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An Act of Madness Part 4

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 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.

Book Review: Pimp: The Story of My Life By Iceberg Slim

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A couple of weeks ago I was browsing the Kindle store when I came across Iceberg Slim’s biography, Pimp: The Story of My Life (see http://www.amazon.co.uk/Pimp-The-Story-Life-ebook/dp/B005GK7LPG) which tells the story of how the author became one of America’s most notorious pimps. Slim ppulls no punches. The book is a no holes barred account of how Iceberg entered pimping, the people he met and of how he controlled his girls. I flinched as I read how Slim punished his first working girl, Joyce by whipping her with a wire coat hanger. The whipping had (from Slim’s perspective) the desired result as Joyce returned to the streets to sell her body.

Slim was brought up during the era of racial segregation which had a profound effect on his view of the world. As a young black man Slim saw pimping as being one of the few opportunities open to him to become rich. His mentor, Sweet Jones hates white people as a result of his father having been murdered by a white lynch mob and his mother having been raped by the same mob. Sweet tells Slim that black pimps where the early heroes who turned the tables on their former slave masters by becoming prosperous in pimping. It is ironic that Sweet and Slim fail to see that they themselves are slave owners of a kind and are perpetuating the practices of the former plantation owners (it is Sweet who recommends to Slim he keeps his girls in line by the use of practices including whipping with coat hangers). The slave holders of yester year would, no doubt have been proud of them!

As a child Slim’s mother has relationships with a number of unsuitable men including with Slim’s father who, at one point throws the child against the wall. The exception to this rule is the gentle Henry who dotes on both Slim and his mother. However Slim’s mother leaves Henry for another man, had she stayed with Henry who Slim clearly adores it is very possible that I wouldn’t have read Pimp as the author wouldn’t have entered the world of pimping.

On reading Pimp one wonders why the women Slim controlled put up with their treatment at the hands of Iceberg. Fear goes some way to explaining it, however this is not the only explanation. Working on the streets and frequently unobserved by Slim his ladies had many opportunities to escape. One or two of them did but many others did not. Ironically a number of the girls “loved” Slim and convinced themselves that their feelings where reciprocated which explains why they remained with him. In particular one girl sends Slim money while he is in prison (she could have stolen it but chose instead to sell his car, on Slim’s instructions and send the cash to him).

In the end it is the fear of dying in prison rather than any moral revulsion which leads Slim to exit pimping. There is, so far as I can see no wholehearted moral rejection of his former life but I haven’t read any of the interviews which he gave subsequently so perhaps I am wrong on that point.

If you want a comfortable bedtime read then Pimp by Iceberg Slim is not for you. However if you want to try and understand why a man might enter the world of pimping then this book makes a fascinating read.

The Thing

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Like a living thing it lurked in the spare room quietly clicking away to itself. No one knew about it save for the boy and he told no one. What would have been the point of telling? Had he told they would have called him mad, a strange child with a tenuous grip on reality the adults would have remarked. Sometimes even he doubted the existence of the thing. During the day the room stood silent and empty except for the presence of a chest of drawers, a single bed and a wardrobe. The homely presence of the furniture, solid and dependable reassured the boy during daylight that all was well in the house. When the sun shonne on the walls the horses imprinted on the wall paper filled the child with delight. He imagined them galloping across sunlit green fields their long mains blowing in the wind. He galloped with them wild and free, nothing could hurt him, his spirit was one with the sky and the wind.

At night the thing came. Click, click it said crouching in it’s corner coiled and ready to pounce. The thing never left it’s lair but the knowledge of the loathsome presence filled him with dread. Click, click it said waiting patiently in the dark for it’s prey.

Looking back he never could recall having entered the room. Some how or other he was there in the presence of the unspeakable clicking thing. It never spoke, perhaps it was incapable of speech, the thing merely bided it’s time and when the time was right struck like a beast launching itself upon his prey. Click, click the machine whispered to itself it’s tentacles reaching for the boy’s neck. Choking he fought with the thing. It was strong but he always managed to wriggle away somehow. Perhaps the thing wanted him to escape. Like a cat which takes pleasure in catching a mouse, releasing it and giving chase once more the thing would let him go only to wait, patiently for the next tussle.

He called it the strangling machine on account of it’s propensity to choke him. Click, click, click echoing down the years the thing reached into his nightmares, filling his brain with the terrors of the night. Click, click click … …

Paid for: My Journey into Prostitution by Rachel Moran

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I am currently reading “Paid For: My Journey Through Prostitution: One Brave Woman’s Account of the Violence that is Prostitution [Kindle Edition], by Rachel Moran (see http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00C7735X8?ie=UTF8&ref_=oce_digital). The author grew up with two mentally ill parents. Her father committed suicide when she was still a young girl. Rachel’s mother’s schizophrenia worsened following his death leading to increased pressure on Rachel and the other children of the family to grow up before their time. For example the author relates how she had to collect her younger sister from the hospital unaccompanied by her mother while still a young child.

The pressure cooker environment leads to Rachel leaving home in her early teens. She moves from hostel to hostel experiencing periods of homelessness in between. Due to hunger she turns to shop lifting but not being adept at it frequently ends up in the local police stations.

At the age of 15 Rachel’s 21-year-old boyfriend suggests that she enters prostitution. Believing that sex work will empower her Rachel agrees to this suggestion and at the age of 15 enters street prostitution.

I am under half way through the book and have therefore not formed a view as to it’s overall merits. What I can say is that Rachel Moran knows how to string a sentence together and that the reader feels compelled to agree with her assessment that given her chaotic childhood the author’s entry into prostitution was predictable (I don’t think that one can say inevitable).

I will post a full review once I have finished reading Moran’s book.

The Lives of Sex Workers

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My book, Samantha has now entered it’s third day of it’s free promotion in the Amazon Kindle store. Sales have been steady (47 copies downloaded when I last checked approximately 10 minutes ago). If you have or are intending to download Samantha I would appreciate it if you would please consider leaving a review in the Kindle store or, alternatively by commenting on this post.

Samantha tells the story of a young girl forced into prostitution in the city of Liverpool. Can Sam escape the world of mental and physical abuse which constitutes her daily existence or will she end up floating in the freezing waters of Liverpool’s Albert Docks? For Samantha please visit the following link http://www.amazon.com/Samantha-ebook/dp/B00BL3CNHI. You may also be interested in The First Time, in which we meet Becky, a young graduate who enters the world of escorting as a professional escort in order to pay off her debts. For The First Time please visit http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-First-Time-ebook/dp/B00AIK0DD6.

Oops I Shouldn’t Have Said That!

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As a child I lost my vision and am now registered blind. This was as a consequence of a blood clot on the brain. Being disabled I was shocked and angered to read about Colin Brewer, a councillor on Cornwall County Council who stated that “disabled children should be put down” (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2285773/Collin-Brewer-resigns-saying-Disabled-children-cost-down.html?ITO=1490&ns_mchannel=rss&ns_campaign=1490). Mr Brewer made the remarks to a representative of a charity for disabled children back in 2011. The lady to whom the remarks where addressed naturally complained to the Council and over 18 months later received an apology from Mr Brewer apologising for his remarks and stating that the remarks where not, in fact his views. His explanation (excuse) is that he had just come out of a heated council meeting during which the significant costs of supporting children with disabilities had been discussed and he was “still hot under the collar” following the discussions. Seeing the charity workker he gave vent to his anger which he now says was wrong. Not surprisingly Mr Brewer has now resigned although he is, apparently considering standing in May’s local elections. Good luck Mr Brewer, you will need it as the vast majority of decent ordinary people will, I’m sure vote for candidates other than yourself!

We all at times get angry and say things which we don’t mean and later bitterly regret having said, however the remarks of Mr Brewer are not in this category. In Nazi Germany disabled people (both children and adults) where exterminated by the authorities on the direct order of Adolf Hitler. The so-called T-4 Programme was carried out in secret, however news of it’s existence leaked out and (not surprisingly) even in Nazi Germany public revulsion was voiced by brave churchmen and other members of the community which lead to the Programme’s official suspension but it’s continued operation at an unofficial level. The Programme saw experimentation with the gassing of people with disabilities, a method later utilised by the Nazis in the Final Solution (the attempted extermination of European Jewery).

Mr Brewer’s belief that children who are disabled should be “put down” was put into horrific practice in Nazi Germany and this is why it is right that he has resigned. One does (as I said above) say things which are not meant during the heat of the moment, however there are certain remarks which no civilised person would make as it would never enter into their head to make them. Murdering disabled children falls into this category!

Sick In The Head

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A theme running through my story, Samantha is that of evil. Barry (a pimp who owns an escort agency) drugs and rapes Sam. When she wakes he shows her pictures of the sexual abuse and threatens to send the photographs to Sam’s father unless Samantha agrees to work for him as a prostitute. Not wishing to induce another heart attack (Sam’s father has just undergone a heart operation) she agrees to work for Barry and enters a world of physical and mental abuse.

On discussing Barry’s personality with a close friend he remarked that I should consider endowing him with one redeeming feature or including in my narrative one act of kindness by Barry. I thought long and hard as to whether I should follow my friend’s advice, however Barry possesses no saving graces and I decided to portray him as the unfeeling psychopath that he undoubtedly is.

Barry possesses many of the classic traits exhibited by psychopaths. He is superficially charming (it is his charm which convinces Sam to accept a drink from him which unbeknown to her contains the date rape drug GHB). Barry has no conscience, he beats one of his girls, Tanya because she is unable to work due to being high on Crack and in the final chapter Barry attempts to kill Sam because she has had the temerity to tell him to “Go fuck yourself”. Barry is egotistical. In his world it is only Barry O’Connor who matters, the prostitutes he controls are mere means to his profit. Barry does not acknowledge that anyone other than him possesses feelings or if he does accept this, he shows no sign of caring about them.

To acknowledge that Barry is a psychopath with no redeeming features is not the same as saying that we can feel no empathy for him. In chapter 7 (http://newauthoronline.com/2012/12/18/samantha-part-7/) Barry has a nightmare in which he is, as a six-year-old thrown into a dark cupboard under the stairs by his mother. He bangs his head on the gas meter and is left bleeding there while his mother watches television. The terrible abuse which Barry has suffered as a child warps his view of women “they are all bitches and deserve everything that men do to them”. We rightly abhore and condemn Barry’s view of women and the abusive behaviour which flows from it. We can however understand (but in no way excuse) why Barry behaves as he does.

Barry is at bottom a thoroughly nasty piece of work. We can shed few tears when he meets his grizly end However had Barry experienced a loving childhood rather than one filled with abuse, would he have turned out as the cold hearted pimp he is trawling the streets of Liverpool for girls to entrap into prostitution? .

Samantha by Kevin Morris – Liverpool and forced prostitution

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My forthcoming novel, Samantha is set in the city of Liverpool and tells the story of a young girl, Samantha who is forced into prostitution by her brutal pimp Barry.

Having been born and brought up in the city of Liverpool I can vouch for the fact that Liverpudlians are a warm and friendly lot. Unlike London and other large cities the inhabitants of Liverpool say good morning to strangers a trait which raises eyebrows among visitors who are unfamiliar with the people of the North-West of England. However Samantha is not about the warmth and generosity of the people of Liverpool, it deals with the brutal reality of a young woman compelled to work as a prostitute in that city.

Can Samantha escape the world of sex slavery or will she end her life in the cold and murky waters of Liverpool’s Albert Dock? Perhaps her love for Peter (a teacher she meets in a night club) will save her, perhaps not.

Currently Samantha exists in partial draft form on my blog (http://newauthoronline.com/2013/02/02/samantha-part-12/). Once completed Samantha will be published as an ebook and, possibly in good old fashioned hard copy as well! For part 12 of Samantha which links back to previous chapters please visit the above link.