by Jojo Brown
He ran a wet slippery trail down between my breasts, over my soft tummy and down to the trimmed hairs of my waiting pussy. As his tongue darted between the swollen lips, to press on my engorged clit, I jumped.
“I want to taste you, too.” My voice came out on a purr.
He wasted no time spinning around on the bed and I soon had more than half of his hard cock in my mouth. The delight that I felt as I traced the length of the heavy vein with my tongue was greater than anything I had ever known. He moaned deeply into my pussy, the vibrations were so erotic along my slippery folds I felt the first tremors of orgasm rocket through me.
With even more vigor, I sucked his cock into my throat. The heat radiating from between my thighs, soon blocked out any memory of the chilled air beyond the room, as we rocked back and forth on each other. While snow may have been falling, ice crystals coating everything on the other side of the window, beads of sweat fell from Chris and me. It was almost as though we were in the middle of a tropical rainforest.
More than an hour passed as we explored each other’s body thoroughly with hands and mouths, as though that were the first time we had touched. Somehow, everything was new again. Although I had given up my virginity years before, I felt fresh and clean. Nothing had ever felt so right before.
As I used my mouth to pleasure him, I marveled at my own ability to instinctively know just the right amount of pressure from my tongue to mix with the motion against him. Hearing his quiet, throaty moans, as if from a great distance, I continued floating along on the cloud of ecstasy formed between his cock and my lips.
As the two of us joined in the most carnal way possible, the purity of the love I felt for him overwhelmed me. Tears of absolute joy escaped my closed lids when I opened myself to him fully. Never had a man filled me the way he did that night.
His cock had always filled me with something near to perfection, but that night it was different. It was almost as though his need grew, or changed in some way, to ensure my own pleasure. He touched every inch of my inner walls. The tight, convulsing muscle in my pussy held and squeezed him. We had made love before, but never had it been like that.
Every movement was perfect. The pressure against my cervix, the feeling of his heat as my deep muscles pulled against his shaft, his sac coming to rest momentarily against me as we thrust deeply against each other.
It was like nothing I had ever experienced before! We exploded together, in a torrent of throaty moans and flood of hot fluid. His spurting seed, mixed with my own flow of liquid to overflow and spill from around his tightly encased cock and pool on the bed beneath my ass.
As we lay together in the afterglow of our amazing joining, Chris spoke the words to me that I had been waiting to hear my whole life.
“I love you Ella. With my whole heart, I love you and I will do my best to protect you, for the rest of my life.”
No words had ever been so beautiful to my ears. They replayed repeatedly in my mind as I drifted off to sleep, held securely in the arms of the man with whom I vowed to spend the rest of my life.
Seven
The next morning we headed back down to the ‘dungeon’, after a lazy breakfast together. The pile of boxes looked as if it had grown overnight. How there could be any possibility of finding the single slip of paper we were searching for was beyond me.
As we slogged through the never-ending pile of papers, we began making a game out of it, ‘see who can find the strangest surname, or earliest date.’
We even took to chuckling over some of the more outrageous symptoms people had brought to the doctor, as well as the originality in his ways of handling some of the situations.
My favorite by far was a ninety-year-old man, who complained that his pisser—his word, not mine— didn’t stand up the way it used to.
Old Doc Stockwell’s answer to the problem?
Patient was advised to visit Miss Fanny, at the red barn. Prescription given for intense manipulation by hand, three times a week.
“The old coot must’ve owned shares in the whorehouse,” Chris roared with laughter.
Just as I was brushing the dust from my knees to head upstairs and get lunch ready, Chris yelled, “I’ve got it!”
Tripping over boxes, nearly falling headfirst into others, I rushed to his side. In his hand was a tattered manila folder, about four inches thick. The name on the front was Mrs. Sandra Marshall.
My mother’s medical records.
“Hopefully the registration is in here somewhere and not just shoved into one of those other boxes,” Chris prayed, as we stood looking at that wonderful, dirty folder.
Within very short order, we were back upstairs, surrounded with old papers. The living room looked as though a bomb had gone off in the middle of the coffee table.
Tears fell unchecked, as I read my mother’s medical records.
All this, in three and a half short years—was that even possible?
We had immigrated to Canada when I was two and a half. These records were from that time, until just after I turned six.
I know that I was very young, but I could not understand how it could be possible that I knew nothing about all of the turbulence in my family back then.
In amongst the medical records there were reports and transcripts from a psychiatrist that she was seeing. The first of these was from as early as 1977.
Scanning through the myriad of files, I was devastated. The one repeating factor was that Sandra had an irrational fear of her own daughter.
How on earth could that even be possible?
The mountain of papers told a terrifying tale that would make an excellent horror flick. Sandra spoke of a toddler whom she was too afraid of to even be near, let alone bond with the child.
A child who held complete conversations with unseen people—moved objects without touching them—levitated six inches above her bed while sleeping—told when and how people would die —with unbelievable accuracy—and took her toys up onto the roof at two in the morning to ‘play with the stars’.
It went on and on. She expressed her fear at every visit that the child would kill her, if she tried to get in her way. She told the doctor that she was so afraid; she had to lock herself in a room where the child could not get to her.
Reading her terrifying account of running through the darkness, as fast as she could, to escape the tiny red-eyed monster, my heart went out to this woman. How could anyone know how to deal with that situation?
At some point, I came to the sudden, mind-shattering realization that this was not just some woman. This was my mother and the monster that she had been describing, was me!
Not possible!
I was just a little girl.
There were pictures back at the farm. I looked like an angel, with my shining curls and pink ruffled dress. Even in the photos where I was wearing coveralls and playing in the mud, I looked like any other precocious child.
There were no pictures of her and me together, though, at least not after my first birthday. I had always believed that my father had simply hidden them after her death, to protect us all from the painful memories. Now it had become clear that, there were in fact, no pictures of the two of us in existence.
I knew that there was a box filled with snapshots of her and Adam. In every one of those, the two of them were smiling playfully at the camera.
Adam.
My wonderful, older brother.
As a child, I had always seen him as my playmate. He was always more than willing to get on the floor and play with me. He would build amazing structures with Lego’s for me to use as houses for my little dolls.
Even though he was five years older than I was, we were always on the same level. He was my best friend. Perhaps my only friend, until I turned eleven.
Adam was sent away to a special school that year.
At the time, all I knew was that it was a school for special boys. I was so jealous of him.
He got to leave the farm and live in a big fancy hou
se. He went on exciting trips with the other boys. He had escaped our father. He did not have to tiptoe around and watch every word he said anymore.
Of course, as I got older, I learned the truth.
Adam had been diagnosed with ‘Inflicted Autism’, whatever that was. I accepted the diagnosis as fact. After all, the doctors were supposed to know what they were talking about, weren’t they? Isn’t that why they went to school for so long?
Now, I was beginning to wonder.
Maybe I could ask Chris about it later. Maybe he could tell me more about the disorder that my brother suffered from; maybe he would know some way we could help him.
I had to go see Adam. He was older. He might have memories, so deeply buried, that he did not even know that they were there. If I talked to him, we might be able to work it all out.
I knew that my mother’s ‘death’ and Adam’s illness were connected … they just had to be.
Eight
"Ella! Ella, did you hear me?”
What was that? Of course, Chris. I was in his living room “Oh Chris, these files are terrible.” The sobs escaping my throat nearly choked me.
“Ella, I found the registration code.”
“The what?” I was so confused, and then it all came back to me. “Oh right, the code.”
“Honey, are you okay?” He stepped over the mess to take me in his arms. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
Leaning into him … drawing from his strength, I whispered, “Yes Chris. I have to finish this. I have to know what happened.”
I looked at the file he was holding, “So, what does it say”
“Well, she was declared criminally insane. It appears that your father found her, trying to drown you in the bathtub, when you were six-years-old. His statement from the commitment is attached, if you want to have a look at it.”
Handing the papers to me, as he stroked my back, he added, “It’s pretty graphic. Just remember that I am here for you.”
My father’s statement read as follows.
At around 8:00 on September 19th I came in to say goodnight to the kids. I was always the one to put them to bed. Sandra said it was the least I could do, as she had to deal with them all day. I had been working on the old tractor in the barn and I was covered with grease and grime. So instead of heading straight up to the bedrooms, like I usually do, I went to the bathroom at the back of the house.
Sandra was in there, bent over the tub. At first, I thought she was scrubbing it. I knew that it was bath day for the kids and she always scrubbed the tub out with bleach, after Ella had her bath. She said that it was her way of making sure that none of us would be infected with whatever it was that was wrong with Ella. Although I have no idea, what she was always going on about. As far as I could tell, the only thing wrong with Ella was that she wanted Sandra’s attention. She would follow her around the house, all day long, asking her all sorts of questions. She really is such a sweet little girl. So curious and full of life. Always smiling, always ready for a cuddle and a kiss.
Anyway, that night, when Sandra heard me walk into the bathroom, she turned to look at me. Her eyes were huge and bloodshot. The pupils nearly filled the whole colored spot. She started screaming at me. Crazy things, like ‘She can breathe under the water! Look at it! It’s not human, Albert! She’s not human!’
That’s when I saw what she was doing. She had Ella in that tub, full of water. She had her under the water, holding her there. Her hands were wrapped tight around my little girl’s tiny neck. She was banging her head on the bottom of the tub. The water was turning red, from the blood coming out of her nose.
Ella’s skin was grey and she was just floating there, sort of limp.
I grabbed Sandra and threw her across the room. She was still screaming at me, when I pulled Ella’s body from the tub.
Adam came running into the room right about then, to see what was going on and I yelled for him to keep his mother back. He had to sit right on top of her. She was scratching at his face and beating him about the head. But he stayed put and kept her away. He is a good boy, always has been.
Holding Ella in my arms, I called 911. They told me what to do and sent out an ambulance. I did CPR on that baby, until they got there to take over. The police came too and when Sandra saw that everyone was working to save our daughter, she went crazy again.
She grabbed a pair of scissors from the counter by the sink and stabbed one of the paramedics in the back, before anyone could stop her.
The police grabbed her and wrestled her to the ground. They put her in restraints. She was so violent that they had to hog-tie her. She actually bit one of the constables and took a chunk out of his arm. I do hope he will be okay.
They carried her out to the backseat of one of the cruisers, right at the same time the paramedics were putting Ella into the back of the ambulance. Right before they shut the door, she looked at her own daughter, with such hatred in her eyes and screamed at her, ‘I will put an end to you … one day I WILL stop you!’
Ella suddenly opened her eyes, right then. She pulled the oxygen mask off and asked me why her mummy was crying. Then she passed out again.
Ella is a wonderful child. She has never done anything to warrant all the nonsense Sandra has been spouting. I have tried my best to help her, with doctors and such, but there is no hope for her that I can see.
Sandra must be kept away from Ella, and all other children for that matter. She is dangerous. As much as I love her, I cannot let her hurt anyone else.
The commitment papers were attached to this statement and they were both signed by my father and dated, September 30th, 1980.
Nine
"My mother tried to kill me, Chris.”
With his arms securely encircling me, I sobbed into his chest. Never had I felt so small and insignificant in my life.
Even when my father was dominating my life, I had still been able to hold on to the belief that my mother had died loving me. That she would have been there to protect me, to help me, to show him that every girl needs a bit of freedom, if she could have been. Now I only had Chris.
I needed his strength and his normalcy. He grounded me. Holding me in his arms, he was actually holding me in the reality of this world. I could feel the vast, black void of insanity trying to drag me down, into its emptiness.
I held so tightly to Chris’ shoulders, I am sure that I must have cut off the circulation to his arms.
As I slowly began to regain my composure, he took my face in his hands and kissed me. “I love you, Ella. If this is all too much for you, just say the word and I will take over. I will try to find the answers for you.”
“No, Chris, this is my demon to fight. Somehow, I know that this is a battle that has been going on for a lot longer than anyone wishes to admit. I have to follow this through to the end.”
“Can I ask you something?”
I looked directly into his eyes, letting him know that I was willing to answer him, if I could.
“Do you truly not remember any of this?”
“No, not at all,” I whispered. “That’s weird, isn’t it? I should be able to remember something that major from my past. Shouldn’t I? What is wrong with me, Chris? Why can’t I remember?”
“The mind is a truly amazing thing, Ella. It protects us from things that could drive us insane, by blocking those memories. It hides things away, like putting a scary book in a locked drawer. It is still there, but you don’t have to deal with it. Sometimes things are just so overwhelming that our minds can’t hide enough of it away and the fear and pain manifest themselves in other ways.”
“Like with Adam.”
“Yeah. Sort of.” Chris’s statement was not very convincing.
“What do you mean… sort of?”
“Honey, in all my schooling and the years since I have been in practice, I have never heard of Inflicted Autism.
“You mean it’s rare?”
“No, I mean it is not real.”
/> “What?”
“Okay. I know Adam is unwell, mentally, but it’s like they couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him so they just—made something up to fit.”
“Of course.”
“What do you mean… ‘of course’?” My reaction obviously had him puzzled.
For some reason, I could not stop the laughter that bubbled its way up my throat.
“My whole life has been a lie. My family is a lie. Why should Adam be any different?”
I continued laughing… almost hysterically.
“Oh baby,” Chris smiled. “I think we need to try to calm down here and get back on track.”
Wiping the tears from my face and struggling to get myself under control, I sat and looked at him. He was right; of course, we had to find the underlying cause of this mess.
“Yeah, you’re right, Chris. Let’s get to the bottom of all this crap!” With a quick kiss on his cheek, I clamored to my feet, with a determined resolve. “Let’s get at it!”
* * * *
While Chris made the call to Mountain View Institute, I cleared up the mess we had made in the living room.
Chris was able to ascertain that my mother was in fact, still a patient. She was under the care of a Doctor Lawrence. He arranged for us to meet with him at two o’clock the following afternoon.
After throwing a few bits and pieces into the back of his sturdy SUV, Chris got hold of his partner. Joe agreed to take care of the practice for the next few days. When Chris told him that he really couldn’t explain at that time what it was all about, Joe said that he understood.
Knowing that everything would be well taken care of, we were free to head out. Just as we were climbing into the truck, my father pulled into the driveway, blocking our exit.
