The girl and the pimp.

I could have told the girl a million times that he was a pimp. How did she not see this? How could anyone not see it? The girl bounded in the front door calling his name, “Tommy, you here?” His roommate Bob said he was out so she could wait in his room if she wanted. She threw herself on his huge king size bed. Everything was so fancy there. His dresser. His desk. His house! She was only barely 19. How did he, at 23 have this big house? He had recently put up a 10 foot chain link fence. She had never seen one that tall before. His dog’s name was Roxie. She was a Rottweiler. The girl had always heard they were dangerous but Roxie was very sweet to her. She lay sprawled out on his bed looking around at all of his nice clothes and suits hanging in the closet. The girl loved wearing dresses. They were supposed to go out to a nice restaurant. Tommy finally arrived. He had had a meeting. He took her to the most expensive restaurant in town. The food was very elegant. Elegant meant drizzle. One nicely arranged carrot strip with another strip of vegetable with something drizzled over the top. One bite. The next course was similar. One bite of…something orange. The main meal was steak. It was the size of a quarter. It was the smallest steak ever to appear at a restaurant. But everyone else seemed pleased with their portions. They laughed their boisterous laughs, some, and others their pretentious snickers. These people seemed very important at this restaurant. The girl felt very out of place but she pretended to be important and believed to have pulled off this charade very well. After dinner they went back to his house where she promptly got in her car and drove to a fast food drive in and got a full meal. 

That was the only restaurant Tommy and the girl ever went to. After that he said they had to order in because his business was keeping him too busy. They originally met at one of her college classes. He was some sort of assistant. He was very handsome. He said he was getting his degree but she never saw him at class. As time went on he was always “working” but she had no idea doing what. 

His roommate was engaged but the girl never saw the fiancé. Just many other young girls coming over. There were always young girls there. Much younger than the girl. 

As dating continued the girl was not allowed to just show up anymore. She had to call first. Tommy told her that he had started an escort service providing rich business men with dates for the evening. The girl believed him. How could she believe him? She even thought, “How nice that a lonely man would not have to be embarrassed to go to an event alone and no one would ever know that she was a paid escort!’

One night the girl was having an upsetting night. She was arguing with her parents and wanted to go see Tommy. She got to the house and the front door was unlocked. No one was there. She called from room to room. She knocked on Bob’s room door and he didn’t answer. She cracked open his door to yell incase he was in the bathroom. She really needed to see Tommy. Bob wasn’t there. But she saw the inside of Bob’s room for the first time. She stepped in. She had never in her life seen such a repulsive and jaw dropping sight. There were hundreds if not thousands of used condoms littering the entire room. You could not step into the room more than an inch with out stepping on one. The stench was gagging. What was going on? Why were there…what was this? She went into Tommy’s bathroom to get sick. There were used condoms in there too. The girl stood there. Tommy was cheating on her. Oh my God Tommy was cheating on her. But he had given her gifts. He had pampered her with words and lavished her with compliments, or was it lavished her with gifts and pampered her with compliments. Either way she was pampered and lavished! He loved her. He said he did. This must be a mistake. 

I could have told the girl that this was not a mistake but she would not have believed me. She had convinced herself that Tommy loved her and that Tommy would never lie to her. 

She didn’t even cry because she knew there was an explanation. 

The next day she set up a time to talk and she demanded an explanation for what she had seen. He explained to her that it was all part of the escort service. He told her that for the girls to get the job that they had to have sex with his roommate Bob and prove they would be willing to do anything to get that job. He said Bob must have used his room, too, because he never would have done such a thing. He told her how much he loved her. How she meant the world to him. She believed him. 

Until the police questioned her at the end of the road after she left. She was convinced that escort services were a legitimate business and if the girls wanted to have sex, well then they could do that. Idiot. The girl was an idiot!

That house had been under surveillance for months. The police thought she was a prostitute. All the women were prostitutes she was told. They had video of the girl, through the window, lounging on the bed. They thought she was part of it. No, this couldn’t be. Tommy could not be the “pimp” they said he was. The girl stomped back to that house, barreled in and started rummaging through his desk (the police had suggested this), trying to find proof that these girls were underage and this was a whore house. She thought, there was no way she’d find anything. But she did. These girls were only 16 years old. They had to do “practice dates” and have sex with Tommy and Bob at the same time. Oh the horror. The girl was in love with a pimp. A pimp who was abusing underage girls, trafficking them, selling them. But…he loved the girl. He did. She was sure of it. How could this be true. What was true?! The girl didn’t know how to process any of this. The girl lived in her own little world where love meant fancy restaurants and pink gift bags with love letters attached. 

Bob came into the room and saw her looking through files. He started in on her. Screaming that he was going to kill her. She ran. Bob ordered Roxie, the dog she loved, to attack her and Roxie tried to. Roxie and Bob were barking, screaming, he had a gun, she ran for the fence gate. Her white skirt was caught on the dogs tooth or the gate, but it tore as she got away. She was running but she was numb. She couldn’t feel her feet or her head or her fingers. It wasn’t even the girl running. She was watching herself like in a scary movie where you don’t know, “will the girl get away, or will she not make it.” Bob screamed at the girl never to come back or she would be dead. She didn’t. The girl never told anyone else about the full story. She was always worried Bob would find her and kill her. She was probably correct. 

A few days later Tommy ratted Bob out as some sort of deal to not do jail time. The girl was not told what punishment Tommy got. She did not talk to Tommy again. Bob went to prison. Tommy moved away. Bob spent at least 15 years in prison before getting out and immediately murdering an airline stewardess. Bob certainly was not lying all those years before when he said he would kill the girl. She just didn’t know at that time the capabilities of some men. She knew the capabilities of a few men. But the girl did not know the amount of men who would cross her path that were capable of such atrocities. 

Years later Tommy showed up at the girl’s parent’s home. The girl was there. Her mother commented how handsome Tommy was. He was a boxer now. All ripped and muscular. Such a handsome pimp. The girl was not impressed as the mother was. The girl had had her share of liars. He really believed that he could win the girl back. He believed that his body alone would be impressive enough for her to give another glance. Like a male bird all bowed up showing the girl that he was the biggest of the stock. But everything that was for show didn’t matter to the girl anymore. She had felt fear. She hadn’t forgotten. All of the fluffy bright feathers in the world could not lure her back. 

The television was playing 20/20 in another room one night and the girl heard Tommy and Bob’s name. She ran to the screen. They were being interviewed about the prostitution RINGS, there were two they had run the ENTIRE time the girl had been dating him. “Please, she thought, don’t bring up my name, please don’t bring up my name.” No one did. But the girls mother called very excited about the pimp being on TV as if somehow this was something to be proud of, I mean, the girl dated a pimp who was on TV! Maybe the mother thought this made the girl somehow famous, secretly. The girl did not know. It wasn’t until then that she thought about the girls. Those poor girls! What had the girl’s boyfriend made them do? What did he get money for them doing to others? What had other men done to them against their wills? Those girls had been desperate and were lured in just like she herself had been. But the girl was the girlfriend. These girls, they were just children really. There were files on what they would be willing to have done to them. Those poor girls. This was the first time the girl stopped thinking about herself and realized that she was the least to be harmed. A broken heart does not equate to what was done to those other girls. 

I wish I could have pulled the girl aside before she walked up to him that first time. I wish I could have told her, “walk on past.” She wouldn’t have listened. She was to be blinded by a lethal love. She was very fortunate to have gotten away alive. She was so desperate to be loved that any smooth buttery words and gifts would have tricked her fragile heart. He knew this the moment he saw the girl. All of the bad men do. 

Not so pretty little words: Volume 2 from Dark poetry

After last night’s real word interpretation and explanation of my poetry I thought I would do it again in hopes to shed light on an issue that was one of the hardest events I had to overcome. I didn’t think that my husband would want to marry me after he knew the truth. I told him anyway.  He never judged me. He married me and loved me and all of my secrets. I had to tell him my secrets. I thought that if anyone knew the secrets they would no longer love me or want me. That was true for my family. They discarded me. That was not true for my husband who embraced all of me. Even the parts that I was ashamed of. Because of that I was able to put the shame where it belonged which was never on me. So here is poem number 2 which I originally posted on my blog under the title Dark Poetry, using the words of the deep rage and pain that this event caused, with my real feelings posted in bold:


I can do this.

My good friend presented me with the option of paying me for sex since I needed money to pay bills.
I can pretend.

He thought I was “virginal” and said that he wanted to have sex with me. I thought I could pretend to be willing and pretend to not abhor this idea.

This is a means to an end.

I needed the money to pay my bills. This was just a way to pay the bills and nothing more. 

He offered.

He offered $400. 

It’s my choice right?

I could have said no right? I choose to be a part of this scenario. I chose to let someone have sex with me for the money that I needed. Yes it was my choice and I could do this. It’s never been my choice before. 

I’ll just pretend.

I could pretend this was something that I could do.

Rules made.

The rules were that I could keep my skirt and bra on and that he wear a condom. I just had to act like I was enjoying it. 

They took it from me.

So many men took sex from me without my permission. So many men used me and took away my youth. They just took it without asking. This guy asked. 

I’ll get something back.

This time at least someone asked me. AND I am getting money for it so it is not as if I get nothing out of it. Where usually it was stolen, this time at least I would get money!

But no.

He started touching me  I felt disgust. I wanted to say no and that I changed my mind. I thought somehow this would be like the movie Pretty Woman. That he would caress me and make me feel cared for. I thought this would be something it wasn’t. 

I don’t like this.

I lay there not moving. Every part of this hurt me. I wanted to scream, “HELP” but I was paralyzed. I couldn’t even speak or move. I thought I could do it but all of a sudden it hurts.

I’m feeling betrayed.

I started thinking…he was my friend. Why was he doing this to me? Why couldn’t he have just given me the money I needed if he was really my friend. 

By his game.

This was just a game to him. I was just a pawn in his game. I was just a girl he could befriend just to get sex from. He was not my friend. He was evil. 

He’s like the others.

He is just like the rapists and the molesters! He is just like them. I thought he was different. I thought that because I agreed to the plan that it made it my choice and it made him some guy that just didn’t mind giving money for sex. But the reason he wanted to have sex with me was I was “virginal”. He was a predator. Paying for sex from a friend which was someohow acceptable in his sick world. He was just like all the other men who took something from me. Why couldn’t he have just given me the money I needed. Why did he have to have sex for it? He was my friend. Why did he have to be like the others?

I’ve made a mistake.

I  thought that I could do this. I thought that because he was my friend that I would feel respected and I wouldn’t feel the way I felt. I made a huge mistake, but I couldn’t make it stop. I couldn’t say no. I couldn’t push him off. He wasn’t thinking of me. He was in his own head screwing a virginal girl. He didn’t know I had already been used up years before he even had me. His “virginal”view was comical in a way. He actually thought I was untouched by men! I was touched by men as a child until NOW. I was trying to escape in my mind. I tried so hard to leave my body like I’d done as a little girl. I tried. But I was there for most of it. I’d made a terrible mistake.

It’s almost over.

He is almost done. He is ramming the shit out of me and I know that I am tearing vaginally. I know my body can’t handle this. I just kept thinking, “he’s almost done. It’s almost over. I can just hang on a little bit more.”

A little bit more.

Then for a moment I think I left my body. I knew he would be finished soon. A little longer I had to hold on but it hurt to bad. 

I left.

My eyes were open and I saw myself from the ceiling looking down on me. 

Now I’m back.

I came back to my body. I don’t like his hands on me. I don’t like his body on me. I don’t like this. I hate him. I hate that he has done this. I’m begging in my head to please just let this be over. 

I can hear again.

I can hear his voice. He tosses his condom off  and throws money on my nightstand. I can hear him speaking to me like I had not just laid there while he had sex with me. He’s talking to me as if nothing has just happened.

“Lets go have lunch now?”

He asked me to lunch. Those were the words he said. I think. Or dinner? His voice was coming back. He wanted to take me to lunch! But…I am half naked on the bed and he is zipping up his pants and I feel like I’ve just been raped by my friend. I hurt all over and I am numb at the same time. 

He asks.

He asks again if I wanted to go to lunch. So I guess we would just resume our friendship like this never happened? Would we talk about it? Would he ask for this again?

I can pretend.

I’m scared to tell him no. I have already pretended through every sexual assault I ever experienced that it was not as bad as it seemed. I’m afraid of him now. He has become a monster and I am afraid of monsters. I am afraid to tell them no. 

He just paid my rent.

He did just pay me like we agreed on. It wouldn’t be like a rape to him. I agreed. But my body told me something different. My body told me it had just been used and abused by someone I trusted. I trusted him not to be like the other men. I trusted him to be my friend. Friend’s don’t pay each other’s rent by having sex with them. Ah but I forgot…lunch to him was a business write off. All he had to do was mention business and he could write it off on his taxes. That’s why he took me to lunch almost every day. Tax write off. And he knew I didn’t have money. And he knew I was hungry. What a horrid horrid man. Rich. Entitled. Criminal. He set me up for this. 

But his breath lingers on my skin

His breath smelled like onions. I won’t forget that. I know that because my husband can never eat onions or it reminds me of him. I hate the smell of raw onions. 

It is rancid as him.

His breath smelled as vile as he was. He was truly a rancid human being. I thought I had met some pretty vile men but he was by far one of the worst. Rancid is the best way to describe this  person. 

I pull down my skirt.

I snapped out of my daze and pulled down my skirt and put on my shirt. It hurt to walk. It hurt to pee. It hurt to be in this body. Pulling down my skirt was something I will never forget. It was the moment I knew my life was destroyed. It was the moment I knew I had hit rock bottom. 

I can pretend.

I thought I could keep pretending what he did was ok.

I can pretend.

I pretended that what he did was just what a friend does to help another friend. I kept telling myself that but my body knew different. There was a new pain in me that I had never felt before. Different than the pain of being molested as a child. It was an indescribable pain.

The choice an illusion

I thought I had made a choice to have sex with this man. I thought that this choice meant I was finally taking back my power. I was finally saying, ” ok you can take but you have to pay for it” and that I would somehow then be in control. But the choice was an illusion. I had no choice. He knew I needed the money. He knew I couldn’t say no.

A rape.

It was just another rape to my body except this time I allowed it to happen. 

A prostitution.

So I was now a prostitute right? A woman who gets paid for sex? Of all the things I had been in my life, a prostitute was not something I thought would ever be something I would do. Before I was a victim of sexual assault. But now, I chose sexual assault right? I chose to let a man have sex with me when I didn’t want it and when his intentions were anything but pure. He made me into a prostitute. He can rot in hell for that, that fucking bastard. He can rot. 

He took the tiny piece I had left

I only had one little piece of dignity left in me from what was taken during my childhood. One little piece. And he took it. 

That one little piece I had of my self.

He took away my dignity. He took it. He took away the last little piece of my innocence. He took from me the ability to ever trust a friend again. He took away really all that I had left. All of me was now gone. I had disappeared. 

Jeff, his name,

Jeff Fer****. My good buddy. My friend. The guy I went out skiing with, motorcycle riding with. I met his family. I thought I was special to him. I thought I meant something to him. He spent a year grooming me. He spent a year making me think that he truly was my friend. Friends don’t fuck you for money when they know you are desperate. He was no friend. He was a psychotic, manipulative, lowest form of life I can imagine. He WAS just like the child molesters. He had put me just where he needed me to be to get just what he wanted. Even let me think I somehow had some control. It was all just another business deal to him. 

My insides cringe.

When I think of him, I cringe inside my body. If you’ve ever had someone inside your body you didn’t want there, you will know what this feels like. It feels so violating. I cringe when I think of him. and how can I not. He often used to tell my brother to tell me hello. Even after I had not seen him for years. Even after I was married. he just HAD to remind me. 

They cramp at the memory

Every one of my female parts cramp in pain over the memory of him.

And pain.

I feel a pain that I will never forget. I went to my friend Patti’s house after and cried for hours. I told her that I was now  nothing. That life felt over for me. I told her that after everything was done to me, I  LET this happen. Because I needed the money. Because I couldn’t stop it once it started no matter what because the past had left me paralyzed in those situations. That moment was my lowest. I thought so little of myself, I had no value in me, that I just allowed a man to have sex with me for money. I felt worthless. Had it not been for Patti, that night would have killed me. 

I force the thought out if my mind.

When the thoughts of him come up I push them aside. I was ashamed of what I had let happen for years. I thought because of it no one would ever marry me. I allowed myself to be with many abusive men after that because I thought I deserved to be abused. It was my husband who finally showed me that my worth was not based on what men had done to my body. So I force the thoughts of Jeff away when they come up. 

But it can never be erased.

Events like that in life can never be erased. I have tried to erase it from my mind. It can’t be erased. maybe it shouldn’t be. He showed me that monsters come in all size and shapes with all kinds of fancy cars and money. It was my lowest point in life. Laying on that bed letting Jeff have sex for me for money. That can never be erased. It taught me some valuable lessons though. It taught me to not judge that girl on the street. I can assure you she wants it all erased but just doesn’t know how yet. It taught me I am stronger than I thought because I was sure that that night would be the end of me. But it wasn’t.  

And that is what really happened. That simple poem I felt deserved more details of what I went through. The survivor in me deserved to speak the words. The women out there right now who are beating themselves up over the choices they made after being abused needed to hear this. The men and women who find themselves in horrible situations of abuse because they know no different needed to hear these words. I felt shamed because of what another man did. But it was not my shame to carry. I thought all along it was my choice. It was his. He chose to do what he did. He should feel ashamed. I was just a girl who had been abused so many times that I didn’t know what hit me until it was too late. But I survived. I am ok. And you will be ok too. Just remember the shame is not on you. The shame is not on you. It is on the Jeff Fer**** of the world, the Billy Banks of the world. It is on the predators. The shame lies solely on the predator, not on you .