Some 27.000 words about nothing. Undoubtedly that's what some will say. Hopefully others will see it differently...
The basis of this story is sex trafficking. That is not romantic in any way: it's probably the lowest of all low and abusive businesses in existence, and I'm aware of that. This is mostly about the aftermath though, and with the help of the author that could -- possibly -- lead to romance.
The main question is: can love grow when there is no trust? And, can you trust someone you don't love one way or the other?
I am aware that I simplify the problems, the trauma and so on, so there's no need for You to comment on that. It is a work of fiction after all though.
As usual the build-up is long and slow. If that's not in your taste I suggest you stop reading right now and try something else instead.
Halin24
*****
I'm nothing special as a person regarding looks, build or anything, but for an unemployed guy I live very well, thank you very much. I got lucky when I was twenty-two and won a lottery: 50.000 a month for 25 years. Swedish 'Kronor' that is, not US Dollars, but before that I earned 25.000 a month before taxes...
I kept working and didn't tell anyone except my closest family -- my sister Jenny that is - about the win, and neither did I start spending money like crazy, though Jenny got a gift or two, so my bank account prospered. Six years went quietly by and the housebuilding market -- I worked as a carpenter for a small construction company -- went down to almost zero in the end.
I was laid off but got a severance at least. So I bought a forest estate in the northern parts of the country, sold my city apartment and moved. 'Estate' might sound too much: it was a quite large house but it was old and in need of renovation. There was close to a thousand acres of forest, a hundred more of farmland, and a small lake, so call it what you like. No-one was interested in buying land up there so it was cheap anyway.
Not working, but having the skills, I had all the time in the world and spent two years renovating the house, starting a vegetable garden and planting fruit-trees and berry-bushes. I even built a small pool despite being close to a lake. When that was done I... yeah, what would I do then? I hunted and fished and grew vegetables, harvested fruits and berries, picked mushrooms, chopped firewood and tried to be active in general.
In late fall after an intense summer things calmed down. I got restless and climbed the walls at home. I complained to my sister Jenny who was -- and still is - a pastor in the Swedish state church. She chastised me.
"Peter, grow up! There's a lot of people who need help, who have nothing or no-one: you have the time to help so do it!" she almost yelled on the phone.
"Yeah? And what should I do? Donate all my money and spend the rest of my life meditating on the injustice of life?"
"Don't play stupid with me! Help people where you live, or if they have no use for you go talk to the pastor in the nearest church. He or she can tell you what to do. Don't just sit there feeling sorry for yourself because you are one of the lucky ones. If all else fails you can get your ass over here and I will get you started myself!"
Jenny is not like most pastors, and a lot of people who knew her as a kid has thought I was joking when I told them what career choice she decided on. She swears occasionally, she is sexy (I have been told, she's my sister after all so I wouldn't know, would I?) and when the weather allows it her transportation is a Harley that she rides dressed in leather with what looks like a gang symbol on the back. If you look closer you will see that it is really Jesus on the cross, and the text says 'Ride With God'.
That's my sister, a fountain of belief that every person can work miracles if only they decide to try. Or really to do it, because 'try' is probably not part of her vocabulary but 'do' is...
I didn't know any people in the area where I lived, simply because my closest neighbour was thirty miles away and was a small village. It had a church though so I went there and talked to pastor Martin Wiklund. That way I got involved in a local help project for single parents, and enjoyed it so much that I continued with other things as well.
Like my sister I owned a Harley too, and it was on that I rode to see her eight months later on a late May 'vacation'. I spent a wonderful week with her and we went on an evening trip with her own bikers club, RWG, Ride With God, with fifteen others, all of them affiliated to a church one way or another. It was a delightful evening with many laughs, not least when seeing people's first reactions when they saw a 'biker gang' stop in the parking lot. They looked scared but when we bowed our heads in prayer under Jenny's guidance before beginning the picnic on the beach, their expressions changed to confusion.
While eating, the conversation centred around a church conference held in August in... a European country I won't name. What would be discussed at the conference was new ways to reach people, to get them involved in humanitarian projects.
Jenny planned to go there - or rather ride her Harley -- but wondered if anyone else was interested. Many were but most of them had trouble taking the time off from work and families. In the end four said with certainty that they would join her. After that Jenny turned to me.
"How about you Peter, won't you go with us?"
"Me? Why would I do that? I'm not the religious type you know."
"And what does that matter? You do humanitarian work for the church whether you believe in God or not and that is what the conference is about. You have first-hand experience and can talk about what convinced you to start."
"Are you sure it would be wise to tell the others there that my sister is a pastor and that she is also a bitch, harassing her brother? I mean, wouldn't that weaken your position?"
The others laughed but Jenny returned the compliment in kind.
"I would become a hero if you told them, the sister who managed to redeem her worthless brother and show him the right path."
Another laugh before she continued:
"Seriously Peter, I'm sure it would be both fun and interesting. I think I can get the bishop to support it so why not? You have nothing else to do anyway, do you?"
"Not really, no, but that is no reason to do
that
."
"Then do it to go on a bike-trip with your sister and four other bikers through Europe. I'll even give you an honorary membership in RWG for the trip, including our emblem."
"I'll think about it." I promised, but that wasn't enough for her.
"No you won't, you'll do it! Call me a bitch as much as you like but you know that I'm right and that you will do as I say in the end because of it."
"Alright! I'll go with you, I can always find a bar and be a tourist."
- - - - - -
In August we went on that trip to... that eastern European country I won't name. It took us five days to get there, taking our time and making some detours along the way. The hotel Jenny had booked rooms in was located in the outskirts of town or rather slightly outside since it was surrounded by a forest. It was quite small, only something like twenty rooms, with a small bar where meals would be served as well.
After we had checked in and unpacked we left to check on the location of the conference, found it and went to have dinner in town. The remainder of the evening we sat in the bar at our hotel taking it easy.
I wasn't focused on what was said really, and with less than half an ear on the conversation I looked around at the other guests. One thing I noticed was that older well-dressed men dominated the clientele, with a pair of young women sticking out. One of the women in particular caught my eye.
Above average in height, great legs showed off nicely where she sat on a bar stool at a high table with the other woman. Long brown hair, very pretty face, busty. What she had on was a very short dress, skin tight in a leopard pattern, and high-heel strap sandals.
A man in his fifties was talking to her and he could easily have been her father. Somehow I doubted that he was from the position of his hand high up on her thigh, inside the dress. One of her hands rested on the table but all I could see of the other was that it seemed to be in front of him, kind of low.
Fifteen other older men, the bartender, two uniformed policemen, one man about my age, the six of us and the other young woman -- a redhead - sitting beside the brunette: that was all of us present.
I watched the brunette stand and leave together with the man, their arms around the other's waist and her hip bumping into his with every step: she sure could wiggle her ass! They passed the one younger man present when they left and all three nodded slightly.
Looking around to find something else to watch I saw the two policemen watch the couple leave, one of them making an obscene gesture to his colleague and they started to laugh.
After the couple had left, the younger guy got up and walked over to the men in uniform, spoke a few words that caused more laughter, and handed each of them a few bills before he returned to his seat. The policemen left as soon as they had finished their beers. The redhead sat alone at the table, looking miserable.
"Peter!" my sister's raised voice said, and I turned my head to face her "Are you listening now?"
"Yeah, did you say something?"
"Only twice without reaction from you... What is it that you find so interesting by the way?"
"If I tell you we will end up in jail because you'll go totally ape, so I won't say anything." I told her seriously.
I know my sister very well -- there are reasons why I do as she says most of the time -- and I had stated a fact. She would probably run after the policemen that had just left and let them hear her thoughts first of all, then go upstairs and kick in every door to find the man in bed with the girl. Jenny recognised the way I said it and knew I was serious.
"Okay, I swear to God -- with Him and the others here as witnesses -- that I will remain calm and won't do anything stupid." she said after taking a deep breath "So tell us now."
You may think I was crazy to believe her but like I said, I know her very well. She has never broken a promise in God's name, not once.
"Fine. I think a prostitute just left with a client, and judging by the clothes -- identical to the other girl's - another is sitting at that table, alone for some reason. The police agrees to it. That guy over there is the pimp and he paid the policemen before they left."
Jenny clenched her hands on the table. Our four friends looked surprised and somewhat confused but Jenny fought to control her temper. After a moment she relaxed her hands and breathed out a deeply held breath.
