There is no actual sex in this story; however, there is discussion of 
sexual topics as well talk of drug use. This story is not for 
children.

"Redemption"
By Quiet Savage

      I remember when I first saw him. I was 11 and about to embark 
on a life of crime.
Shoplifting.
      I was about to stuff some lipstick into my pocket when I heard 
a voice behind me.
"You don't want to do that."
      I turned around. He was a man in his mid 40's. A little over 
weight, Brown well-groomed hair and mustache, dressed all in black. 
And most striking, deep green eyes but somehow gave the feeling that 
he could see right through me.
"The man at the end of the aisle, in the red sweater" He pointed, I 
looked. "Is security, and this place prosecutes to the fullest extent 
of the law."
      I looked down at the lipstick in the palm of my shaking hand. I 
turned to thank him, but he was gone.
      About a year later my mom started dating this guy. My dad 
abandoned us when I was real young and for some reason my mom never 
dated. This was the first guy I could remember her being excited 
about and at first I was happy for her. She seemed happy and I was 
happy.
But then, things got bad.
      This nice guy turned into a total asshole. He would drink and 
hit her and me. Then he started coming into my room late at night. 
Then, it started happening not so late at night. What was bad is I 
knew my mom knew.
And she didn't do shit.
      I guess it made her life easier. Him doing me took the focus 
away from her and she was willing to overlook it as long as he 
stayed. Maybe allowing him to do me was a way of keeping him, keeping 
him from leaving.
      The worst part was I think I brought it on myself. He was 
always telling me how sexy I was, how my body was "made to be used", 
how I a girl like me had to expect guys to lose control when I was 
around them. Everything he did to me I deserved.
     And it kept getting worse; BJ's and the missionary position 
became ass play and handcuffs. I went along with it, all of it. But 
when he came home with a leather chastity belt that would have locked 
a dildo in my cunt and a butt-plug up my ass, so that he could 
"protect" me from other men, even I knew things had gone too far.
I went out the window.
I ran away.
      I hung out at this abandoned house for a few days but I knew I 
had to get farter away. My friend, Tracy, was in a bad situation too 
and she managed to steal enough money from her mom to get two bus 
tickets out west.
We left immediately.
     When we got to California we realized we hadn't thought this 
through. Here were two blond haired blue-eyed 15-year-old kids far 
from home, we didn't know anyone here and we didn't know the city. 
And only $20 between us.
     If you're desperate $20 goes farther then you would think. We 
lived in and around the bus depot for a week; we were too scared to 
go too far.
We were filthy.
We were tired.
We were hopeless.
     I started thinking maybe having a butt-plug locked up my ass 
wasn't so bad if only I could find a way home.
     Then this guy approached us. He was gold chains and gold 
toothed. He freaked me out but he promised us food and a bath and a 
place to stay. I didn't want to go but Tracy said we should.
I knew we didn't have a choice.
     Tracy got in gold tooth's car first. As I was getting in, a 
strong hand pulled me back out to the curb.
     It was the guy from the store years ago. He looked exactly the 
same- same clothing, same mustache, same eyes.
     Gold tooth started screaming about "his girls" and how he was 
going to mess this man up. Out of nowhere the man produced the 
biggest gun I have ever seen and said, "You mean GIRL, singular."
    Gold tooth jumped back in his car and drove away in a flash, 
Tracy still in the backseat.
I was shaking uncontrollably.
I was so scared I couldn't see.
    When I finally came to my senses a whole new terror struck me. 
The gun toting, man in black was gone.
I was alone.
    I pushed my hand in my pocket and came out with a $100 bill and a 
note that said:


                    Go here,
                            Mr. Q


and had an address.
      I didn't know this town, an address was useless!!
       I was now more scared to stay around the bus depot then to 
leave. I started walking blindly.
     About ten debris-strewn blocks away I was tired. I stopped at a 
"suds and duds" and got a box of prepackaged donuts. The clerk eyed 
me when I put down the 100; I know he was wondering what I did to get 
that bill. As I sat on the curb shoving down the doughnuts and 
washing them down with soda I noticed a dirty metal sign on a near-by 
building.

             Private bath
                          TV
                            $50 a week
I had 50 bucks.
     The room stunk of cigarettes. There were stains on the walls, 
the TV was B/W and got three channels- all badly. The "private bath" 
had a smashed window covered by cardboard and no hot water.
     For that week I lived on donuts and coke from the party store.
Something weird happened.
I started playing with myself.
        Sex had always been something that was forced on me, I never 
wanted it. I still didn't want sex. I just wanted to get off. I would 
sit on the dirty sheets in front of the blurry images on the TV stuff 
a donut in my mouth and play with myself.
It stopped me from worrying about where I would go when my week was up.
It stopped me from worrying about money.
It stopped me from worrying about my fucked up life.
It stopped me from worrying about Tracy.
I never saw her again
     When I was kicked out on the eighth day I had gotten off ten 
times and it was only 3 o'clock.
     I only had $7.50 left and I was debating whether to spend it on 
another night at the "Inn" or one good meal.
I sat on the curb and cried.
Then a cab drove by.
A taxi!
     I chased it for two blocks. I gave the driver the "go here" note 
and didn't mention I only had $7.50.
     The fare was seven even. I wondered if I had been dropped at the 
wrong spot. The building was a piece of crap like every other one I 
had seen in this city.
     I had been washing my clothing in a moldy sink. I had been 
washing my hair and body in brown cold water with no soap.
I primmed myself like it mattered.
I unbuttoned the top 3 buttons of my shirt
I rubbed my hands on my skirt.
I knocked on the door.
      I didn't know what was going to happen. Maybe, Mr. Q would 
answer. A small fat faced Japanese man came to the door and motioned 
me in.
      You can't judge a book by its cover. The inside didn't match 
the outside. It was nice- Bright paint, hardwood, silk. He pointed me 
to he end of the hall. It was obvious he had been expecting me. A hot 
bath was drawn and waiting. I undressed and bathed. After I redressed 
in a clean silk robe I explored my new environment.
     The Japanese man was totally disinterested in me. When I tried 
to speak to him he would smile and mumble something in broken English 
and then continue going about his business.
     His business now included taking care of me, cooking my meals, 
drawing my bath and every morning I had a clean kimono by my door. I 
wasn't sure if I was welcome but even if I was imposing on this man I 
had nowhere else to go.
     I wondered the house for a week, two weeks or more. I lost track 
of time. There were no clocks, no calendar and the only TV he had had 
no reception.
     He had a bunch of videos I liked- cartoons, kung fu movies, 
samurai soap operas. But they were all in Japanese and ultimately 
left me empty. I liked his roof top rock garden framed by bonsai 
trees. I could look over the wall and see the ass of the inner city. 
It was a total contrast. It made me feel like I was a princess in a 
beautiful castle in a land of darkness.
I was out of place.
I was no princess.
I didn't know were I stood with this man,
I didn't know were I stood with this place.
I became uneasy.
I became unnerved.
I became horny.
     At first I just did it at bath time, then at both bath and 
bedtime. Then in the morning. Soon I was out of control. I didn't 
think my housemate knew, and then I was sure
He walked in on me.
      I knew this man of peace, of silence, of balance had finally 
seen me for the monster I am. He now knew I was no princess.
          And if I was exposed I had to use the weapons available to 
me to stay.
I came to him in his meditation,
I made myself available.
It was my plea.
      He ran his hand through my hair, the first time he really 
touched me. He kissed me on the forehead and said,
"Those that can't see their beauty can't be taught, they can only be 
objects, all that I can teach you has been taught to you."
He rose and went inside.
I wept.
       The next morning instead of a kimono I found a new silk dress. 
It fit perfectly. With my breakfast I found a paper bag with my 
clothing neatly folded inside, a piece of rolled silk, a $100 bill, a 
bus ticket home and a white flower.
I placed the flower in my hair.
I left without saying goodbye.
  I unrolled the silk. It was a painting. There was a clearing with a 
stream running through it. In the center was me, lying by the stream 
with my arm stretched out, fingers playing in the water. My long hair 
was cascading over my shoulders and my kimono was open exposing one 
of my breasts. I had a sad look on my face. I was beautiful.
  At least the girl in the painting was beautiful; I wish I could be 
that beautiful. But I couldn't. I must be an object.
An object has no fears,
An object has no hopes,
An object exists to be used.
      On the trip home I made the decision that I would not only give 
into my mother's boyfriend's sick desires but also offer him more. If 
he left my mother he could have me alone. I would not only not resist 
his depravity I would revel in it. I would help him sink deeper into 
it. I would recruit for him and make more girls like me. I would 
fulfill his most twisted desire and create even more. And all he had 
to do to receive this pervert's bounty would be to leave my mother 
alone.
But things had changed in the few months I was gone.
My mother's boyfriend was dead.
      He was found in his home with his face so beaten that he was 
unrecognizable. His dick was cut off and shoved up his ass and held 
there with a belt.
It was an act of rage.
I was a suspect, but, my alibi checked out.
      Mom was in a recovery program for people who had been in 
abusive relationships. She begged my forgiveness. Friends and 
semi-friends visited every day. They all complemented me on my 
strength and will to survive.
      I never heard a word. I could only think how good each of these 
well-wishers would look tied to my bed.
I had changed.
      Every man I offered myself to jumped at the chance. Some of the 
girls were eager but most required convincing. It enraged me that 
some were totally unavailable. Luckily they were far and few.
Something new came into my life.
      I found something better then carnal urges. And sex became a 
currency and not just an end.
      Despite the destructive impulses my life continued. I got my 
GED and at my mom's request sent out applications. And amazingly I 
got into a good school. Money from my mother's boyfriend's life 
insurance paid for most of it, oh, the irony of life.
     I was fucking everything in site in the most bizarre of ways 
(College girls are more "open" then most I met), I had a habit of a 
few hundred dollars, and thus I was instantly on academic probation. 
As I neared the end of the second semester I knew they were going to 
kick me out. The money had run out anyway.
      I was ready to go home, but that option disappeared.
My mother died.
      It was totally unexpected. She had only a few hundred dollars 
in her checking account and no valuables in her apartment.
There was no home to go home to.
      There was a fund set up for people like me at the school. I 
could stay in school and live on campus without money, but, I was a 
straight F student. Even the death of my mother could not save me 
from the board of academics.
I was given one semester to turn it around.
And I knew I couldn't do it.
It's amazing how fast support falls away from you
Lovers are not friends
Dealers are not friends
You can have a chastity belt on a dozen girls
You can have a black book two inches think
But they'll pick the locks
And they won't return your calls
Even when you cry into their machine
My life was over. I wish I had gotten into that car with Tracy. I 
would have been better off.
      There was a place on campus for people like me. It's the far 
window on the 30th floor of the education building. They say the 
notches on the window pain are there for each one like me and I was 
going to carve a new one. As I stood there it all became so clear. I 
was going to die.
I heard a voice behind me, "you don't want to do that"
I knew who it was, "yes, I do"
"I don't think you've considered all your options"
I waited
"Show up at room 101 in this building at exactly 11:30 tomorrow"
      I fell back; I wanted him to catch me. I wanted to feel the 
touch of someone; I wanted someone to hold me. But I had to catch 
myself before I hit the floor. The hall was empty.
I was alone.
      I showed up at room 101 the next day at 11:30. It was the 
learning assistances room; the place people go to look for tutors. 
Everyone had just left for lunch- except one guy. He told me it would 
be better if I came back another time when everyone was there.
I knew it wouldn't help. I was beyond help. I broke right there and 
told this guy everything and said if he didn't help me right now I 
was dead, literally. I was babbling like a baby and this guy was 
incredible. He didn't think I was a freak or scary. He sat there and 
listened. And then, he said he would help!
      He explained that most of my problems were outside the scope of 
his office and gave me the phone number and an address of a place in 
town. It was a Christian organization. I told him I didn't think I 
could go and he walked me there.
      I felt uncomfortable and he sat there with me. When I was 
ushered into the back room he came with me, holding my hand. I told 
the story again but this time I left out no gritty or filthy detail. 
I thought they were going to renounce me as Satan incarnate.  I 
thought they would strike me or kill me for just forming the words in 
my mouth never mind actually living them. But they didn't. They said 
they could help. But I had to accept Jesus.
I lied and said I did.
      It was agreed that academia could wait, the drugs had to go 
first. I started a program two days later at a Christian run and 
funded rehab center.
      DT sucks more then anything and it felt worse then anything I 
put my body through.  And, No one in the place seemed to care about 
my pain. People who "cared" surrounded me but my pain went untreated. 
When I screamed they called people in to hold me down, but no one 
held me. When the worst was over, it got worse.
      There were encounter groups, bible study groups, one on ones 
and a lot of other shit. They just looked at my pain with 
dispassionate objectivity and then told me I needed to trust Jesus.
I was more alone then ever
Then I had a visitor
      I didn't know anyone that would want to visit me. Very few 
people even knew I was here. It was George, the guy from room 101, 
the guy who got me into this. I just sat glaring at this guy with my 
arms crossed as he tried to make conversation. What did this guy 
want? Well, I knew. He knew my story and he wanted a piece of it. I 
knew this. After his one-way conversation, he asked me if he could 
come back tomorrow.
I said yes.
      He came by everyday and I felt more at ease with him. I soon 
found my self-looking forward to his visits and it became the best 
part of the day. We talked about everything and I felt a freedom I 
had never felt before.
     The rules of the ward were that there was to be no touching 
between visitors and residents. But, I knew a public room where we 
could only be seen if someone was standing at the right angle. I 
offered, he accepted. He held me. We cuddled.
He ASKED to kiss me.
      No one had ever asked to do anything with me. They just took, 
or else I took from them. It was the sweetest kiss I had ever 
received.
I offered more.
      If they missed our cuddling and kissing they would miss more too.
He got up, and walked out of the room.
He was afraid to ask so I offered what I knew he wanted, and he left?
      When he didn't show up the next day, I was worried. When he 
didn't show up for two days I was both angry and scared.
He wanted nothing to do with me.
It was the Japanese guy all over again.
I had caused him to abandon me
I had screwed a good thing.
I was alone again.
I wish I had gone out the window.
I wish I had gotten into gold tooth's car.
I was in such pain that I couldn't even cry.
How could I let a guy get to me like this?
I started thinking I should put electrodes in the chastity belts.
George showed up the third day.
I ran down the hall and threw my arms around him. I didn't care if I was seen.
He pushed me away
If he was here, why was he pushing me away?
       We sat and talked, in plain view of the staff. He explained 
how I was moving too fast. He said he did know my past and it did 
scare him. But I was so pretty and funny and nice that he couldn't 
help but to want to spend time with me. He like my eyes and my hair. 
He did want to be with me but not now. He wanted to be with me the 
way nature and God had intended. He wanted us to be together in a 
union with Christ.
      I thought I was a modern girl; I was beyond blushing and the 
idea of romantic love. But, I was more old fashion then I had 
thought, I was jelly inside. He asked me to pray with him and for the 
first time I felt the presents of Jesus.
     Bible discussions and readings took on a whole new meaning. It 
started to click and become interesting. I even started to read the 
bible and bible study guides when no one was around. There's a lot of 
good stuff in there.
     My eyes were open. I asked Jesus to come into my life. I asked 
Jesus to take on my sins and wash my soul clean.
     I knew things had really changed when I made a real effort to 
stop playing with my self. I didn't always succeed but I tried. It's 
kind of weird to think of asking God to help me to stop masturbating, 
but I did.
     George's visits became even better and more important. We had 
always laughed and had fun but now we were connecting on a whole new 
level. The connection wasn't just political or physical or personal 
or romantic- it was spiritual. For the first time in my life I was in 
love, I didn't just have a lover.
I knew I had changed.
I knew my life had changed.
I knew it was a change for the better.
I think I could say,
I was happy.
     I felt it was time for me to check out of that place and everyone agreed.
     There were a few months before the next semester and George's 
parents offered to take me in.  George's father was a congressman and 
was away most of the time. George was away at school. So I spent most 
of my time with his mother, a very traditional woman.
We shopped and maintained the household.
We went to church.
We talked
We laughed
     She was a better mother to me then my own had been; she was a 
better friend then I had know possible.
     On the weekends George would come home from school and his 
father from Washington or his state capital office.
    We would sit around the table, like a real family, and eat dinner 
and talk. George would take me out on real dates- movies, dinner, 
lovers lane where would just sit and cuddle, kiss tenderly and he 
would whisper sweet nothings in my ear.
I never really believed this life existed.
Or that I could take part in it.
No one was putting a dick up my ass
No one was forcing things on me
Life finally felt real
      I had people who cared about me. I knew if I messed up they 
wouldn't abandon me, they would help.
I had a future
And it was good.
     School was about to start and I asked George if I could move in 
with him. I knew he would say "no" but I wanted to ask any way. He 
did say no. I moved into on campus housing.
      School was tough but with George's help I was getting good 
grades. My social life was totally different. I ran with a different 
crowd. It's fun to have Girlfriends that you're not plotting to bust 
their bra strap. You can connect in a different way if sex isn't 
involved. Guys are a lot funnier and nicer when you're not talking to 
their belt buckle.
      I did have some stress. I felt scared when I passed someone 
from my old life in the halls. I looked down and shuffled by. The 
stress and the work were getting to me. I started thinking about 
drugs and I was playing with myself once a day again. I knew these 
feelings were wrong. I knew I needed support. But I didn't want to 
mess up what I had. I intellectually knew I had people who loved me, 
people I could trust. But my gut told me not to risk it. I 
rationalized that as long as I didn't actually take drugs and I was 
able to hold it together I was OK.
     I was able to hold it together for a few months; School and my 
social life didn't suffer. But the stressors got worse and the added 
stress of hiding my increasingly dark feelings were almost too much 
for me. I felt it was time to tell George.
And things got weird.
     He made a crack about "locking me down" and "protecting me". He 
knew I had this fixation. He knew what he was saying. He knew it 
wasn't funny. I stormed out.
I was mad
I was hurt
And it was too much for me
I broke
I went over the edge
      I spent a week in the gutter, missed all my classes. Things were bad.
      I went back to George. I told him I needed more from him and if 
he didn't give it, one way or another I was dead, I would just go 
back where I belonged and rot. He suggested we elope and take a 
honeymoon vacation. But I wouldn't hear of it. I was persistent, I 
demanded. He had to make a choice right there, right now.
We did it.
It was great.
After so long I had him
He was mine
I was right, it was what I needed
     Things were good again. We were doing it regularly. Straight 
vanilla sex, but sill, it was great. It relieved a lot of stress.
      Other then the sex, things were just as they were before. The 
end of the semester came- I passed, George got straight A's.
As a reward I offered him something new
He accepted.
      The summer was great. I stayed at his parent's house. It felt 
like where I belonged. It felt like home
      It was agreed that next semester we would start living 
together. He would go up to school a week early to set things up, I 
would follow the week school started. I wanted to visit someplace 
first.
      I don't know why but I wanted to stop by the old neighborhood. 
I figured I would spend a week there connect with my roots; show my 
old crew how good life can be. I thought it would be interesting, fun.
It was horrible.
     I thought we would talk about old times, see how they were 
doing, maybe even talk to them about Jesus. But they all had their 
own agendas.
     The first thing one of my "friends" did was grabbed my ass and 
stuck his tongue down my throat. Another after I had just finished 
telling her about George and his family asked if I wanted to "do" 
her. After I told her no, that I just wanted to talk. She 
snorted,"you too good for me now?"
      Everywhere I went people were putting drugs or a drink in my hand.
     Every one thought I had gone soft, that I was now weak and 
submissive. Instead of being a hero I was laughed at and made a fool 
of. I fled the next day. My week connecting with my roots lasted 
three days.
      As I entered the apartment I just wanted to give George a hug 
and forget the whole experience. I heard noise coming from the 
bedroom, noise I knew.
     I saw something I never thought I would, George and one of my 
old girlfriends.
I was shaking with rage.
      He tried to calm me down, that it didn't mean anything, all the 
usual crap. I couldn't think.
George pulled on his pants
She lit up.
I was dragged into the living room.
Then... the argument changed
      It changed from "it didn't mean anything" to "it was 
inevitable", "this is where this relationship was going anyway". I 
was stupid not to know that. And then "maybe I should just accept it"
      It suddenly became my fault. That's the kind of girl I was, and 
am. I've made it work in the past. I should have expected it. I 
should enjoy it.
I picked up something heavy.
I was over him
He was unconscious
He was bleeding
He was no longer breathing
I headed to the bedroom
I no longer had a future
I no longer had a life
I was standing on the 30th floor
Things weren't so clear; I stepped back from the edge. I would live.
"You didn't carve your notch"
I turned, it was Mr. Q.
     He hadn't changed from my childhood to now. Not a hair, not the 
clothing. The same eyes that stared right into you. I stumbled into 
the building expecting him to not be there. But he was, he was solid. 
  Until the very moment I placed my head on his chest I wasn't sure 
he was real. I cried and I asked for his help. ,"This is the end 
there's no helping you now."
     I pleaded, I wailed that it couldn't be true. He apologized and 
then,"I want to thank you, you had a noble life you saved billions"
     And then I had a vision, well, less a vision and more a series 
of feelings and knowledge passing to me. I was standing on a high 
vista, below me a lush and beautiful valley. A flaming object 
streaked across the clear blue sky. As it passed behind a hill I saw 
a flash and felt heat. When the light returned to normal I saw that 
the once lush valley was burned, everything was dead.
     Somehow I knew George caused this. He had followed in his 
father's footsteps, becoming a politician but much more successful, 
eventually becoming president. During a time of civil unrest he 
assumed sweeping new powers, becoming Americas first total dictator. 
He then made war on the powers of the east, cumulating in a series of 
nuclear strikes. He killed billions. He wiped out a whole race of 
people. More then Hitler, Stalin, Mao Tse-Tung and Pol Pot, together. 
My actions saved the world.
     I saw myself reflected in his eyes, "not all of us perceive time 
as a linear flow...  and even fewer have the will to do anything 
about it."
     He ran his hand through my hair returning with a white flower. I 
recognized as the one I had gotten from the Japanese man years ago. 
,"This is an orchid. For years they were thought to be parasites, 
they are not. They do live on other plants. They need the structure. 
They can live no other way. And they have been known to smother their 
host plant. They're hard to cultivate, sensitive to the smallest flaw 
or change in their environment."
     I knew what he was saying," such a hard life, such a beautiful 
result... and you, you are beautiful. Did you know that if you had 
stole that lipstick as a child, you would have grown up to be a 
model?"
     I bit my lip as he continued," It's true, your name would have 
been 'in the system' and the social workers coming around would have 
been enough to save you from that awful man."
    "really?"
    "Yes, Well.. You wouldn't have been too successful though, you 
got coked up shot your agent and then were gun downed by the police 
before you hit it big."
     I had to let out a pained laugh at the absurdity of it, not his 
statement but the absurdity of life itself," That's me"
     There was silence
     "I wish I could take you with me."
     "Then do it."
     "If only I could"
     He held me a little longer and whispered, "time is short, 
there's something you need to do."
      "I'm scared"
      "We'll go together"
      "I don't want to die"
      "No one ever does"
Can I confess my sins?
All is forgiven
Was I loved
I love you

--

copyright 2002 Quiet Savage
Quietsavage@yahoo.com 
/~qsavage/