That summer I lived my best life ever. I had made a new group of friends, both male and female. We ran together all summer, and basically spent our time on five things: beach, work, party, sex, and sleep. Suddenly, this average white girl had a little money in her pocketbook, was socially popular, happy with herself, and getting laid regularly. There was nothing great about the sex. I mean, those teenage dicks knew nothing about my hot buttons, or cared about my orgasms, but being desired and used as a sex object was near euphoric to me. Many nights I got fucked, did my walk of shame home, only to finish the night masturbating with my hairbrush. I found many great orgasms while dreaming of things that those sea-shore boys couldn't even imagine.
Anyway, throughout that summer, I had been hanging around with a girl whose father owned an insurance agency in Philly. Her family came to Wildwood every weekend, so over the course of the summer I had met her parents, got to know them, shared my average story, and listened to both mom and dad complain about him being overworked and under-staffed, and his desperate need for help. As July turned to August, it seemed each visit to her house turned into a job interview. Ultimately, her father made me an offer to come work for him as his office manager, starting in September. I thought it over for a week, before coming to the realization that it was a good offer, and likely the best opportunity I would come up with to re-engage with life in the fall, so I accepted it.
Ultimately, it turned out to be an excellent decision. He was great to work for, it seemed my skill set was exactly what he needed, and as a team we watched his business double in two years. Most importantly, he shared the wealth generously. I was able to get a new car, buy a house, add numerous professional certifications to my resume, and I even earned commissions for selling insurance to new customers. I was happy, somewhat confident, and living my best life, albeit mostly alone!
My personal life, however, was shit. My beach crew all disappeared after my summer of fun, and the few Philly friends that I had before going to the shore, evaporated due to my lack of participation. It seemed that between work, and my social anxiety, I had no real time, or interest, in developing a new friend's group. I wanted a social life, but didn't want the stress of developing it, thus leaving me career successful, but socially alone. It was at this point that Billy found me.
It all went to hell with Billy; slowly. Billy was good looking, charming, personable, and caring when he wanted to be. But he was also lazy, a con man, a narcissistic-ego maniac, a drug addict, a compulsive-gambler, and a stealing, cheating, lying, shameless- motherfucker. And I fell madly in love with him.
Billy worked me like a violin virtuoso. At the beginning of our relationship, he made me laugh, then cry, then laugh again. He spent a lot of
my
money on things to make me feel beautiful. He dressed me in poster dresses, Victoria Secret lingerie, exotic jewelry, and always in red-soled heels. I looked, and felt, wonderful and loved showing off my beautiful self. I loved being admired! In return, I did everything, and anything, to please him, which made me feel even better about myself, thus leading him to fuck me in all kinds of perverted ways. We did oral, anal, exhibitionism, sharing, spanking, bondage, toys, girls, and eventually pain. All of which I learned to love, with him.
Slowly, there was a transition, however. Initially, I thought it was about me. Billy dressed me up to make me feel beautiful. Then he'd spend entire nights abusively fucking my ego back down to earth. He'd take me to an emotional high, then tear me down with degrading sex, all the while giving me endless orgasms. The combination of building my self-esteem, then abusing me back to earth was a potent potion for my sex drive. Deep down, I knew I was on a dangerous and very slippery slope, but I was happy to be Billy's love slut, until I wasn't.
One morning, after waking up all covered in cum, it dawned on me that he didn't care about me even a little bit. What I initially thought was about making me feel good about myself, and us, ultimately revealed itself to be all about Billy, and his needs. Eventually, I came to realize that I was only serving Billy, and his character flaws, addictions, and perversions. What I thought was love, and great sex, was now revealing itself to be debt service to his self-loathing, and drinking, gambling, and drug addictions. At the end he was inviting his buddies, his drug pushers, and his bookies to fuck me. Facials, DP's, orgies. I was completely degraded by his scum crew. At the end, Billy couldn't even fuck me. He pathetically watched me being abused while he jerked off. As my world spiraled towards a crash landing, the sexy dresses and shoes started coming from Wal-mart, or worse, from some other girl they had abused somewhere else. I became nothing but a tool in the addict's tool bag, to be used, and abused as he could, to maintain his addictions. A pathetic, slut, enabler. I hated myself and I hated him! But I couldn't stop it.
Sadly, it took me almost a year to fully admit to myself that Billy was a no-good piece of shit. But before I accepted that reality, he emptied my bank account of almost $50,000.00 dollars, destroyed my new car, tore me away from the few friends and family that I had, and once again convinced me that I was worthless. He kept me from exercising, fed me junk food, and brought back the self-loathing habits that I thought were behind me. He targeted and preyed on my insecurities and vulnerabilities. He convinced me that without him I was nothing but a lazy, freckle-faced, "average-at-best chick", who needed him because no one else would ever love me. I hated him for that but was caught so deep in the inescapable trap of needing to please him. Sex and praise became my salvation, and my "Stokholm Syndrome" jail. I needed to serve and satisfy Billy, to find own self-worth. And Billy took full advantage of my dependance. I'm not proud to admit it, but he degraded and humiliated me in some of the worst ways imaginable. I had become his cum-slut, essentially needing his degradation and approval before I could even achieve my own orgasm. I was pathetic!
But "life turns on a dime", as Steven King wrote in his book 11-23-64. Just as my personal situation hit rock- bottom, and I was searching for an exit to my nightmare, I got lucky. One night, Billy was rushing around like a mad man, packing a suitcase hurriedly, telling me he had to go away for a few weeks, as he had a friend with a problem. I screamed and fought over him taking all the cash and credit cards in my wallet, not knowing what-the-fuck was going on, and about leaving me with the dog. But he was adamant that he had to go. Just as he was about to leave, four big dudes broke into my house, and beat the living shit out of Billy right in front of me. After they beat Billy into submission, they took him out of the house, and I never saw him again. The leader of the group apologized for the disturbance, told me he'd send someone around this week to fix my door, and then told me that Billy wasn't coming back. "It'll be best for you, honey," he added, as he walked out the door.
I never saw Billy again after that night. I never asked any questions, and no one ever questioned me, either. I simply told anyone who asked, that he was bad, and we separated. Everyone in my world was extremely happy that I lost Billy. No one missed him. I don't even think the dog missed Billy.
