem. Another was Henry. He was hard ass,
but showed us that poems were spontaneous if you felt them
and then show us how he felt them. I fell in love. I would
have fucked him then had he some balls, and my mom would
have looked for seconds. I know he was married then.
I heard how his first wife was murdered by some freaks she
brought home from a fucken Laundromat.
I read in the paper they though he did it, until he proved
he was in Trenton at the time the cops said the woman and
her children were murdered. Now, it is happened to Henry
again, except I wasn't murdered not that the cops knew that,
but fortunately for Henry he was in Boston for three days,
and came back two days after I was missing. He thought I was
pissed at him for going to see his daughter Michelle and her kid.
Cops knew he was the wise ass taxi driver union President who
fought with them in court when they tried to indirectly shut
the union down. Now, they had him. Must have hired some
muscle to murder, cops claimed.
Later, you will read how Henry and I met. You will have to wait
to the next installment.
I was just about to tell Henry I was knocked up when it all got
all screwed up with Michelle and her kid. I wanted to tell
him the truth, but I was angry that he was going up there
after what she had done to him.
APRIL 10, 1992
The freaks Lilith, 39, and Abel, 33, half brother and sister,
kidnapped and beat and rape my ass. For eleven months they
kept me locked up.
FIRST TWO WEEKS
For the first two weeks, they didn't let me shower. I kept
track of time by marking the dust on the window when the sun
came up over the river. In the morning it had a warm glow, and at
night was sullen.
Every morning with the beauty of the sunrise, my skin crawled
with semen and the nasty curds from Lilith's cunt. She was
pregnant and by her fucked up half brother at that. Lilith
always had to say he is my half fucken brother like that made
it OK.
I was afraid to ask what happened to the father. I didn't
want to know anything. I figured the more I knew the less
I get my ass out of there.
In the beginning, Lilith raped me with her brother's cock or
used a huge black dildo. Other times Abel used his cock or
made Lilith do me while he watched. Many times they didn't
touch me and expected me to jerk off while they watched. I
was hungry. I did it. I pretended at first to like it, and
then I did. I wanted them to grab at my tits and cunt. Why
did I say privates and not cunt. No, "cunt" is my word. It
seemed strange, but Lilith always used the word pussy and
dick to describe her private parts and Abel's. He used the
word "Twat" and "Wang", I remember now they sometimes like to
curse at each other while they fucked. Sometimes they made
me sleep between them and never let me alone. I remember
how I felt when they sprayed me with cold water and called it
a shower. Where did they get the fucken fire hose, shit, it
blasted me against the basement wall. Cleaning up the shit
they said. I guess I am shit, I remembered. I hate not having
a shower. I hate being fucked up and dirty. All I ate was
appeared in the room after I woke up. It all tasted of sand
and pee. The fuck peed in my mouth. He really did it. Shit.
When I turned, stopped pretending they fed me fresh orange
juice, apples, pears, melons and delicious steaks.
Once Abel hinted they may be human steaks and I wouldn't eat
the mean unless I saw the food market wrapper and it tasted
like beef.
How fucked up. What was worse, my mouth tasted of Lilith's
fucken cigarettes. I hadn't had a cig in three years. Now, I
wanted one. I hate drugs I would scream at her to stop.
Able laughed at the absurdity. It was the first time I laughed
with him. He said he was trying for years to get her to quit.
Not even being pregnant was much use, he said. She takes all
the vitamins. She is a fucken drugstore, but smoke, he said
Every day after that brief intimacy they demanded more and more.
Make it this or that. It was never right. It was like we were
writing a great book together. "Turn us into cocks and cunts
for your mouth," Lilith screamed.
Remember have it video taped, Lilith said finally, pushing me
down on the bed and showing me hers and making me lick it while
she brutalized my nipples.
"We'll published the study someday," Abel said, rising out of
the corner of a TV movie (I do have my hopes).
Abel wants big time with Nicole somebody and James somebody
playing us in a European style masterpiece theater original.
He has delusions of the African Queen or War and Peace. I
think you mean, piece. He actually laughed again.
Abel then admitted, "I would be happy with the soaps. I know
as a soap it would have to be on HBX."
Abel put on airs. Sounding almost human, he said, "It will be
a proper study of your caste."
We have hit 24 others," he said. "We have it all down. Miles
of footage."
"When Lilith forced me to watch the movies and video tapes, my
eyes scotch taped open, my hands bound with red silk, I thought
of the images as fake, dolls, animated cartoons. I even tried
to laugh, and then I was turned on by the sex. Couldn't believe
it, but when Abel fucked the women with that thick dick I
needed to think it was sexual, a role game. That was the
only way I could keep myself from throwing my shit up. I know
it would have to be on HBX soaps. No way prime time, prime
network."
"Sometimes the cowards used leather. Never handcuffs. I used
to play with the ones Henry used to keep my hands back when
he wanted to take me hard. True I like rough sex at times.
Henry had a pair in his dresser the last night I fucked him.
"I remember asking him when he would use them again."
At the end, or was it the beginning, Abel said, "you want to
live. Show me I can trust you. Do a great job on your diary,
and if we feel it deserves forgiveness for being such a slut,
we will consider letting you live.
I replied. Right. "Arbeite mach frei."
Abel was surprised and said no one really understood Hitler,
and let it at that. I laughed.
For about a month, Abel and Lilith left me alone. If they
wanted me to write, why didn't they leave pencil or paper or
a typewriter.
Later Lilith made me watch selected parts of the my nightmare
followed by commercials they actually had made as "coming
attractions."
Showed me headlines of the Daily Crap and Bergen Sentinel
stapled to the wall of a lovely room complete with all the
luxury you would never expect from a little girl's room built
inside a prison.
FORCED DREAM JOURNALS
After several cycles of sleep and torture, a computer
appeared ( I had knew how to use it. Never even heard of one.
It had a green screen, and did only word processing. I was
ordered to type and write and I did.
What? I asked after writing fifteen pages of how I was going
to fuck them up.
You figure it out Lilith shouted, pinching my neck. The next
day, if you can call it that, questionnaires appeared. Forms
followed. Even gave me a W4 form for taxes said they were
paying me for my work and didn't want to get in trouble with
wage and hours or the IRS. They had all my facts: copies of
birth certificates, report cards, juvenile disposition
studies, arrest records, even an interview with some
undercover nark schmuck who said I blew him in a taxi on the
George Washington Bridge one night.
I probably did. He said I practically bit his cock off. He
searched for me for weeks, he said. "I wanted her to do it
again. I would have paid her anything," he said in the
report. Weird story. Apparently he was arrested himself for
dealing drugs with the mob, and he thought giving it up on
some school girl might get him some sympathy. Why, I would
have asked myself.
DATABASE ANALYSIS
I became facts and figures for their scum bag and dear heart.
Yes, I was attracted to Abel. Why? Something about him
reminded me of my father? Or was it Henry? No, Henry was
never cruel. My step fathers were borderline. I just had
learned the real name of my father, Malachi, when all this
shit happened.
Abel and Lilith wanted it all. Every stat as they say online:
weight, my exact height, and my measurements. He wanted to
know how often I menstruated. When did I first come? With
who? How intense? First experience with an adult? First with
a woman? All the changes and details of my lies and truth
recorded. Everything made wet and holy, I thought, like holy
water I drank once in a church thinking it would purify me
after my father fondled my tits.
They got it all: detailed sexual and medical history. Only some
faked. Lilith (but not Abel) seemed to love endless bureaucracy.
She made me fill them out several times claiming I didn't do
it right, or I was too sloppy or she wanted to watch me write
while she made herself come or had Abel do her.
Sometimes he did her when they were formally dressed. That seemed
odd at first, but figured later. Other times they didn't wash for
a few days, and she did it smelling of stale cigs and sex, and he
smelled of too much wine.
One day after writing forever, Lilith brought me some hand
printed stories written by 18th century white and black slave
traders. She ordered me to follow her style. I really tried
to get it right. I wanted to show her I was a fucken genius.
Later learned that Lilith made the journals up with Abel's
help with the research. Slowly, I changed more. I became my
dead sister Ariel. The world caved in.
About the third week after the word-meat processor showed up,
I started to love using it, writing my own story, something I
would keep.
When they saw my pleasure they took the computer away. They
gave me pencil and paper. Told me to draw. I wrote. Told me
to write, I drew. I pissed on the floor. I was left dirty. I
was tied up. I was shocked with electrical current. I was
made numb. The more I resisted, the more I became my dead
sister Ariel fucking Billy.
Billy was fucking my mother and myself. I was eleven.
Ariel was alive. I had not killed her. She watched while I
made love to Abel and Lilith. I loved them. I wrote what
they asked.
BIRTH OF MOLLY
It was June, I felt like my body was ready to give birth.
This was my second child. Had one by Billy that my mother
took over.
As I felt the sun harder on my face in the morning, I knew
the heat, and my belly grew tight with Henry's child. I gave
birth. For two months both of them raped and beat me.
When my daughter, who I called Molly was born, on June 16th,
they let her go. I know she was safe because I saw pictures
of her in the arms of a lady cop. She wore the ribbon I put
around her wrist, and I knew it was her. I never understood
why they let her go. In another news scene they showed
the child safe, my drawing and her father's name clearly
visible as Henry picked her up. I missed her. Henry looked
so happy. I forgot him.
Right after the birth, Abel fucked me until I was infected.
Something happened about that time. I expected to die when
they tired of the show. They were talking about some other
woman Abel had met at the municipal building in Edgewater.
He told Lilith the bitch flirted. She was fat as a cow and
she suggested we go to a motel that her husband was a drunken
shit and she had thrown him out.
I was so sick I couldn't stand. Then the fuckers told me,
simply, tell me everything about your life. Lie if you can't
remember. Don't worry. We will make you. Memory can be forced
fed. "Get with it Bitch," Lilith said. Abel shot me full of
drugs to kill the infection and I got better.
Abel nursed my
breasts. Lilith was pregnant with her brother's child. We
made love. I murdered her. Abel loved me. He called himself
Antonio. I called myself Sheila. My father rescued me. Did I
die? What is death? Is there forgiveness? I read the history
of my abduction. I was Sheila. Laurie was dead. Henry called
me Sheila. I made him. Molly called me Aunt Sheila. Henry
showed me what he wrote when I was kept a slave. I survived.
Henry loves me. I hate Laurie. She murdered me when I was
seven. I hate Henry. I love Laurie. Why is the world so
fucked up. Is there redemption? Is there love? Do you know?
Please tell me.
I wanted to smash the fucken thing. I dreamed of it. I hated
it. I hate that word 'putter. Made me feel like a moron. And
all the time I wrote on it I felt like a moron and not the
college girl they say I am.
At first writing for them, I spelled nothing, wrote nonsense.
Yes, when they realized I was keeping score as they put it,
they washed the windows. Abel revealed they watched me
constantly on a one way mirror and by remote TV. He told me
to behave. He wasn't mocking my protests. He seemed sad,
different. He helped me by telling that I was constantly
watched, or perhaps not. First I figured he was being a
better guy (how can you say that about a man who raped you)
and then I realized he told me so I would never feel fucken
alone and I hated him more. I knew I had to do something or I
would never get the fuck out of there. Suddenly, without
warning I got it. Instead of being a shit, be nice. Fuck him
and suck him. He will make you do it anyway, might as well
get off on it, and butter his ass. Perhaps something will
happen that may give me an edge to get the fuck out of that
zoo.
Just as I decided to be nice. Conditions got worse. Almost
like they could read my mind.
For three days I got no food. I had nightmares on the fourth
day. No food and only putrid water in a large two gallon drum
that Lilith had left behind. I scratched numbers in the wall
to keep track of time. Then Lilith on the fifth day burst
into the room and tied me. My belly was dried up. My cunt was
dried up. I hated her, and wished her fucken dead when she
took the gag off before cutting my breasts with a razor. I
thought this is it.
After cutting six stripes in my breasts, Lilith said she
would cut my clit off if I didn't do what they said.
Abel said nothing, but later brought in some iodine to treat
the cuts.
The next day Lilith banged into my cell, and took my chains
and bound me to the wall. Opening a case, she took out two
knives. Made me look at them, rubbed them on my cunt, and
said she would first cut my clit off and then my arms, legs
and head. She said she would tie my eyes open. Able would
bring the chains, and I would die while I watched.
Nothing happened. Abel did not appear. Pissed she left. I
figured Abel had decided not to kill me. I also learned later
that Lilith enjoyed murdering women and girls when Able
watched.
The next day Abel untied my hands, and said Lilith will not
hurt you. How did he know I asked. I told her if she hurt
you, I would kill her.
THE MURDER OF LILITH
As Lilith got fatter, ready to drop her load, she became
irritable, bossy, and Abel's temper grew short with her.
After one argument, I saw her smack him across the face, and
he almost hit her back, stopping himself, and then came and
cried in my arms, saying he didn't know what had come over
him. He couldn't hurt anyone now. All those people I killed,
and suddenly the sociopath had a conscience.
How, I first thought, and then Christ Tina came to me in a
dream, seeing my plight, and by now, early October I was
pregnant again with Abel's kid, and she could feel my
confusion, and I heard her say, I gave him a conscience. He
cannot kill without suffering guilt. It is over, she said.
He cannot rape without feeling himself being raped, I repeated
what she had said. He actually loves you, Christ Tina had said.
I believed her. I saw the evidence. Never have actually seen
Christ Tina, but I know she is there, talking to me about
everything. Showing me the way out of all the shit.
That is the day I fell in love with Abel and with him,
planned the murder of Lilith.
When we fucked I loved his thick cock. When he ate my cunt, I
bucked into his mouth coming many times. He made Lilith
watch. She glared.
Threatening, but unable, as her pregnancy advanced she became
sick, and when the baby was born, she walked away from it. I
did for that infant what I did for my child.
When Abel's boy was set free, Abel hugged my shoulders and
cried. That night I murdered Lilith while her brother held
her.
AFTER THAT I LOVED ABEL MORE
I don't know the exact moment when hatred became love. The
shrinks try to force it from me so they can understand what
they called a form of brain washing.
I told them that the first weakness I noticed was Abel's
sudden tenderness. He startled me with it. He simply
changed. The shrinks refused to believe it.
I told the fucking quacks that he always tried to sell me on
being his friend. Think I would consciously ever want a man
who had raped me I told Dr Freud and Company as I called
them. I told them he suddenly became a different person.
They insisted that was impossible. I knew it was true, and if
I told them why I knew it was true they would have locked me
up longer in some loony bin after the Governor promised to
soon parole my ass.
If I had told them that the Spirit Christ Tina had whispered
in my ear that she had given Abel a conscience no one would
have believed me. So I lied and pretended it was some
psychological transformation. It was that too, but that was
the smaller part of the metamorphosis of the man called Abel.
So I wasn't pretending when I fucked Abel for love. I did it
because something I could not explain had so thoroughly
fucked me over that I practically insisted he fuck with me. I
know that seems odd, but I remember saying "fuck with me,"
and not "fuck me," and at the time I noted the distinction.
WHY DO I CONFESS ALL THIS NOW?
After all I was the captive. I couldn't leave by my own will.
I know severe trauma changes everything. Henry and I had
talked about that. He called it PTSD. Said all the guys who
were in combat for almost a year suffered from it even if
they refused to admit they did. Henry said it works in
stages.
I recognized it immediately. I was depressed, my hands tied
together, constantly held by a chain that was locked to a
ring in a block of cement ten feet long and three feet high.
What could I do. I got hungry.
Sleep seemed perfect. I got tired of hearing all their shit
drone on over and over. He was a handsome man, and he had a
gentle side to him. No, hear me out. He did.
When I was bored, and Lilith was out, we talked about all
kinds of shit: his mother, his war hero father. How he loved
him and wanted him to be found. He was MIA in Nam, and there
had been reports he was alive, Abel said. His name was Jimmy
Caine. No, not Corvino.
That was some faggot my mother married to be respectable
until the fucker was killed in the village a couple of years
ago by some Catholic lunatic who he had fucked and afterwards
took a meat cleaver to him.
That is true, Abel said. We talked for hours, and he would
hold my hand, wash my face. He was so human when his sister
was out.
When she was there, I was raped, forced to suck her cunt and
make her come, she said or no food. I sucked many a cunt in
my day for fun so it was no big deal. I did her, and her
brother held my body. He made me come when I tried not to
respond.
I know it was all fucked up. How the fuck would I ever get
out of there, I knew it was impossible. They never took the
handcuffs off until I started missing Abel, and responded to
him as a woman does, and no I wasn't faking it, I found him
interesting, intelligent, and what else could I do. I sucked
dick for crack and I fucked old fucken men for horse. I was
not happy virgin.
Sure I was a college girl no, and not on the game as the
Brits like to say. All that is true. I know you understand,
that when Abel came to my bed, unlocked my cuffs (I had no
where to run) and carried me to his bed when his sister got
drunk or too high, I made love to him like my life depended
on it. I came sure I did, He was handsome, well built, hung,
and had all the charm of a European hustler [which is usually
considerable]. Gigolo might be a better term to describe him
except they seemed to have an unending supply of cash.
After that night, falling in love with murder, I felt Abel's
hard cock in my mouth, ass, and cunt, I felt my name change.
I had been fucking since I was seven or eight, sucking cock
earlier. Billy once put a dildo in my cunt when I was five.
Mamma had the super eight of it for years, and they would
laugh at it, until Billy was arrested, and so they burned it.
I was an adult then, and I saw the empty film box, knew
instantly what it was, and Mother was fucken crying. It was
stupid, but I held her.
After that first night I gave myself to Abel, and renounced
Henry.
After that first time he came in my mouth, I felt my skin
become darker, my insides softer.
Abel got me hair dye and I bleached my natural auburn hair
blond, and he loved it, said I look like my mother, like Jean
Harlow and even Monroe.
I told him I was too tall and had no tits, but I like the
allusion. It was great for a few weeks, but then Lilith
wanted to snuff me, I could hear them talking. You like her
too much, she is a slut like all the rest I heard Lilith say,
and Able put her off. He became my hero in a bizarre way. I
wanted sex with him. I felt as long as I could fuck him to
death I may get out of there with him, somewhere, see the
light of day, and he was handsome and great in bed, and a
fucken Dr. no less, and my mother always said a rich doctor
is a good catch. It was hilarious. I know I sound sick. I
know if Henry heard me, he would be pissed -- not that I
fucked him, but that I fell in love with the shit. Yes, I
know he was a shit. Haven't any of you bitches out there
fallen in love with a handsome fucked up man. My mother did.
Billy was certainly fucked up. He fed her drugs and booze and
fucked all her kids starting before we could remember being
touched. My own fucken mother, my still alive and free mother
used to help him try to make us come when we were eight or
nine. It was really shit."
I started life with a father who fucked me and a mother who
rented me out to her boyfriends. I ended my life as Laurie
with a man who could only get it up really with his sister.
She put it inside me. When I called my self Lilith and then
Ariel, Abel had no trouble getting it up.
I am about to have Abel (my Antonio's) child. I will call her
Christ, some say I should call her Christina. She is Christ.
Read my story. I need you to change it. Can you please?
Maybe, I like the pain. Maybe I would have liked death
better. Is there fucken redemption, mother fuckers?
Now you fucken listen, I loved Abel because he changed.
Christ Tina save him. There is redemption for everyone. I
ain't no Christian freak, but there is a place where all of
us can start again. It begins when we say we are different.
It is the simple refusal to be violent. It is that simple.
More American Adventures in erotica and other works by Sean Farragher:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Sean_Farragher/
Sean Farragher
Poetry Site: http://www.farragher.com
TxM6 Sites:
http://www.taximurders.com
http://www.taximurders.com/enfer
http://www.taximurders.com/lcfallon
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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