The Heroin Scene in Fort Myers
Page 9
Anyway, after talking for a while, Veronica and I took our clothes off and she began to gently suck my dick. Suddenly there was loud knocking on the door. We both were startled, and I hastily put my clothes back on.
Veronica was still naked, when she opened the door just a crack and whispered to someone on the other side. Then she turned around and said: "Sorry, my friend needs to get something out of the room."
"Can't that wait?" I asked.
"No, the room is actually in her name. She's just letting me use it. So I have to let her in," she replied.
She opened the door, and some grimey, mangy old crackwhore with sun-damaged leathery skin, no teeth and strawy hair that looked like a bird's nest came into the room and frantically searched everywhere for something.
I felt really uncomfortable, because that woman obviously knew that Veronica and I were having sex in her room. Awkwarrrd. But Leatherface didn't care. Her mind was on whatever she was trying to find in the room. There was a hectic sense of urgency about her. Veronica gave me a look that said: "I'm so sorry. It's not my fault. My friend is crazy."
Then Veronica said to Leatherface: "Can I have some privacy with my friend?"
Leatherface was visibly annoyed and said: "I'm doing you a favor so chill the fuck out! I just need to find my fucking stem!"
Finally Leatherface walked out of the room, and angrily slammed the door behind her.
"She was looking for her crackpipe," Veronica explained.
I took my clothes off, and she started to suck my dick again. She had to start all over, because I lost my erection. I loved being inside of her mouth. She was so beautiful. I got hard again. Then Leatherface started banging on the door again. This was getting rrreally annoying.
Ever since my father tried to break down my bedroom door and kill my mother and me, I have been suffering from PTSD myself. I never really knew that that's what it was, until I happened to run across some articles about PTSD many years later. But all my life I've had a hard time being emotionally grounded in the moment. I have always been emotionally detached, removed from the situation. I've always felt like an observer rather than a participant. I often feel like I am an audience member watching my life, instead of being in the starring role.
Nothing that happens to me or around me ever makes me extremely angry, even if that is the appropriate reaction. And nothing makes me extremely happy, not even when I got my first $92,000 check for my Embarrassing Moments website. And nothing makes me extremely sad or scared. Everything is just sorta ho-humm, as if the part of my brain that's responsible for the appropriate emotional response is padded in styrofoam.
Things barely register on my emotional scale. It's as if my emotions are stuck in neutral. My divorce from Donna and the resulting depression were the only thing I really really felt in a long time. And the even deeper, almost suicidal depression after losing Alice too was the strongest, most painful thing I had ever felt in my life.
When my father killed himself, it didn't really faze me. I was kinda relieved that he was gone. And when my grandparents died, it didn't really bother me all that much either, because I wasn't that close with them. Divorcing Donna and then losing Alice were literally the two most painful things that had ever happened to me. Besides that, nothing really felt much like anything, good or bad.
Even when I have a naked girl right in front of me, the situation doesn't seem real enough, not intense enough, to get much of an emotional reaction out of me. Just being in the same room with a beautiful naked girl is not enough to get me aroused. Not even if she is lying in bed right next to me. I might as well be standing next to a little old lady at a bus stop.
A girl actually has to touch me before I get hard. And even then I have to force myself to really concentrate on the moment, really concentrate on what I'm feeling right now, and really focus on the fact that I'm having sex. And even the smallest distraction, like annoying rap music on the radio, will make me lose focus.
So when Leatherface kept banging on the hotel room door every few minutes while I was trying to have sex with Veronica, it was not helping at all.
"I'm sooo sorry, but she's not gonna stop until she takes a hit," Veronica said. "Just bear with me. I'm gonna have to let her back in and help her find her pipe. But you don't have to get dressed again. Just chill in bed."
Veronica let Leatherface back in the room, and they looked for the crackpipe together for a couple of minutes. Veronica was naked the whole time. She had no shame. Leatherface finally found the pipe in her bag on the floor next to the bed I was lying in, naked under the covers.
"What's up?" Leatherface asked me.
"Hey, what's up," I replied nonchalantly, pretending to be Mr. Cool, like this situation was totally normal and I wasn't weirded out at all. Just another Tuesday night. No biggie.
Leatherface left and Veronica started to suck my dick for the third time. She was very gentle and it felt really good. She got me really hard. Then I got on top of her. I couldn't wait to finally be inside of her pussy. And it felt amazing. Warm and soft. She lay there with her legs spread wide, quietly, barely moving her hips, kissing me, gently embracing me, softly running her hands down my back, and pulling me deeper inside of her. She didn't try to control the rythm and she didn't overact like a porn star. She was perfect.
For some reason I was more turned on by her than by any other girl I had been with before. Maybe it was her breasts. They looked completely different than Donna's. Veronica had smallish, perky, young girl breasts, with very small nipples. They were the most beautiful breasts I had ever seen, even if they were by no means the biggest. They were completely unspoiled by age or gravity. I kept looking at them, and kissing them, while thrusting my rock hard dick into her perfect little pussy faster and faster.
I was about to cum, when Leatherface started banging on the door again. "I need the room!" she yelled.
"God damn! What the fuuuck?!" I moaned.
"Go ahead, baby, finish. Cum inside of me," Veronica whispered.
"I can't now. All that banging on the door is really distracting," I said.
"Yeah you can. Let me feel you cum in my pussy. I want to feel your warm cum in me," Veronica whispered while kissing my neck.
But it was no use. It was all over for me. There was no way I was gonna cum now. Especially not while I was picturing Leatherface standing on the other side of the door, tapping her foot impatiently.
I got dressed. I was really frustrated. Veronica felt guilty. She gave me a worried look and apologized over and over. "I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you next time, if you want to see me again," she said.
"Yeah, of course I want to see you again," I replied. "How about tomorrow?"
"Yeah, I would really like that," she said with a smile.
The next night Veronica was staying at the Budget Inn on 41, near Lee Memorial Hospital. It was pretty late at night when we met up. We both felt so comfortable around each other, as if we had known each other for a long time. While she was shooting up heroin right in front of me, she told me that she wished she could quit drugs. She told me her grandparents were about to come down from Boston in a few days, to try to get her into a rehab program. She told me about some sort of rapid detox. She hoped it would help her. While I was waiting for her to finish shooting up, I was lying on the bed naked, masturbating.
Then she smoked some crack and finally sat down next to me. She started kissing me while moving her hand between my legs. Then she slowly kissed her way down my stomach to my dick and started sucking it. I got on top of her and she wrapped her long legs around me, and pushed me deeper inside of her. Having sex with her was the happiest I had been in a long time.
After I came inside of her, she smiled and kissed me again. We talked for a while, and then we had sex a second time. Afterwards she washed up and said that she felt really comfortable around me. "I usually have a hard time making conversation with guys, but you are really easy to talk to," she said. "I like being around you."
"Sure," I said. I really liked this girl. She was so sweet.
We lay down in bed and she snuggled up next to me. I had my arm around her, her head was resting on my shoulder, and one of her legs was lying across mine, with her foot between my feet. For some reason it felt like we were supposed to meet, and we were supposed to lie here together. She fell asleep in my arms. I never wanted this moment to end.
In her sleep, she put one of hands up to her mouth, and started to suck her thumb like a little girl. Like so many times before, one little word, one little gesture, told me volumes. And somehow her sucking her thumb told me that she had been sexually abused ever since she was a little girl. Sucking her thumb reminded her of the last time in her life when the world was still ok. It comforted her and made her feel safe, because it took her back to a time in her life, before she had been molested.
Young children are totally helpless. They depend on their parents to protect them from the harsh reality of the real world. Parents are supposed to create a protective bubble around their children. A safe, warm and friendly world of unconditional love. A non-threatening fantasy world of talking puppets, unicorns, Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. When parents fail their child, and allow their child to be exposed to the rancid real world too soon, it does a lot of damage to the kid's psyche. A 4 year old girl is not supposed to know what it feels like to have a man touch her in a sexual way.
When that sort of thing happens to a young girl, the world is no longer a safe place for her. Especially if the man who molested her is her own father or some other close family member. If she can't even depend on her own parents, her protectors, to keep her from harm, how can she ever trust complete strangers not to hurt her?
Suddenly her protective bubble bursts, and she is exposed to the fact that the world is a scary, dangerous, dark place, at a time when her young mind is simply not able to cope with that reality yet.
Early childhood abuse or abandonment is so traumatic for a young child, it causes lifelong problems. It leads to trust issues, and that leads to relationship problems, because how can you love someone if you can't even trust them not to hurt you or abandon you? If your own mother or father didn't love you enough not to hurt you or abandon you, how can you trust complete strangers not to do the same or worse to you?
And that inability to love or bond with another human being often leads to depression, feelings of worthlessness, low self-esteem, and ultimately to drug abuse. I believe, in a nutshell, that most drug addicts are addicts, because they were abused or abandoned as children. They didn't get enough love as a child, consequently were incapable of forming meaningful relationships with other people, felt unloved and unlovable, lonely and miserable, and they started using drugs as a substitute for love.
They felt miserable, lonely and unhappy every day of their lives, even if they didn't realize it, because they didn't know anything else, so feeling miserable just felt normal. And then, when someone happened to offer them some drugs, they felt carefree and happy for the first time in their lives. For a few minutes, all their worries, all their fears and anxiety was forgotten.
If someone had offered me drugs when all that stuff with my abusive father happened, I would be a drug addict today. I was just lucky that there were no drugs around me when I was a young, impressionable child, going through difficult times.
And today, as a grown up, I know better than to start using drugs. I know I would like the way they'd make me feel. I know I would want to do them again and again to forget about my feelings and worries for a little while. And that's why I'm not even going to try them. I don't want to know how good they could make me feel, because I know I wouldn't be able to stop.
I read a study in which psychologists interviewed about 250 prostitutes in Los Angeles, New York, Chicago and a few other major cities. They found that almost all of these girls had been sexually abused in their childhood. And almost all of them suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. In fact, their level of PTSD was worse than that found among Vietnam veterans. Crazy, huh?
The study found that most of these girls had been trough very traumatic events in their lives and suffered severe emotional distress, so they ended up using drugs to self-medicate. They tried to make themselves feel better, and drugs made them feel better for a little while. I guess I was doing the same thing when I had sex with a bunch of girls after my divorce from Donna and after losing Alice. For a few minutes, while I had sex, I wasn't thinking about how unhappy I was. Just like Patty, when she kept raping me every day, while she was staying with me in Florida after Rocky's death.
Anyway, once the girls got addicted to drugs, they resorted to prostitution as the only means to make enough money to support their habit. The study showed that in almost every case, drug use lead to prostitution.
But occasionally it was the other way around. Some girls thought prostitution would be a great way to make some quick cash. But once they started having sex for money, they realized that it's not easy at all, to have strangers touch you and use you. Walking into a room with a complete stranger, and being naked and totally vulnerable is a very traumatic experience. The study found that prostitution itself causes PTSD as well, because it's very scary to walk into a room and not know if the next guy is going to rape you, kill you, arrest you or just treat you like shit.
Drugs lead to prostitution, and prostitution leads to drugs. Those two go hand in hand. It's a vicious cycle, that's almost impossible to escape once you get caught up in it.
After meeting Alice and her friends, and then meeting a bunch of girls in Florida, and their friends, I have seen prostitution from the girls' point of view. And I have learned that no matter what girls write in their Backpage escort ads about how much they enjoy what they do, the truth is, they hate what they do. It makes them miserable. It makes them feel like garbage. And they can only do it if they get high before they walk into a room with the next guy.
And that's why today I'm against prostitution. Not because I'm trying to tell girls what they can or cannot do with their bodies, but because I know how much the girls who do it suffer.
Anyway, let's get back to Veronica:
When she snuggled up next to me and started sucking her thumb, I knew what that meant. She was regressing back to the last time in her life when she felt safe and carefree. I had seen it before. Alice used to like drawing in coloring books for little kids. So did Haley. Alice's friend Kat was obsessed with Hello Kitty childrens' toys. Every girl I knew who had been sexually abused as a young child, held on to childlike traits, from a time before she was abused, because it reminded her of a more innocent time in her life. Even my ex-wife Donna liked to watch children's TV shows, because she didn't like the grown up world she lived in.
While holding Veronica in my arms that night at the Budget Inn, I just wanted to hug her tight and protect her from the world. I just wanted to hold her forever. I fell in love with her that night. She seemed so sad, so lonely, so vulnerable and fragile. I felt like we were kindred spirits. I felt like we had met for a reason, and I was exactly what she needed in her life, and she was exactly what I needed in mine. But I didn't tell her any of that. I figured she'd think I'm crazy. I figured I was just one more guy among many other guys she had sex with.
The next night I saw her again. She said she was really dope sick, and she asked me if I could give her a ride to go get some drugs. I really didn't want to, but I was in love with her, so I said yes anyway. People do really stupid things when they're in love. She asked me to take her to a little blue house on Broadway.
She told me to park the car in the driveway and turn the headlights off. It was dark, but I could see a bunch of black thugs hanging out in front of the house. She walked over to two of them and they began to argue. Something wasn't right.
Meanwhile another one walked up to my car and knocked on the driver side window. I rolled it do
wn. Don't ask me why. He leaned into the car and asked: "You party?" That's thug speak for "Do you take drugs?" I said no. I shoulda said yes. That probably woulda made me look less like a cop or a snitch or whatever this lowlife thought I was. "Lemme see your driver's license," he demanded.
"Hell no," I said.
"Gimme your license," he insisted.
"No fucking way," I said. Man, this shit was not cool. I wanted to get the hell out of here. I could tell that something bad was about to happen.
He looked to where Veronica was arguing with those two other thugs and yelled over to her: "Yo bitch, who dis nigga in da car?"
Suddenly she quickly walked back to my car, while those two thugs were following her. They were lifting the fronts of their shirts up and I could see that they had guns tucked into their belts.
Veronica was scared. Not a good sign. She wasn't even all the way in the car yet, when she yelled at me: "Go! Go! GO! GOOO! This is not a game! GOOOO!!!"
I backed the car out of the driveway as quickly as I could. I almost hit a passing car in the street. "Watch OUT!" Veronica screamed. "Oh my God, we gotta get outta here!"