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Message-ID: <37684asstr$1028545802@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Sean Farragher" <sfarragher@nj.rr.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Meet Laurie Fallon  (Taxi Murders TxM6)   Revised
Date: Mon,  5 Aug 2002 07:10:03 -0400
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 From Taxi Murders Sextet (repost)
1059X Laurie Intro
(c) 2002 Sean Farragher

This Story:
http://seanfarragher.com/txm6/victims/LaurieFallon/1059XLaurieIntro.htm

The Site:
http://seanfarragher.com/txm6



MEET LAURIE FALLON

Some day I will meet you on the Internet in some chat room or your secret
place. Maybe we don't meet online. I hate malls and bars, but sometimes I
walk on the boardwalks at the Jersey shore. I love the one in Asbury Park.
It is old and odd and broken. I feel comfortable with peeling paint,
splinters and old tired drunks. When I was a stripper, I loved to lap dance
with the sad ones. When they responded, I got off on it. Yes, I know I am
odd.

Let me set the scene. This didn't happen. Everything becomes virtual if you
fiddle with the story. Isn't memory a virtual movie of our lives?

It was November something. Asbury Park is deserted in the fall. We walked
without looking, half assed, and you smiled or I did. You spoke first, and I
stopped to listen and then kept on walking. You followed. I stopped by the
rail overlooking the ocean and you talked. I said nothing, but I didn't move
away. Casually, you put your arm around my shoulder. I put two fingers in
the back pocket of your jeans.

Don't worry I won't tell your wife that you took advantage of 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 told me that story just
before we had sex in the moldy motel room. I lied and said that I remembered
you. How could I? I wasn't born in 1957. That Roller Rink at Midland Avenue
and Rt. #17 for fifty years was no longer there when I was a teenager. I
loved your story, and I added to it. Yes, I was there, but it wasn't me. It
was the place where your mom and mine had sex with the men who drank at the
Rink's bar. You told me that story. I used it later to make you think I was
that little girl you wanted. I know you were only 17. So what?



Friday, April 10, 1992

 From April 1992 to late in 1994 (until the end of the trial), you read about
me in the New York Tabloids. Kidnapped and held captive for eleven months by
Abel and Lilith, Laurie, escaped by murdering her captors. Charged with
second-degree manslaughter, Laurie Fallon served ten months in State Prison.
I am that woman.

Why am I nervous? I am not sure why publishing my story on the Internet
would be upsetting. I actually love people wanting to look at me.

As I wrote my name at the top of the story, I underlined it and I spoke my
name aloud many times. Finally, I screamed it. I love my complete name.

In 1992, my word processor monitor was sick green and it had no fancy fonts,
caps, and italics. Watching the letters pour over the screen seemed like a
movie marquee.

Some call me the "star struck murderer." They claim I was guilty of the same
crimes that were committed against me. There is no defense for murder when
the murderer enjoys the crime. That is what the prosecutor Ms. Nifty, not
her real name, said. Citing the Patty Hearst case and war crime tribunals
like she was before the Supreme Court.

My only defense: I acted in self-defense. My mistake: I told the world
through the press that killing Lilith gave me pleasure. Why lie? After all
according to the media, I am another babe like Myrna Loy made famous by
murder.

When you read my story page by page, you will read about Myrna and Peter
Lorre. I loved how Myrna could stare a man down before spitting him out. She
didn't even have to sleep with them.

I loved Myrna like my sister. I don't mean a politically correct sister. I
hear she is very sick. I have modeled my life after her. She always appeared
in control.

Like Myrna, I became the dark tragic comedian. Men want me but can never
have me. Most but not all women hate my ass. They believe I want to seduce
their simple, uncomplicated men. I do. I long for that tranquility.

Everyone pretends. I am Myrna Loy. I am Chili Bouchier. I made the Thin Man
real and like Chili refused to sell out to Hollywood.

I have one question: Why do people screw each other up? Brains don't matter.
Why should they? Do we think too much? How does being mean prove we are
brave, tough and a winner. Is winning the only score we have to settle?

Henry Whitman, my old man lover, has been gentle. Wouldn't have any other
man. Henry has his masks. I wear mine. We pretend, but the story is true.

While I was held captive, Henry never believed I was dead. Reading this
journal will upset Henry. I cannot fake it.

Sure I'm a college girl and can write a proper story.

Everyone tells lies makes it up as they go along. Even my best friends
Angela and Aaron tried to get Henry to accept my death. I pretended to love
Abel. I loved Abel. I did both at various times. If I hadn't accepted
Antonio, the name I called him, Lilith would have gutted me. Abel would have
cut me up into small pieces and then reassembled me as a human sculpture. He
would have filmed it. Eventually he would have forced another victim, like
he did me at first, to watch it. He and Lilith wanted us to know we had no
chance. I died inside to live. If I hadn't really loved Abel he would have
known. Abel was a freak. He could read minds. I could not hide from Abel.
Abel may be right about life outside his world. We are death.

Now, I am in jail for killing Lilith. As I write this by long hand in a
stenographic notebook, I have been convicted of manslaughter in second
degree. The Judge, saying he had no choice, sentenced me to three to five.
My lawyer says my conviction will be overturned, but the Judge refused to
release me on bail pending appeal. She also says if the conviction is upheld
I could be out on parole in one year. She also says that Governor Fowler
believes I should be pardoned, but he's running for the US Senate.

I was not convicted by my peers but by the good citizens of Bergen County,
New Jersey. What do I complain? I'm pen and pen writing a dime novel. I am
not real.

I asked Henry: you tell me you want to imagine being a woman?

Yes, to answer your earlier question.  I am straight. Henry has this lesbian
fantasy. No, I am not really bisexual.

You're right. I have no idea what I am saying. 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."

Is change possible? You either are or are not? What am I saying?

You want to read about sex, giving head and how I was abused as a little
girl. I know suffering turns you on. Yes, I had sex with Billy Reese when I
was 13, but I bit his cock when he pushed a dildo up my ass.



Lovers

Henry is my lover. I sometimes call him "Gramps." He calls me "Little Girl."

"No little girl here I tell him. I am twenty-six. How absurd! Yes, I like
role-play, and "that is a howl" as Myrna said in one of her films. Her sharp
jaw and bright eyes filled the movie screen. She took control. Presence it's
called.

No Little Girl, Henry, I whisper, repeating it, when I am on top, in
control, having sex, doing the real work. Amazing. Henry I am fully woman,
but at six foot, 160 when trim, and not pregnant, not a little girl.

I know how I am. My red hair shimmers and my mind captivates. I do have a
mind, and am more than a receptacle. Henry asks why I like to pretend I am
not smart.

Henry is old enough to be my father. I am capable of being his mother. Not
that I would want that.

"Henry baby, didn't you take a chance letting me fuck you," I asked him that
last night we were together before 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 faked? I didn't, but you did. I knew that and hated that you
didn't understand that I wanted it as much as you did. I made your fantasy
come true. I seduced you, but you could not accept it.




Henry Whitman

In April 1992, when the terror started. Henry, dear, listen, got news for
you: "I gave birth to our daughter, Molly, on June 16, 1992.

Henry believed because I lied about my last period that some other guy was
the father. I have loved Henry 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 tough, 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 had sex with him then. I was not a virgin. My
Mom, if Henry brought some dope or a bottle would have done him too. I
realize he never looked at me then. He was married and in love. I hated his
wife, but I never met her. Tragedy follows Henry. Some freaks she had
brought home from a Laundromat murdered his wife. The cops thought he was
responsible. When he proved that he was in Trenton at the time of the crime,
the police let him go.

It has happened again, Henry. This time I would escape and I was not
officially your wife. Fortunately for Henry, when the cops questioned him
again, he was in Boston for three days, and came back two days after I was
kidnapped. Henry thought I was angry with him for going to see his daughter
Michelle and her kid. Cops saw him as the wise ass taxi driver union
President who fought the taxi company, owned by the Mayor. Now, the cops
thought they had had him. Must have hired some muscle to murder the girl.

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 Henry the truth, but I was
angry that he was going up there after what she had done.



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 locked me up.

First Two Weeks of Captivity

For the first two weeks, they didn't let me shower. I kept track of time by
marking lines in the dust on the window when the sun came up over the Hudson
River. In the morning the river had a warm glow, but at night under the
moon, it was sullen.

Every morning with the beauty of the sunrise, my skin crawled with semen and
the nasty curds from Lilith' sex. She was pregnant by her half brother. 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 my chance for escape.

In the beginning, Lilith raped me with a black dildo. She watched Abel enter
my ass and sex. They both watched each other.

Several times they didn't touch me while I made myself come. I was hungry
for food, water and after awhile, attention. At first I pretended. That was
easy. I had been a stripper and a street hustler.

I wanted them to grab at my privates and make me feel like slime. Why did I
say privates and not cunt?

No, "cunt" is my word. Lilith always used the word pussy and dick. Abel used
the word "Twat" and "Wang".

They loved to curse each other and me while they had sex or raped me.  Many
nights, chained to a ring, I slept between them. They never let me alone.
Once, when I really smelled foul, they hosed me with cold water. I wondered
where they got the fire hose. They blasted me, and I was pinned to the
basement wall.

They called it "Cleaning up the shit." Before I met Henry I would have
agreed. At least it cleaned me up. I hate not having a shower.

At first they starved me. Then they fed me too much. If I didn't eat what
was put out there, they didn't feed me for two days. Everything tasted of
sand and pee. Able urinated in my mouth.

When I turned, stopped pretending to love him and actually love him, as my
mind directed, he fed me fresh orange juice, apples, pears, melons and
delicious steaks.

Once Abel hinted they may be human steaks but I ate it anyway. I knew he was
lying. I saw the food market wrapper in the garbage, and it tasted.

I hated being with Lilith. She was beautiful, sexy, and pregnant. Shit, she
could have worked the Gables. She had beautiful breasts, but her mouth
tasted of cigarettes. I hadn't had a smoke in three years except for weed.
Now, I wanted one.

Able laughed at the absurdity of not smoking cigarettes but smoking weed. It
was the first time I laughed with him. He said he was trying for years to
get Lilith to quit. She hasn't stopped now that she is pregnant.

Every day the pair demanded my attention. Make it this or that, but I was
never right. "Turn us into cocks and cunts for your mouth," Lilith screamed
when she watched me give Abel head. When he came and I swallowed, she kissed
me. I hated her lips.

Remember have it video taped, Lilith said finally, pushing me down on the
bed while she brutalized my nipples.

"We'll published the study someday," Abel said, while he watched a corny TV
movie. They made me watch it too. I hate silly sitcoms.

Abel wants to direct Nicole Somebody and James Anyman. He wants to make a
movie about our crimes as he called them. .

We will become his War and Peace.

"I think you mean, piece," spelling the word out.

He laughed again. Abel admitted, "I would not be happy making our story into
a soap opera."

Abel put on airs and sounding almost human. "It will be a proper study of
your caste."

We have murdered many others," he said. "We have it on tape Miles of it."

"At first Lilith and Tony (what I started to call him) forced me to watch
the movies and video tapes with my eyes scotch taped open, and my hands
bound with red silk. I thought the images were faked. The victims seemed
like dolls, and the story an animated cartoon. I tried to force a laugh, and
when I was turned on by the sex, I couldn't believe I got wet.

When Abel fucked the women with that thick dick my mind made my body think
sexual. That way I didn't throw up.

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
started to like rough sex. Why lie. I always liked it. Henry had a pair of
handcuffs 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 you deserve
forgiveness, I will let you live no matter what Lilith says.

I replied. Right. "Arbeite mach frei. "You always do what Lilith says." I
started to say you are full of it Tony, and I stopped.

Abel responded. "No one understood Hitler." I laughed and then I believed
that I could escape. If Tony understands I am human, and care for him, why
would he murder that illusion?

After my baby Molly was born, and Lilith set her free, they both 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, they put a word processor in my
room. I knew of them but never had used one. It had a green screen. I was
directed to write in it, and I did.

What? I asked after writing fifteen pages of how I was going to screw 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.
I probably did. Best blowjob I ever got, he said. After dropping me off, he
searched for me for weeks. When he found me in jail, he had me released. "I
want you bad he said. Later he was arrested and did time for dealing drugs.
He gave me up and wrote the report.



Database Analysis

I became facts and figures for their scumbags and dear hearts.

Yes, I was attracted to Abel. Why? Something about him reminded me of my
father? Or was it Henry?

No, Henry was not cruel. My stepfathers were. Just before being kidnapped, I
had spent some time with my actual father, Malachi. Then this shit happened.

Abel and Lilith wanted every stat: weight, my exact height, and my
measurements. Abel made me write in detail not only my sexual history, but
had me document my physical development. When did you start growing these,
he said, fondling my breasts? He made me write down my feelings about
menstruation. 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 was made wet and holy, I thought, like holy water I drank once in
a church thinking it would purify me after my stepfather Billy fondled my
sex.

They had it all. Lilith (but not Tony) loved this endless bureaucracy.
Lilith forced me to fill 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
smarter than her.

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. I set the fire by accident, but I killed her. I imagined
Ariel watched while I made love to Abel and Lilith. By then, I loved Tony
and hated Lilith. I was jealous when Tony made love to her and I was forced
to watch or join them. I wrote what they asked. I did what they needed. I
killed Lilith because I believed she would hurt children. I was right. She
did. I saw pictures of the abuse. I murdered Lilith, and I did not have to
do it. The cops said I could have just walked away. Tony didn't tie me up,
or lock me in the room, and I could have escaped. I was sent to prison for
not escaping my tormentors. I loved being tormented.

Birth of Laurie's Daughter, 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. I also had three
abortions.

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 back and asked if he
would be at a local bar later. 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," Abel told Lilith and myself. 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.

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 told
Abel I hated Abel but loved Tony. I told Lilith I hated Laurie and loved my
new name Sheila.

Eventually, 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 Sheila and Ariel. When I was
ten, I hate I loved Laurie. Why is the world so sick?  Is there redemption?
Is there love? Do you know?

Please tell me. I wanted to smash the fucken book and delete the files. 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 better. I hated that I liked
feeling better.

At first, I spelled nothing and wrote nonsense. Yes, when they realized I
was "keeping score" as they called my primitive dust calendar.

Lilith made me wash the windows. Abel told me they monitored my behavior
through 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.

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 out of there. Suddenly, without warning I got it. Instead of being
miserable, I was even-tempered and peaceful. He will make me do it anyway,
might as well get off on it. Something might happen that will give me an
edge when I decided to be nice, things got worse. I started to believe that
Tony 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. I didn't care
if they made me erase them again. 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 only when Able watched. He refused to watch. Lilith
postponed my murder.

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

In her eighth month Lilith became irritable, bossy, and Abel's temper grew
short with her. He asserted control. Power was reversed.

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 watched Lilith murder, and suddenly he had a conscience.

How, I first thought, and then this woman, 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. I gave him the capacity to love, 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, he hugged my shoulders and cried. That night I
murdered Lilith while her brother watched. I am guilty of more than
manslaughter.

Falling in love with my captors

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 quacks that he sold me the line that he was my only friend. Think
I would consciously ever want a man who had raped me I told Dr Freud and
Company as I called them. I then admitted Abel became Tony, a different
person. I loved Tony and not Abel. I could have escaped after Lilith's
murder.

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 Christ Tina had whispered in my ear in a dream
and that she had given Abel a conscience no one would have believed me. They
would have locked me up in a nuthouse. I lied and pretended again it was
some psychological transformation. It was also that, but that was the
smaller part of the metamorphosis.

I wasn't pretending when I had sex with Tony out of love. I did it because
something I could not explain had so thoroughly possessed me that I
practically insisted he have sex with me even when he wasn't interested.
That may seem odd, but I remember saying "fuck with me," and not "fuck me,"
and at the time I noted the distinction.



Why do I confess?

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 their entire 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 myself 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.

I like pain. Maybe I would have liked death better. Is there redemption?

Now you fucken listen, I loved Abel because he changed. Christ Tina save
him. There is redemption for everyone. I'm not a Christian freak, but there
is a place where all of us can start again. It begins when we say we are
different. We will not be violent. It is never simple.





For More Taxi Murders
http://www.seanfarragher.com/txm6

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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