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An Act of Madness Part 5

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 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.

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.

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.

Her Mother’s Daughter

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Your mother’s daughter, she is proud of you, but does not see what you do. She does not see her daughter sweet stripped, stark naked from head to feet. She does not see the massage oil, her little girl bringing a naked man to the boil. She does not see him pawing you, the disgust on your face, but what can you do? For, after all he is paying you. She can not look inside your head, see what thoughts trouble you as you lie in your own bed. Could she see inside your brain, the world would reel, her heart fill with pain. Your mother knows not what you do, perhaps that is best for both her and you.

Rachel Moran Memoir of a Former Prostitute

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The Irish Times for 13 April carries a piece about Rachel Moran, a former Irish prostitute and her book which details Moran’s experiences in prostitution (see http://www.irishtimes.com/life-and-style/people/the-myth-of-the-happy-hooker-1.1358702?page=1. For my review of Moran’s book please visit http://www.goodreads.com/author_blog_posts/4075228-paid-for-my-journey-into-prostitution-by-rachel-moran).

Moran’s experiences as a street prostitute and, later an escort has lead the author to advocate that Ireland and other nations introduce the Swedish model under which people who pay for sex are criminalised while prostitutes are offered assistance to leave the trade. In Moran’s view men who purchase sex are abusing women and take positive delight in doing so. Abuse is by it’s very nature unacceptable and those who buy women’s bodies should be named and shamed.

Having just read Moran’s book I was unsurprised by what she says in the above mentioned article in the Irish Times. However the comments from those who are either (or have been engaged) in the sex industry which follow on from the article are of interest. Other prostitutes and those with knowledge of the industry question Moran’s perspective that prostitution is necessarily exploitative. She is accused by one lady in particular of misrepresenting the effectiveness of the Swedish Law on Prostitution in preventing the trade. The commenter further contends that in contrast to what Moran states the Swedish approach makes the lives of prostitutes harder than was the case prior to the introduction of the legislation.

In my short story, The First Time we meet Becky a young student who enters the world of prostitution as an escort in order to pay off her credit card bill. The psychological effects of working in the sex industry on both Becky and her fellow escort and Friend Julie are examined as are the ladies interactions with their clients. No doubt Rachel Moran would see the fictional Becky as being exploited by Mike, the first man who purchases her services as an escort. However Mike does not threaten Becky either verbally or physically. In fact Julie informs her friend that there are clients “much worse than Mike Carter” and goes on to describe an encounter with a client who wanted her to pretend to be his teenage daughter.

Moran has understandably been deeply traumatised by her participation in prostitution, however whether she can speak on behalf of all prostitutes is, to my mind a debatable question as is exemplified by the comments generated in response to the above article and memoirs of other prostitutes which do not paint the same picture as Moran. Whatever one’s views on the issue of prostitution I’d recommend reading Moran’s book. As it provides a fascinating portrayal from one lady’s perspective on the oldest profession.

And they all lived happily ever after

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In February 2013 I published Samantha which tells the story of a young girl forced into prostitution by Barry, a brutal pimp in the city of Liverpool. Sam meets Peter and the two of them are soon besotted with one another, however Sam feels that she can not confide in her lover that she is, in effect a sex slave. The revealing of Sam’s secret life near the end of the book leads to profound consequences for all concerned.

In a 4 star review of Samantha a reviewer writes

“Some of the strands haven’t been tied up at the end and maybe that’s just what the author intended”, (see http://www.amazon.co.uk/product-reviews/B00BL3CNHI/ref=dp_top_cm_cr_acr_txt?ie=UTF8&showViewpoints=1). The reviewer is right, that is precisely what I intended. It would have been easy to write an ending in which Samantha and Peter walk off hand in hand into the sunset to live happily ever after. It would have been easy but it would not have been credible. Sam has lied to Peter by telling him that she works as a nurse. He is, quite naturally angry and upset when he discovers the truth. Any hope of a relationship between Sam and Peter is dependent on them rebuilding trust, perhaps this is possible, perhaps not. The truth is I don’t, as the author of Samantha know the answer to that question hence the “loose ends”! Life is not a fairy tale. It is messy and complex and the ending of Samantha reflects this fact.

Samantha by k morris book review

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On visiting the page for my book, Samantha today I was delighted to see that it has received a review which awards Samantha 4 stars. You can find the review here http://www.amazon.co.uk/product-reviews/B00BL3CNHI/ref=cm_cr_dp_see_all_btm?ie=UTF8&showViewpoints=1&sortBy=bySubmissionDateDescending. If you have read Samantha then I would love to hear your views