Beyond Lady Pandora – Episode12a – The Men In My Life – Beyond Lady Pandora
There was a girl that I met, around my age, one time. She was pretty and kind though very extroverted, she was native American and she seemed to want me to tag along, so I did. We had met that very day and she grabbed my hand and dragged me home with her. She seemed to quite like me so I thought I’d go with the flow. We went back to her home and things seemed normal at first. She had a large family, lots of sisters. Her mom and dad were there. Suddenly all the girls ran to the bathroom and I figured they were off to do makeup or smoke cigarettes’ or something. After a few minutes, my new friend dragged me in there by the hand. What I saw blew my mind quite literally. You have to understand, I had seen a lot, little shocked me anymore but this was beyond what I could mentally handle. They were having sex in the bathroom, incestuous sex, and they wanted me to join in. Now, these were pretty girls but I was noping the fuck out of there or trying to. My friend was getting aggressive with me and as I’m trying to convince her that I am not getting involved with this, their father walks in and joins in calling them sluts. With that distraction, I was out. I went straight out of the bathroom and out the front door and down the street, gone.
There was a man who was going after girls in the circle, an area many of us hung out in. It had seating, shaped rather circularly, which is where the name came from. The area was osborne village or near enough. I flirted with him before I knew he was dangerous but after the girls warned me about him, that sometimes girls dissapeared… I decided that I had to take him down somehow. I was quite angry and tired of being victimized. If I could beat him, I thought I could beat anyone. It made sense at the time. I would not be a victim anymore. So, I continued flirting and drew him in. He had offered me a drink and I drank it like a fool, not sure what I was thinking. I really knew better. He walked me to his place, his apartment, but I was really pretty out of it. I woke up in the morning tied to his radiator. I easily slipped out my bonds. My wrists were and still are incredibly skinny and I can collapse my hands to a very small width when needed. He wasn’t there. His apartment was sparce and dirty. I figured he was likely out finding the rest of what he needed for whatever he had planned for me. I could not remember the prior night. I was not extremely scared like I should have been, I was more exhilerated and criticizing his technique as I snuck out after listening to make sure no one was near. The next day, I waited for him at the circle. I knew it would piss him off. I had escaped and then sat there, like nothing happened, like he was nothing. I acted like I did not remember and he approached me again. I was pretty sure at this point that he was far too emotionally based to really formulate a good plan. I drank the drink but less of it. I was a bit out of it and I woke up handcuffed to his old radiator, again in his livingroom. I remember thinking it was funny that he still had left me there alone again. I slipped out of the handcuffs, slamming my thumb into the radiator since the bump of my joint would not slide out. It was not enough to break it, just enough to move my joint slightly to let my hand slide out. Once again I listened and snuck out. The next day, there I was at the circle. Why should I avoid places out of fear of these men? I was fed up. He sat there looking at me and I again acted stupid like I did not know, so he approached me again but he was mad as hell now. He could not hide it. He offered me a drink but I did not accept it. I looked at him, leaning him, teasing him until he said in a rage, “Next time, you will not escape!”. I smiled at him, no longer hiding my anger, my hatred, my contempt. I told him I knew where he lived now. He was taken aback by the fact that I showed no fear, by the fact that he had been fooled. I was not stupid. I was toying with him. He was not the hunter. I told him if I ever saw him again, I would call the police and tell them everything, I would send them straight to his apartment. I could describe it. I told him that if they did not get him, then I would. I told him to get the hell out of my circle, my town, my place. I claimed it and he was not welcome here praying on little girls. I told him that what he played with, I was born into and if he wanted hell, I would gladly show it to him. I never saw him again. He left angry but he left. He was beaten by a little girl who had had enough.
My only friend from my childhood, the blonde girl, tells me that I came home once to my apartment and our memories differ here. I trust her memory over mine. I remember coming home and it was empty, the whole apartment was just empty with no notice. There was a box on the floor with some of my stuff. I remember crying on stairs. That is all I remember, feeling abandoned again. My friend remembers us coming back on my birthday, we had gone out because we were told that Mother had a surprise for me. When we came back, the apartment was empty except my box and a woman we did not know. The woman claimed to be my cousin and she was there to take me away. My friend’s Mother took her away and she says that as she was leaving, she was feeling very strange and was telling her mother they should stay with me but she was taken home. She says that she did not see me for months but was asking around about me and heard I was being used and sold. I do not remember that or those times although when she told me this, I do remember very faintly a young woman who used peroxide on her face for bad acne who said she was my cousin, but it is a faint memory.
I would like you to consider for a moment that these are your memories, that you spend your whole childhood just reacting to these things and then ask yourself what sort of a teenager you would become. Scary, isn’t it? Now, consider this. My aunt was a psychology major and though I rarely saw her, I did see her. She did see my mother, our home. She became a counsellor for kids. No one got me any help at all of any kind. My father saw it. He did nothing. All anyone did was blame me for how I reacted to these things and to them. They insulted me, they abandoned me. My mother moved twice when I was not home without telling me before I was 16. And my uncle who had helped her take us, who came over every week and gave her money and ordered pizza and played games with the family, he blamed me for my behavior as well without taking any action on the obvious neglect and abuse occurring before his very eyes. This good christian man did nothing. Why? I still do not understand any of it. As an adult now and a mother, I just do not get it. Why didn’t anyone call for help? Why didn’t anyone try to help us? It haunts me that people that are considered to be so great can be so cruel.
I remember desperately wanting my uncle’s approval. I wanted everyone’s approval, I wanted someone to love me.
I met a man with my Mother that she knew somehow who lived in either a small house or a trailer, it feels like a trailer. I can see the inside of it in my mind. The man was large and he made clothing of leather. He made many things and I remember thinking the things he made were quite beautiful. I did not know at the time that they were bdsm gear, primarily and that the rings on them had a purpose. His wife, I never actually saw with my eyes and this part frightened me terribly. She was always in bed and would moan with terrible pain. He would not let me see her, my mother went in alone to see her and talk to her. He said she was very ill and injured and I asked should she not be in a hospital? I mean, she sounded awful. Mother said I was being rude and hushed me. I wondered why people could not see her, why she was kept back in her small room. I was young and did not understand but it frightened me, how he looked at me sometimes. At other times, he was kind and jovial. I was uncomfortable. He seemed nice enough but something felt off. He gave me my first Gor book, I got the rest from that small house library I spoke of. Looking back, I’m pretty sure I was being groomed but stopped going back there before anything occured.
One Halloween, me and my friend dressed up as demons. I made us rabbit fur bikinis and we painted our skin blue with symbols. Mother’s creepy roomate dressed as a barbarian of some kind and attached chains to collars on us as we handed out candy and sat out there proudly with two little girls in bikinis on chains and no one thought this was strange. We were fine with it, we were young, we did not really get it. Looking back, it’s very disturbing. At one of my birthdays, he had played an anime show on tape (VHS) of Wanderer Child, the series. I remember nothing else of my birthday but that show. If you do not know what it is, it is an adult anime of young girls being raped and murdered by demons. It is really rather extreme and shows everything. It is cartoon murder porn. He had hyped up this movie to me so I asked him to play it, I had no clue what the hell it was. Of course, it was my fault for asking. The sad part is, I was so used to people twisting things to be all my fault that I believed it. I believed that everything that happened was my fault.
I met two boys around my age as a young teenager. They were both very handsome and in foster care, they were kind at first. The oldest was my age, the younger brother was just a couple years younger, maybe 2 years younger than us. We all hung out and played role playing games based on superheros and villians they made up. They loved comic books and I got really into comics finding a few favorites of my own like firestarter, bao, and dark pheonix. These games became mind games they were trying to play with me, they played soul drinker sorts that would kill others to live and gain power. It was just a game but as I knew them longer, it became clear that they were playing a game in general. They dated women to compete with each other and others, to compete with the girls to see what they could get them to do. Everything was a game. Seeing this clearly, I dated both at different times and they of course became competitive about me, at one point they told me it came physical blows. Utterly ridiculous since neither loved me and that was clear, it was just wanting to get me and then, they did not really want me anymore. It was madness, still, it’s not like I had many friends and though I was fully aware they had some level of psycopathy going on there, I did care about them. I met their father and mother, their worker, I stayed over. I met their older brother who was disabled, I was kind to him and then the oldest boy asked me to have sex with their disabled brother for them because he could not get girls. I did not, of course. He was very disabled and I first of all, did not feel that he could he could truly consent and second, I am not a commodity to offer out. The whole thing was creepy as fuck. We would go months without seeing each other and then be together non-stop for months. They just kind of popped in and out spreading chaos. It continued like this until I was 18. I will tell that story later when we reach it but suffice to say, they finally crossed the line completely with me and I cut them out of my life like a cancer.
I got into BBS chats on the internet, I came across the Gorean ones and honestly, it fascinated me. I was young but the internet is anonymous and I did get involved with them. I do not remember more than than being involved, fascinated, and learning their ways. They believed all women should be slaves to men, should be taken care of but also disciplined. I had read all the books. I found it all oddly arousing, being dominated. I do not remember more than that.
I remember thinking that I was ruined for boys my age because they could not understand me. I had been through too much, seen too much, I knew too much. I had been sexually awakened far too young and my sexual urges became more and more powerful. It was a need that arose in me like the need for food or water. I literally could not go without it anymore. It was this strange fear of what men done had to me and yet excitement. I felt very ashamed of my needs, of my urges, it was like I almost wanted it to happen even though I feared it. Really, it should be no surprise at all to anyone that it led to the BDSM scene eventually. It was all I knew, though it was not consentual. So, of course I sought out consentual versions of this exchange of power where I felt safe to explore and understand my sexuality as a woman who had grown up with such strange experiences.
You must understand that although I understood that my life was shit growing up, I also always felt that others had it far worse. I mean someone always has it worse and I felt I really had no right to feel as I did. I was ashamed of everything I felt and did all of my life. I grew up trying to hide who I was and what was going on and then later, as I rebelled, I let everyone see what had been done to me by acting out and seeking out trouble but looking back, it was a desperate plea for help. The fact that no one helped me when it was so obvious only further made me feel like I was just garbage, nothing, worthless. I truly believed there was something inherently wrong with me that made me bad. I did not feel like I deserved better even though I wanted it.
We had many animals growing up. I had a rabbit at my grandparents but my grandfather killed it and fed it to us. We had dogs, many got hit by cars and they were always forced to stay outside. We had cats and dogs at my mother’s but mother never got them to vets or spayed. We would end up with kittens and she would accidentally step or sit on them. I would scream at her. I loved animals. I had one dog I was very close to who protected me and a friend while we were sunbathing on the porch. We’d fallen asleep and a man tried to grab us, she bit him. She was a pitbull. He ran away and she came back to guard us. The police showed up because the man who tried to grab us made a complaint and they took my dog and killed her for protecting us. They did not care. I was heartbroken. I have always loved animals and hated people. The people who gave us the dog blamed me, not my mother, though she was the adult and the one who let them in to take her. I hated them all. Only humans would protect a predator and kill a hero.
Even when the police got tipped off somehow about Mother’s room-mate’s horde of pornography, they just fined him. They searched the room, how did they miss the barbies and obvious signs of pedophilia? A fine, though big, just a damn fine and he continued on. I felt like I was in hell.
I had panic attacks whenever I thought of speaking up. I was terrified of what would happen. I’d get sweaty, I couldn’t breathe, dizzy, I’d forget things, I would have to go be alone and hide to feel safe. At times, I’d go to speak or scream and nothing came out at all. It would take a bit before I could talk. I couldn’t make real friends even with the other outcasts on the street, not real friends. I had and have this sense of honor, of right and wrong and on the streets… that is an odd thing to have. I did not believe in robbing or crimes. I did not believe in hurting others. I was a good person who believed they were a bad person, who lived amongst actual bad people. I was a victim no matter how hard I tried not to be because I would not sink to their depths. The one person I fought back with was my brother. I had to protect myself and he would enrage me. He would attack out of nowhere either to impress his buddies or just for fun, I guess. As he grew, he became stronger and the fights became very physical. He would enrage me, I’d be fighting for my life and I mean punching, hitting, wrestling, kicking, kneeing. I remember it happening once right behind my m0ther’s back, on the bed she was sitting on as she was on her computer. The bed was filthy. She sat there as I winning, like always, and said “Don’t kill your brother” and continued on. It was just a normal occurence with him. He would start crying when he was losing and I would stop. I loved my brother. I’d tell him to just stop and let him go. Then, he would laugh maniacally and attack me again, insulting me. It was total madness. Life was a minefield with attackers everywhere. I was constantly afraid.
I was looking for a way out and I was about to find it but it was not in the way I wanted. Things were about to get a lot worse.