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An Act of Madness Part 5

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Below is the final part of my story, An Act of Madness. For Part 4 please visit http://newauthoronline.com/2013/06/02/an-act-of-madness-part-4/.

 

Ian woke to the sound of the dawn chorus. Even in the heart of Brixton the birds sing, Ian thought. For a few moments he was at peace listening to the sound of many birds singing fit to burst. All to soon the recollections of the previous evening’s debauchery came flooding back. He turned to see Lisa one arm around that beloved bear and the other draped over Angel. Despite being only 13 Lisa had attempted to protect Angel from Ian’s drug and alcohol fuelled lust. It had, of course been useless. Ian had struck Lisa a crushing blow across the face sending the girl flying across the room. As Lisa lay dazed on the floor Ian had raped Angel while she watched helplessly. Lisa’s face was deeply scarred where Ian’s ring had sliced into her cheek. Both girls face’s showed signs of dried tears mixed with the blood which Ian had drawn during his animal rage.

Ian turned away. He couldn’t look anymore. Getting out of bed he dressed quickly, opened the bedroom door and headed for the stairs. This time there was no Tom to detain him at the front door. Ian pulled back the heavy bolts and stepped out into the cool morning air. The birds still sang but Ian did not hear them. His thoughts where dark, no joy filled his soul.

“God, god what have I done? What have I done?”

Ian wandered aimlessly for over an hour. He wasn’t conscious of having been aiming for Brixton Tube, however, looking up he found himself outside. He entered, bought a ticket from the ticket machine and headed for the Victoria line.

The platform was relatively empty as at just after 6 am the morning rush hour had not yet begun in earnest.

Ian stood close to the yellow line, the point of safety which the public should not cross when trains are approaching. He felt nothing, absolutely empty. His life was meaningless. Looking into the future Ian saw more young lives blighted by him, scores of children stretching forward all brought to the depths of depravity due to his selfish desires.

A tube approached.

“Stand back, stand behind the yellow line” the underground official on the platform yelled at Ian.

“Sweet Jesus he’s jumped” could be heard over the radios carried by his colleagues.

It is often said that people who jump in front of trains frequently  don’t die immediately. Rather they linger on in agony, sometimes for days before merciful death relieves them of their sufferings. Others do survive but with severe disabilities. In Ian’s case it was quick. The wheels of the train cut him in half. There was a moment of acute agony, a pearcing scream and then what had been the essence of Ian was snuffed out, forever.

An Act of Madness Part 4

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Below is Part 4 of my story, An Act of Madness. For Part 3 please visit http://newauthoronline.com/2013/06/02/an-act-of-madness-part-3/.

 

Ian felt that sense of forboding which often afflicts one before the breaking of a powerful thunder storm. He craved yet feared the coming of the thunder and lightening. His temples throbbed and he needed release but how and when that deliverance would come Ian did not know but the thought of it thrilled and scared him half to death in equal measure.

The pent up sexual frustration churned around inside Ian struggling to get out. He became careless. Ian had long regarded Anna, the teenage daughter of the Browns who ran his local news agents as material for his fantasising about teen girls. At 14 Anna was tall, slim and blonde. She stood not quite on the cusp of womanhood and this state of becoming drove Ian wild with desire.

One morning as Anna pushed The Guardian through his letter box Ian, to her great surprise opened the door.

“Morning Anna. It is a beautiful sunny day. You must be hot, would you like to come in for a drink?”

It was indeed a baking hot summer’s day and Anna hesitated before answering

“No thanks Mr Right. I have water with me but thanks for asking”, then with a smile and a waive Anna turned and headed for the next flat.

Once the door closed Ian stood shaking uncontrollably in the hallway. He knew that had Anna accepted his invitation to come in and have a drink that he would have offered her the £50 he had in his wallet for sex. Had he done that Ian knew that Anna’s reaction would, almost certainly have been to run straight home and report

“that filthy pervert from number 5) to her parents. The police and possible imprisonment would have been the almost inevitable result.

“Thank Christ that she didn’t come in” Ian muttered.

It would, he thought be far safer to call Tom who could provide a young girl to cater to his needs with minimum risk of discovery. If he didn’t call Tom then Ian knew that sooner or later he would do something which would lead to him getting caught.

Ian wondered whether the number he had for Tom would still work. He guessed that people like Tom changed their numbers and location frequently to keep one step ahead of the authorities. It had been almost six weeks since he had visited that hovel in Brixton so it was quite possible that Tom (or whatever his real name was) would have long since moved on. There was only one way to find out. With a trembling hand Ian picked up his mobile and located Tom in his contacts. His finger froze on the call buttond. It was so easy to make that call and so simple to delete the number. Yes he would delete the number and seek counselling for his addiction. Obviously he wouldn’t tell his counsellor that he had sexually abused a child (they would be obliged to inform the police). He would, however confess to a liking for young girls and do whatever was necessary to co-operate with the counsellor in tackling his perversion. But no, he was beyond redemption. Once a paedophile always a paedophile. Slowly, almost imperceptibly Ian’s finger pressed down on the call button.

“Yeah?”

“Is that Tom?”

“Yeah”

“Its Ian not sure if you remember?”

“I thought that you had forgotten old Tom! I’ve something very special for you. Two girls, one you saw before, Lisa and the other, Angel. Angel’s petite and black. Real cute. You’ll like her. I like you man. You can have both girls for £600”.

Ian’s hand was trembling so much that he almost dropped the mobile.

“Are you there man?”

“Yeah”

“Wanna come over?”

“OK, is it the same place?”

“Yeah, see you in half an hour?”

“No, say an hour”

“OK man, see you then. You will love Angel, Tom don’t provide no rubbish”.

 

—

 

Ian sat on the top deck of the bus as it wended it’s way towards Brixton. Looking out of the window he saw a park full of bright flowers. The reds, purples and whites combined to make a magnificent floral display. Someone rang the bell. Ian half rose from his seat,he was tempted to get off the bus, forget about Tom and spend the day walking in beautiful parkland. His groin twitched at the prospect of the two young girls Tom had waiting for him. With a wistful look back at the now receeding park Ian returned to his seat.

An Act of Madness Part 3

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Below is Part 3 of my story, An Act of Madness. For Part 2 please visit http://newauthoronline.com/2013/06/01/an-act-of-madness-part-2/.

 

For several weeks following his rape of the 13-year-old Ian dare not turn on his computer. He knew that, for him the internet signified searching for child pornography and, even worse young girls to abuse.

Ian wasn’t stupid. Some of the men on the paedophile forums which he had visited from time to time spun clever arguments that children enjoyed sex and that “caring” adults could introduce them to a world of sexual delight. Ian felt physically ill when he recalled how the teenager had begged him not to hurt her.

“I won’t hurt you” he said as he forced himself deep inside the child.

Yes he felt a deep sense of self loathing, this was, however mixed with sexual excitement. When he recalled his encounter with the girl a frisson of excitement drove him to  masturbate.

“Masturbation is my safety valve. My fantasies are hurting no one” Ian told himself. However Ian knew in his heart of hearts that the pleasure he derived from masturbating stemmed from the recollection of his rape of a child, it wasn’t a harmless fantasy, rather it merely served as a means of further exciting his interest in young girls.

When at last Ian finally went back online he searched for 18-year-old escorts who catered to “the schoolgirl fetish”.

“I can have fun and not hurt a child” Ian said to Lucy a petite 18-year-old who arrived at his flat wearing the uniform of a sixth form schoolgirl under her long coat.

“That’s good mate. Fantasising never hurt anyone” Lucy replied as she slipped out of her uniform.

“If only you knew the truth” Ian said to himself.

The visits of Lucy and other girls helped to scratch Ian’s itch. However in the dark recesses of his brain he longed to indulge his lust for very young teens. At night Ian would lie awake often into the small hours fantasising about young girls. Masturbation and the attentions of escort girls in their late teens no longer served to satisfy what Ian knew to be his perverted desire for underage girls.

Ian grew pale through lack of sleep. His bosses raised concerns regarding the quality of his work. If he didn’t pull his socks up Ian would be “out on his ear” his employer said in no uncertain terms.

 

An Act of Madness Part 2

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Below is part 2 of my story, An Act of Madness. For part 1 please visit http://newauthoronline.com/2013/06/01/an-act-of-madness-part-1/.

 

Ian knew that he had a problem. For a long time he had convinced himself that he could control the fantasies. There was after all no harm in fantasising Ian told himself. Indeed if everyone was locked up due to what went on in the darkest recesses of their brain then half the population, perhaps three quarters would be behind bars.

Ian had for so long as he could recollect felt an attraction to young girls. This did not present a problem when, as a boy of 16 he fantasised about girls a year or so younger than him. However, as he grew older the fantasising intensified. As a man of 25 he found himself making excuses for taking public transport at times when he knew that the buses would be full of teenage girls on their way to or from school. He would sit on the bus pretending to read the paper while allowing his eyes to take in the school girls as they sat giggling with their friends. On reaching home he would dash into the toilet or his bedroom and masturbate while the images of the teenage girls remained fresh in his mind. After he had obtained his release the temporary feeling of elation would soon give way to one of utter self loathing.

“You fucking pervert, you should be locked up” he told himself.

For a while he managed to stop. At the times when he knew that the school buses would be full of young girls he stayed at home and attempted to read the paper or a book. It was no good, the words on the page made no sense, his mind was far away on the bus watching teen girls giggling with their friends or flirting with boys of their own age.

At first he saw the internet as a way of safely indulging his fantasies.

“I’m not harming anyone, they are only pictures. I’d never, ever, ever touch a child!” he reassured himself.

Initially he searched for “teen girls” and found mild stimulation in the pictures of nubile 18 and 19-year-olds in various states of undress or engaged in sexual activity. However bordom soon set in. “Teen girls” was soon replaced with “barely legal teens” and “underage sex”.

Every time he turned on the computer he felt his heart start to thump. The sense of breaking a taboo, of kicking against convention caused excitement to course through his body. Still, he reassured himself he was only looking. He would never harm a child. It was pure fantasy, where was the harm in that?

Then it happened. He was looking at a site displaying teens many of whom where clearly under 18-years-old when a pop-up advert directing him to a teen contact website appeared on screen.  Ian’s heart began to thump so loudly that he fancied that the people in the neighbouring flat could hear it. With sweating palms he clicked on the pop-up and was directed to a poorly designed webpage with a line of text

“For teen fun call –“.

There where no pictures, just the single line of text. Ian could feel his manhood stir.

“No this is so, so wrong, close the site, forget you ever saw it” the voice of conscience and common sense whispered.

Another voice chipped in

“What harm is there in calling? It will be an advert for 18 or 19-year-old hookers. Maybe you can have some safe legal fun with a teen girl. You can indulge your fantasies and scratch that itch once and for all”.

Ian reached for his mobile. Several times he started to dial only to delete the number and replace the phone in his pocket. Eventually he dialled and pressed the call button. The phone rang. On the second ring a man answered

“Yeah man?”

“I saw the advert and …” Ian trailed off not sure how to continue.

“You want some fun with a young girl?”

“Yeah, so long as she is legal”.

The man at the other end of the line snorted with laughter

“Sure man you and me both no the score. I’ve got a real cutie, very young with blue eyes and blond hair. Slim”.

“What do I need to do? I’ve never done this before” Ian said through his constricted throat.

“Its £400 for the girl. Wana come over?”

“Yeah” Ian managed to whisper. His mouth felt like sandpaper.

“Is this your number?”

“Yes”

“OK, I’ll text you the address”, with that the line went dead.

An Act of Madness (part 1)

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He awoke to a thousand little imps banging their tiny hammers inside his skull. Tentatively he opened his eyes. The battered old chair on which he had flung his clothes the previous evening with such wild abandon swam into view. Cans of beer some still half full littered the threadbare carpet but it was the scent of sex, cheap perfume mixed with the sickly odour of rutting animals which made him lean over the side of the bed and vomit onto the filthy brown carpet.

The act of vomiting made him feel a little better. Slowly his mind cleared. He focused on the girl lying beside him. She lay her head resting on the filthy pillow, her right arm clutching a battered old teddy bear. The bear had been brown long ago but the years had turned it almost black. The sheet had fallen away leaving the girl’s body exposed. Her almost hairless vagina and barely formed breasts showed that she was in her early teens, 13 or 14 but no older.

“Christ what have I done?” the man said.

His words spoken out loud made the girl open her beautiful blue eyes.

“Please, please mister don’t hurt me again” she said clutching the bear protectively against her.

“I’m sorry” he mumbled attempting to put his arm around her in what was, he hoped a comforting manner.

“Please, no more” she pleaded her eyes swimming with tears.

Without another word the man got out of bed and flung on his clothes. As he reached the bedroom door he looked back one final time at the girl. She lay her head buried in that bear her shoulders shaking convulsively with deep sobs.

The man descended the rickety uncarpeted staircase, his feet seemed unnaturally loud to him in this silent place.

“God I need to get out” the man muttered as he descended the final stair.

“Enjoy yourself did you man?”

The man’s heart leapt into his mouth. He haden’t seen the Jamaican standing, in the shadows at the bottom of the stairwell.

“Little cutie isn’t she. Just turned 13. I told you that Jo could find you fresh young meat. I didn’t lie to you”.

“No she was lovely” the man said. He wished the Jamaican would step out of the way of the front door so that he could get the hell out of that stinking flea pit.

“OK man, remember Tom and the next time you want some fun give me a call”.

The man nodded and Tom stepped out of the way allowing him to open the front door and leave.

Autumn Leaves by Charles Dickens

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Yesterday evening, lying in bed, browsing Youtube on my Ipad I came across Charles Dicken’s poem, Autumn Leaves on Youtube. I must confess to not having been aware that in addition to his novels, short stories and travel writings Dickens had, in addition written poetry. This one is well worth a listen. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ESlzcQqEFY

Forthcoming Book Promotion

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I hope to be in a position to give away my story, Samantha free for 5 days. I published Samantha using Kindle Select which allows titles registered with the programme to be provided, free of charge for a period of 5 days every 90 days. I originally provided Samantha free in early March so, by my reckoning I should be able to do likewise in June. Please watch this space.

Samantha tells the story of a young girl forced into prostitution in the English city of Liverpool. Can Sam escape her life of sex slavery or will she end her days in the murky waters of Liverpool’s Albert Docks.

The Bliss of Solitude

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I have just been sitting on my sofa listening to the rain falling. It is a soothing sound and provides a welcome change from the noise of the television which signified the presence of my mum and her partner. It goes without saying that it was wonderful to have my mum stay with me for a week. We ate out often and had a wonderful time including a visit to an historic palace. However the sound of the television and the presence of my mum and her partner made it difficult for me to concentrate on my writing. I require solitude and the absence of external distractions such as music while writing and this has been largely lacking for the past week. My two bed room flat is spacious but it is amazing how sound travels. The answer is obvious. I need to win the lottery, buy a large house in the country and retire to my study in the west wing when guests are present and I need to write. I don’t play the lottery so this may be a little difficult so, dear readers please send donations, however large to K Morris, PO box 252, the Bahamas! I can hear pens scratching already as you all rush to right out cheques for significant sums. I’m off now to check out mantions in England’s green and pleasant land. Kevin

Freedom of Expression

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On 19 May I published a poem entitled “Her Mother’s Daughter” (see http://newauthoronline.com/2013/05/19/her-mothers-daughter/). In the poem I address how a mother oblivious to the fact that her young daughter is engaged in sex work would react if she discovered her involvement in prostitution.   My poem provoked the following response from a lady engaged in sex work

“This is fucking horrible. This entire project is vile. What the fuck are you even doing creating a whole project about sex workers as a non-sex worker based on shitty stereotypes, asinine paternalistic bullshit and inane drivel? As a sex worker myself, this is gross. For the sake of humanity, please stop. You are propagating stereotypes and lies about us and this causes us DIRECT HARM. STOP STEREOTYPING SEX WORKERS. Stop speaking for us. We can speak for ourselves.”

It goes without saying that sex workers can (and do) speak for themselves and that they have every right to do so. However I am extremely concerned regarding the implied view that anyone who is not a sex worker does not have the right to express a view on the issues pertaining to prostitution. If we follow this reasoning to it’s logical conclusion then only black people should speak about matters pertainig to blacks, only white people on issues relating to whites etc. This way of proceeding would stifle literary and, indeed artistic expression and would lead to a debased cultural landscape in which writers and society more generally is frightened of expressing an opinion as it might, just possibly offend some one or other. As someone who is blind I dislike the stereotypes which some misguided individuals hold concerning visually impaired people. However I have no wish to prevent the expression of opinion. If I disagree with views being voiced I can (and will) challenge those views, not by calling for their suppression but by arguing against them as any believer in freedom should do.

As regards the substance of the above quoted criticisms, the commentor makes no attempt to express a contrary perspective. Rather she indulges in that age old trick of shooting the messenger rather than attempting to engage him in debate.

In point of fact I accept the right of sex workers to sell sex and the right of clients to purchase services provided that both parties are of legal age and coercion in the form of threat or violence is absent from the exchange. However that is not at all the same thing as accepting that prostitution has no harmful effects on those engaged in it. Ultimately in a free society individuals have the right to make choices which may harm them (that is an important right which should be respected), however that is not the same thing as saying that one has no right to express concerns regarding said choices. In a democracy free and open debate is essential.