The below was sent to me by a female friend and is reproduced with her kind permission. The poem pertains to an abusive relationship so, if this may trigger emotions you would not wish to be triggered, you may wish to avoid reading the below:
I’m glad I’m out of there
Now, it’s time for some self-care
You don’t deserve me
You pushed and you shoved me
Where there’s violence, there’s no real love there
He hears her voice
And wonders what she does know
Of where men go
In their head. Choice
Is a word
Oft times heard.
Possessing seeming
Meaning,
It conceals scheming.
But women know
‘Tis not always so
And suspect
There maybe respect.
It helps them cope
For hope
Is the last thing to die.
Occasionally I Google my books to see how they are ranking. Yesterday I was concerned to discover that my book, “Street Walker and Other Stories”, which should be available only in the Amazon Kindle store, can, apparently be downloaded from the following (non-Amazon) link, (http://www.ectechnano.com/street-walker-and-other-stories.html).
I didn’t provide Street Walker to ectechnano.com and have no idea how the site obtained my book. Having researched ectechnano.com it appears that it is considered to be a “high risk” site. I am not sure what action to take other than filing a DMCA Notice with ectechnano.com’s Internet Service Provider (I am reluctant to use the contact form displayed on ectechnano.com’s site). Fellow authors may wish to check whether their works can be found on this site.
Kevin
I have just read and reviewed “This Present Garden Of Pain” by Tanya R Simon, which movingly chronicles the life of an abuse survivor. For my review on Amazon please visit the following link (http://www.amazon.co.uk/review/RC6TSVMG04E7K/ref=cm_cr_pr_perm?ie=UTF8&ASIN=B00PMDOKG0).
Book Review: SARAH’S STORY BY SARAH PRESTON (http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0072HUZXQ/ref=pe_385721_48721101_TE_M1T1DP)
This is a true story of the horrific abuse of a young child by a paedophile. Sarah comes from a troubled background. Her mother is addicted to bingo and frequently takes her daughter, Sarah to the bingo hall when she should be attending school. Sarah’s mother has a scheme (scam) going with the bingo caller, Bill which allows her to win once or twice a week. The winnings are then split between Sarah’s mother and Bill.
One day Bill asks whether Sarah can help him prepare sanwitches. Sarah does not like Bill (a very perceptive child) but despite her reluctance to assist him Sarah’s mother pressures her into doing so. Over time Sarah is taken to Bill’s flat (the first time the excuse is that he has forgotten a cheque book). On the first visit Bill touches the 11-year-old Sarah inappropriately but on subsequent visits he rapes her.
The book is extremely well written and makes for harrowing reading. It is heart breaking to read how Sarah tries to pluck up courage to tell her parents about the abuse but due to Bill’s threat that no one will believe her she never does so.
The marriage of Sarah’s parents breaks down and her mother leaves home. Following this Sarah’s father who should have protected her begins to abuse his daughter. The abuse stops following Sarah’s mother’s return to the family home but, unsurprisingly the relationship between Sarah and her father can never be the same again.
Eventually, at the age of 14 Sarah stands up to Bill telling him that she will report him to the police if he continues to abuse her. Breathtakingly he responds that he thought Sarah liked it but seeing that she is determined not to be abused any more he takes her home and the abusive behaviour ceases.
Sarah has been happily married for many years but her traumatic experiences make her suspicious of strangers. She is suspicious when her young son says how he likes a particular teacher and asks whether the man has touched him. Her confused son confirms that he is just a good teacher and Sarah’s mind is set at rest.
I would highly recommend this true account of the horrendous abuse of a young child.
Below is an extract from a story I am working on. The story looks at what happens when a lonely and confused 14-year-old girl, pretending to be 18-years-old, places an advertisement on the internet. Will she, as she hopes “have a laugh” or will what Lizzie perceives as a bit of harmless fun end in tragedy. This is just a taster. It is not my intention to publish the whole story free online. When finished and polished it will be on Amazon. I’d be interested to hear what you think. Kevin
“Don’t kiss me darling. You’ll smudg my makeup” Monica said giving her daughter a perfunctory hug. “I’ll be back late so don’t wait up. There’s a pizza by the microwave. Don’t answer the phone or the door to anyone. You know I’ll always call you on your mobile”.
Lizzie raised her eyes heavenwards. “Yeah mum, see you later”.
“Bye darling” Monica said picking up her fake crocodile handbag, which complimented the boots, and headed for the front door.
Lizzie grunted unintelligibly and headed for the stairs, the pizza could wait.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that darling. You can speak well when you choose. You don’t need to grunt like an animal”.
Without pausing in her stride Lizzie climbed the stairs. As she reached the halfway point the sound of the closing front door could be heard. Lizzie sighed continuing to climb the uncarpeted stairs. Reaching the top she walked straight on entering her room.
Lizzie pulled out a folding dining chair and, sitting down reached for her laptop. Clunk, she turned to see a screw from the chair lying on the threadbare carpet. Lizzie bent and retrieving the screw proceeded to tighten it with a mini screwdriver she extracted from the desk drawer. She knew her handiwork wouldn’t last. The thread of the screw was so worn but it should hold for a while longer.
Lizzie reached for the switch on her laptop. As she leaned against the desk it wobbled. The desk had come from MFI a DIY shop which had closed some 25 years ago and had been given to Monica, by Lizzie’s grandparents as had the Windows 2000 laptop.
“All my friends are using at least Windows 7 but I have to use fucking 2000!” Lizzie said banging her fist on the desk which shook precariously with the impact.
Lizzie switched on the machine and as it powered up glanced listlessly at her history homework. “World War I was caused by imperial rivalries between the great powers. Discuss”. “Who gives a fuck” Lizzie said outloud. “What has what Germany, Russia and the other countries did 100 years ago got to do with me? I don’t give a shit”. With a flick of her wrist Lizzie sent her homework over the edge of the desk. The momentum carried the papers across the room where they came to rest under Lizzie’s bed. The act of clearing her desk relieved some of the pent up anger in the girl. Feeling somewhat calmer Lizzie entered her password. Once logged on she sat stirring for long minutes at the monitor. Did she really want to do this? It was dangerous, you never knew what weirdos lurked out there in cyberspace. But she didn’t have to actually meet anyone. It would be a laugh, something to giggle about with her mates. She would put an ad on the web, maybe chat to some guys, get them all excited, maybe promise to meet them but she wouldn’t actually go through with it. God they would be pissed off waiting for a girl who never actually turned up. She imagined guys sitting in restaurants, glancing at their watches until, eventually the penny dropped that the girl they had been chatting with wasn’t going to show. “Serve ‘em right, the dirty pervs” Lizzie said as she clicked on one of the many sites which offer free advertising.
“18-year-old blonde seeks no strings fun with a generous guy”, Lizzie giggled as she typed. There was an option to upload a photograph. Lizzie thought about doing so. It was unlikely that her mum or any of her teachers would see the ad but, being a cautious girl she decided against posting a picture. Possibly she would send one to blokes if they asked.
“I confirm that I am at least 18-years-of-age or older and that I have read and agree to abide by the terms and conditions”. Lizzie checked the box and clicked on the create account button.
A brief moment of panic seized Lizzie. What had she done? She was 14-years-old for Christ’s sake, who knew what pervs would answer her ad. But the site provided her with a unique e-mail address ensuring that no one need know her actual e-mail unless she chose to let them know it which, of course she had no intention of doing.
Time for that pizza Lizzie thought as she switched off the laptop. She would come back later to see what saddos had responded to her add. At the bedroom door Lizzie hesitated. She turned back and sat down at her desk. Lizzie reached for the laptop’s power button. She would delete her ad. “I must have been out of my mind putting that ad on there, I’ll delete the bloody thing. Fuck it, why should I? My life is boring as fuck. Mum doesn’t give a shit about me. I was an accident she once told me. A split condom in the back of a car and she couldn’t be bothered to have an abortion. Typical selfish bitch. I didn’t ask to be born but I’m here and I’m going to have a laugh. I won’t meet the blokes but it will be something to tell the girls about”. Rising from her chair Lizzie headed decisively for the stairs.
My collection of short stories, The First Time, is free in the Amazon Kindle store from 4-8 October. In this collection of short stories I explore why young women enter the world of prostitution while other stories look at what happens when the
worlds of sex and technology collide.
In “The First Time”, the first story in this collection, we meet Becky a young graduate who enters the world of prostitution in order to clear her debts.
The story looks at the effects of prostitution on Becky and her fellow escort and friend Julie. In “The Pain Behind the Smile” Issie presents her friend,
Peter with a birthday cake, however things are not what they seem.
In “Lucy” the acquaintances of a crusty old bachelor speculate how he could attract and retain the affections of a beautiful young woman. As with “The
Pain Behind the Smile” things are far from what they seem.
“Hemlock” explores what happens when machines attain the capacity to appreciate high culture. The story is both humorous and deeply serious.
To download The First Time free please visit http://www.amazon.com/The-First-Time-ebook/dp/B00FJGKY7Y/ref=la_B00CEECWHY_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1380885715&sr=1-4 or http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-First-Time-ebook/dp/B00FJGKY7Y/ref=la_B00CEECWHY_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1380886718&sr=1-4
“It’s Friday evening and that means clubbing. Yeah I can’t wait to get out there on the dance floor. The thud of the beat and all those guys watching as I strut my stuff gives me such a buzz. They can’t keep their eyes off me and their paws too. I can wrap any bloke round my little finger. The power of sex, use and abuse it, get what you want and move on.
God I feel sexy. What will it be? The tight red dress and matching skirt? Yeah that looks great. Where are my stilettos? Got them, I must have thrown them under the bed when I had that bloke last weekend. Mum never says anything about the blokes. As soon as she gets her benefits she’s down the pub picking up her own guy. She tried telling me what to do once.
“You’re a fucking slapper. I’m not having you bring blokes back here. You’re a disgrace. I didn’t bring you up to behave like a little tramp. I’m not putting up with it any more Kylie!”
I told her to fuck off and stormed out of the house. What right has she got to tell me how to live my life. Fucking waste of space she is. When it was happening she did nothing. She says she didn’t know. She didn’t know, my arse! If she had no idea then she bloody well should have known. To fond of the drink to care about me.
Well here I am. Club’s heaving, it always is at the weekend. Look at that bloke he can’t keep his eyes off me. He’s actually drooling. Pathetic loser, I’ll chew him up and spit him out like a piece of chewing gum. His hands are all over me the dirty fucker. He wants it bad. OK mate you asked for it,
“Want to come back to mine” I say grinding against him. Of course he does, the dirty fucker.
Sometimes I let them finish before I say anything. Other times I tell them while they are screwing me. Stupid twats you should see their faces when I tell them the truth. I just say casual like
“I’m 15 wanna see my school uniform”.
It’s a great little earner. No bloke wants to be called a nonce. They beat the crap out of nonces in prison but you know that anyway don’t you? Course you do. Anyway I’ve got more cash than all my mates put together. Blokes are stupid, they deserve everything that comes to them.
Sometimes when I’m by myself I can’t stop crying. Just 10 I was when that bastard slipped into my bed while mum was asleep. The things he made me do. Just a little girl and mum says she didn’t no, bollocks mum, bollocks world!”
Why do you sleep with the light on? Is it the fear of the bogeyman who crouches in dark dusty corners ready to pounce? Or is it the dread of the hand which, when least expected glides out from under the bed to grab your leg and pull you down, down, down? What causes you when I get up in the night, to ask in a voice full of forboding
“Where are you going?”
Is it the ghastly ghoul which makes you hold me tight, pull me close as though you will never let me go?
You say that you have no recollection of anything bad happening in your childhood. Do I believe you? I don’t know but there is something not right when a grown woman must sleep with the light on. What painted devil do you fear my dear?
K Morris - Poet 