“Please, don’t tell him.”
She sat, stroked him with her hand, and talked dirty into his ear. He finally became erect, felt pleasure, and relaxed knowing that his father wouldn’t be calling him names. As he neared climax, he reached out with both hands and grasped her long hair as if it was a lifeline, and he was falling off a cliff. He peaked, yanked a handful of her hair out, and then winced when she grabbed his scrotum.
“Fucker! Let the fucking go of my hair,” she said.
While she continued with obscenities, Chip began to apologize. At the same moment, his father opened the bedroom door.
“Don’t ever fucking apologize to a goddamn whore,” his father said.
She stood and walked towards the door. “Don’t call me that. I’m outta here.”
His father back-handed her across the face.
“Get the fuck out of here then, bitch.” He turned to his son. “Grow the fuck up and get some balls. And bring me a beer. Goddammit.”
...................
Hawkins was a good listener. Chip believed he was a good therapist. He listened without judgment, and generally, without interrupting. Chip remained silent after his story.
“How did that affect your feelings about sex and women?” Hawkins asked. He looked at his watch while Chip thought about it.
The session was getting close to ending, and Chip didn’t feel like opening another can of worms. “I was fucked.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Do you not know that he who unites himself with a prostitute is one with her in body? For it is said, “The two will become one flesh.”
~ Saint Paul 1 Corinthians 6:16 NIV
I think Maggie was the only woman I’ve ever been truly in love with. I was only sixteen. Sometimes I wonder where she is and what it would be like to see her again. She’s probably dead.
~ Chip
...................
Chip thought Hawkins seemed overly happy to see him. That made him uncomfortable, so he sat, and didn’t speak.
Hawkins broke the silence. “You said last week you were fucked. Would you like to elaborate on that?”
Chip had been dreading this session. He felt it was time, however, to bring to light all of the venom and poison inside of him. He knew these toxins would kill him, eventually, if he didn’t work them out of his system. He was aware that keeping his past locked up inside would be deadly to him in the present. He struggled in his chair and tried to get comfortable. Flashbacks played in his head. Memories had flooded his mind the night before and had continued during the day, not allowing him a moment of peace. His personal demons screamed at the prospect of coming to the light. He wasn’t sure if the treatment might not be worse than the diseases he carried inside.
“After that incident, the one I talked about last week, things started to change between me and my dad. I think he realized he was going to die soon. His health took a turn. He wasn’t able to get up and do as much. I ran more and more errands for him. He started eating less. He didn’t stop with the hookers, though.”
Chip looked at Hawkins. He hesitated and ran his fingers through his hair.
“There was one in particular who started coming regularly; I think she realized my sick father was a cash cow. He didn’t have the physical strength to have sex, but he still wanted the company. So, this one particular prostitute, she was decent looking, big breasted, and polite. She came to the house several times a week. Her name was Maggie. She was my first real love. If you can call it that.”
Chip shifted his body, swallowed, and then continued his story.
“I started having sex with her after she’d been coming around for a while. My father couldn’t do much but talk. She’d stroke his ego and maybe kiss him a little, but his health, it was shit. So anyway, she asked me one evening if I wanted to fuck. That’s about all she said, You want to fuck? We negotiated a price. She was already getting paid, so I simply snuck her a little more cash. It was easy because I was the one going to the ATM for the old man already. I grew attached to her. She was around for nearly a year. I guess I did love her. Whatever that meant at the time. We talked a lot. I’d have sex with her and sometimes, if she wasn’t in a hurry, we’d talk or watch TV.
“There were a few times she used the shower or took a nap. Hell, she once stayed the night like an out-of-town relative. I regularly got take-out, and we’d eat Chinese or Mexican together.”
“So. You had this woman meeting your need for female interaction. Did you still have female friends at school? Did you date?”
“No. I was socially awkward. A nerd long before being a nerd became something cool. In spite of all the shit at home, maybe because of it, I worked extra hard on school work. I didn’t have to get a job. Maybe it was out of guilt, but my dad was free with the spending money once we came to California. Of course, he was giving me my own money, but, I didn’t think of it like that when I was a teenager. I always had spending money and time. I managed to get straight A’s.”
“That must have made you feel accomplished? Proud? Did your dad recognize this?”
“I don’t know if my dad ever looked at a report card. If he did, he never mentioned it. I stayed out of trouble with the authorities. I smoked weed on occasion. There were a few weekends that I drank beer with these guy friends from school, but that was about it. I didn’t have a preoccupation about getting laid like all my friends did. I had my own personal hooker.”
Chip laughed in a nervous, self-conscious act of protection.
“I never went to any of the school dances. Well, not the formal ones. Some of the other ones, sure, but I never even kissed a girl in high school.”
“Was there kissing with the—”
Chip interrupted. “No. I never made out with the hookers. There was never any intimacy. I didn’t kiss anyone or even make love with a woman until I met my college sweetheart.
“So. Maggie. Wow. She treated me well. I know she was getting paid. But she was sweet to me. She listened to me and gave me advice. Ironically, she gave me a lot of advice about women.”
“And how long did this last?” Hawkins asked.
“Well, that’s the hard thing. Really. She didn’t show up for an appointment one night. I think I was about seventeen. Maybe still sixteen. I don’t remember the exact details. But that was it. I never heard from her again. Her pager was disconnected. This was before cell phones and Facebook. Perhaps she got raided, shut down, or moved. Or went to jail. Or someone killed her. Who knows?”
“And after her?”
“A string of new girls. My dad must have been attached to Maggie, too. She had a way of being sweet as if she wasn’t really there to make money. He became more abusive and mean after she was gone. The sicker he got, the weaker his cancer made him, the more and more abusive he became. A new girl would come once, maybe twice, but then she’d leave and tell me not to ever call her again.”
“Your dad’s health? He was getting near the end at this point?”
“Definitely. And his mood swings were terrible. That and he was still drinking. A lot. So there was this one girl, very petite, a cheerleader type. She had long blonde hair, nice boobs, pretty lips. She was expensive, but by this point, my dad was out of control, he didn’t care about the money. I’m sure he knew he was going fast.”
...................
“Chip bring us a couple beers.” His dad tried to yell, but his voice was hoarse and tired.
Chip could hear him well enough, and he knew what he wanted. He brought the beer. He handed one to his father after opening it for him. He gave the other beer to the blonde and walked out. He went to his room. He leafed through a paperback and ate a candy bar.
He could hear through the walls. The funky little house had cheap and hollow doors, too. Chip listened to the latest prostitute his father had found. She was good. She had a talent. He understood why she charged a premium. He wondered if he could negotiate a good price for himself, she was, after all, already being paid we
ll.
He could her hear her applying her skills.
“Oh, yes. You’re turning me on so much. I’m touching my pussy just for you. It’s so good. Oh, Jesus. Oh, God. I’m so hot.”
Chip could hear her go on and on. She’d learned exactly what kind of things the old man wanted to hear.
She was putting on a show, and even though her client couldn’t get an erection if a hundred centerfolds showed up, she pretended that he was a virile stud who knew exactly how to turn a woman on.
She’d also figured out that she had to raise her voice for the old man to hear what she was saying. This was something that the less intelligent hookers hadn’t figured out. Shouting wasn’t normally sexy, but without a loud voice, she might as well have been talking to him about the weather instead of her tits. She was earning her money. No doubt about that.
Chip opened his bedroom door. He stood in the hallway and listened to her performance. He got aroused. Then he became embarrassed. She was with a sick old man pretending to be interested in him. Lying. Chip heard shouting. Cussing and screaming. He thought he’d better check to see if he could help, but then reconsidered because he’d only end up embarrassing his father, which would make him the target of his wrath instead of the hooker. She was the one getting paid, not him. His father was too weak to hit him, but Chip still wanted to avoid his sharp tongue and a wicked mouth.
He decided that interfering was not worth the trouble. His father always paid them. Sometimes he’d pay a large tip if he’d really gone over the line, but other times he’d not tip at all, telling a girl she was a worthless whore instead.
This woman sounded reasonably intelligent, so he assumed she’d let herself out, and she’d probably never come back. Unless, perhaps, Chip thought, if the tip ended up making the abuse worth it to her. Who knew? He went back to his paperback and lost track of time.
...................
“Chip. Chip! Get your ass in here.”
Chip went into his father’s room. The blonde was lying on the bed, totally nude, and not moving.
“Get her the fuck out of here.”
“Is she okay?” he asked.
“Fuck no. She’s fucking dead. Can’t you see that? God, you’re fucking stupid. Just like the cunt that birthed you.”
Chip panicked. “I have to call an ambulance.”
“No! You fucking idiot. You can’t call anyone. You want me to die in fucking prison? Goddamn it, boy. Use your fucking head.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Chip listened to his father’s instructions. He was surprised at how clear thinking he’d become. He was a planner, a schemer, and someone that fixed shit. His father opened a drawer to the nightstand and pulled out a stack of hundred dollar bills. He counted out five bills and handed them to Chip.
“Find the guy that’s sitting outside in a car. You’ll recognize him. He’ll be the one that’s out of place and looks bored. Ask him if he’s Blondies driver. He’ll probably freak a bit. Tell him to calm the fuck down. Be a man about it. Hand him these.”
Chip took the money.
“Tell the driver that the whore is going to be busy for a while and then tell the chump to write down my phone number. Tell him to have his boss call me. I’ll handle it from there. Under no circumstances do you let him follow you back inside. If he says anything about calling the cops, you tell him that he’d better talk to his boss first, because if his boss doesn’t kill him, I will. No fucking cops. Got it?”
Chip nodded. He was a robot on a mission because when his father got into this calm business-like state it only took one thing to set him off and he’d turn into a raging monster. Chip forgot his father was too old and weak to hurt him; instead, he reverted to being ten years old again.
When Chip came back into the house, his father asked him if it went well.
“Yes. The guy took the money and wrote down our phone number. He’s gone.” Chip looked at the girl. “What are we going to do next?”
His dad explained his plan.
“It’s best if the body never shows up. That’s best,” he said.
Chip started to shake. He was afraid he was about to cry when his dad struck him across the face and told him to quit being a pussy. The force of the slap shocked him. He didn’t realize his father was capable of that much exertion. He wasn’t a little child anymore, but he was still shocked by the slap. Regardless of how much physical strength his father had, his words still stung him worse. They also took longer to heal.
Chip would do what he was told.
That was all there was to it. There wasn’t any choice. Not really.
His father told him to wrap her into a blanket and carry her into the garage.
“Back up the car right to the garage. Open the door and throw her in the trunk.”
“Where should I go?” Chip asked.
“You fucking figure it out, boy. You’re smart. Get rid of that piece of trash. Do it far from here and remember that if the body is never found, that’s best. Never forget that. No body and nothing really happened.”
Chip found a ratty old blanket and rolled her warm body into it. He put her over his shoulder. She was light, like a child. He carried her easily like when he was nine or ten and his father sometimes still carried him to bed. He walked out of his dad’s room, shutting the door behind him. He heard the volume go up on the television. His father had already moved on. Murdering a prostitute was like getting a parking ticket. Just an annoyance. Chip was still in the hallway when he tripped.
He fell and landed on top of her.
She moaned.
He unwrapped the blanket, and she moved a little bit. He looked her over. She looked peaceful like she was asleep. He watched her for another minute. She made no noise and didn’t move, but he could see her chest rise and fall. She was breathing still. He touched one of her breasts. It was soft and small with a pink nipple. He felt an intense desire to have her. He also felt ashamed, but he was drawn to her vagina like a vulture to carrion. He touched her and talked to her in a lustful, quiet voice.
“I want to fuck. I am going to fuck you. I’m going to have this pussy.”
He pulled her into the living room by her hair and put her on the couch. She didn’t seem to mind. As he was entering her, she opened her eyes. He looked into them. They were blue. She appeared to be smiling and happy.
“You feel so good,” he said.
She didn’t respond, and her eyes closed.
As he was thrusting himself into her, she choked on her spit.
That distracted him, so he placed his hand over her mouth.
She struggled.
That bothered him, too.
He whispered in her ear. “Relax. Stop moving. I’ll be done soon. Hold still.”
She tried to turn her head, so he pinched her nose with his free hand. She convulsed so he clamped down harder on her nose and mouth. She shook violently, and he had the most intense orgasm of his life.
...................
Chip had forgotten that Hawkins was in the room as he finished telling his story. He was embarrassed when he realized he was erect. He hoped Hawkins hadn’t noticed. He slouched in his seat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He looked down at the floor briefly and then said, “That’s about it. My dad didn’t last another six months. We didn’t have any hookers over again.”
Hawkins was sitting across from Chip. His mouth was partially open, and he had a deep look of concern on his face.
“What happened to the girl?”
Chip thought for a minute. He concentrated and thought for a second minute. He wiped his forehead again.
“She was all right. I gave her a drink of water, and we talked. I got her a ride home. She was perfect. It was all part of the act. Nothing was wrong. My dad was being melodramatic. She wasn’t dead. She was just—just—well... She wasn’t dead. I never saw her again. Forget about it. I’m already regretting that I told you that story.”
Chip stood, pa
id his therapist, and left.
CHAPTER NINE
I'm afraid I can't explain myself, sir. Because I am not myself, you see?
~ Lewis Carroll
Am I a psychopath? A sociopath? Capable of empathy? Perhaps if I convince myself I am not a monster it will only be because I am and maybe my plan is to stop myself from stopping myself. I am certain of one thing: If there is a God, he reigns over Hell.
~ Chip
...................
Hawkins looked at Chip. He was a challenging case. His religious and professional beliefs told him that people could change. That they could be healed. It often took a lot of time, work, and compassion on the part of therapists, pastors, ministers, priests, and psychiatrists, but it was possible. He had to believe this because to discard the hope of redemption would be to admit much of his life had been wasted on vanity and self-conceit.
“My job isn’t always easy, Chip. Please, have a seat.”
“What do you mean?” Chip asked.
“I struggled with your revelations last week. I’m not going to the authorities, but on a professional level, I must admit to you that I was concerned about it. I figured there must be records from around that time period. But, you’ve got a story here. You’ve told me the girl was fine when you left her. But you also said your father, whom I’ve told you before that I don’t have a professional obligation to protect, you’ve told me that he’d killed her. I’m being upfront here; I was conflicted about this.”
“Should I get another therapist? I think we’ve come so far,” Chip said. “I think you’re helping me. I want help.”
“No, at least, if you’re still good to keep working, I’d like to continue as your therapist. I’m hoping I can help you. I’m on your side, believe me, the best thing is for you to get healthy and to be a well-rounded individual. A healthy member of society. That’s in your best interest. And the communities, too. I just want you to be sure you understand my professional and ethical responsibilities while at the same time understanding that I don’t want you to not get help. That would be a shame. For you to feel all alone on this would be counterproductive.”
Undressed At Sea: A Psychological Thriller (Drew Stirling Book 2) Page 6
