Sex and Crime: Oliver's Strange Journey (38 page)

When she got back, and I came up to her
room, she was even more beautiful than her picture. She looked like
an elf from Lord of The Rings, with her long blonde hair, pale
skin, dark brown eyes, and her graceful features.

She wore a tight white v-neck t-shirt and
skin-tight black yoga pants with the word PINK on her behind. We
sat down on one of the two beds and talked. I told her I knew she
was on drugs. She gave me a surprised look and asked if I was a
cop. I said no. I told her about my experiences with Alice and the
girls I had met in Florida. Now Veronica felt comfortable enough to
tell me her story.

She suffered from severe anxiety and PTSD.
She used to be a very good basketball player and was hoping to get
a scholarship. But then she got into an accident and hurt her leg
and back. Her promising basketball career was over before it
started, and she ended up being addicted to pain killers. She told
me she supported her drug habit by having sex with a handful of
"friends."

I learned to hate when girls use the word
"friend" when they talk about the dope boys and johns they have sex
with. None of these "friends" really care about the girl. They feed
her poison and use her for sex. With friends like that, who needs
enemies?

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."

I was going to leave, but she said: "Please
don't go yet. Will you lie down next to me for a while?"

"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.