I'm taking quite a risk in putting this on paper. If it ever sees the light of day, I'll be in deep shit in at least one of my lives. But I'm faced with a life-changing decision, and I need to set down the facts so I can sort them all out in my mind. How did I come to this point? Will I make the right decision? Am I being stupid? I have a hell of a choice to make, unless I find that I've already made it. So, fingers crossed, here goes.
I'm not much for memoirs, but I
can
write; I was an English major, after all, and make my living in large part by writing, in the daytime, anyway. Just to be on the safe side, however, I think I'll withhold any real names here, though realistically I suppose a good detective could figure it out.
Where to start? I suppose the fork in the road came several months ago, not long before college graduation. Perhaps if I had come from an ordinary family, a good, simple family with fewer trappings of wealth and more plain common sense, what happened then never would have happened, and I wouldn't be writing this now. Should I regret that? I'm really not sure. Anyway, at the time I was just beginning to transition into what I expected would be the rest of my life. It was the life I had been brought up to expect, the one my parents and friends expected as well. Through family connections I had already secured a job as an intern at a good law firm in Manhattan editing legal briefs, primarily to fill in the space between graduation and my expected marriage. My fiancé and I had begun to discuss our plans for the future. It all looked so bright, so predetermined. Both our parents were happily making plans for a gala wedding.
Toward the end of my senior year at a prestigious upstate formerly all-women school, a few of us decided to rebel against the strict Protestant upbringing that had been our typical past. Ok, lots of kids do that, but perhaps the higher you are on the artificial rungs of society the further you have to descend to prove your independence. At least, that's how it seems. Of course, I didn't really think it would be so dangerous when we decided to head down to the city and explore the darker side of the Village. Just a little rebellion, that's all.
That's where I met Sly. Oh, I knew he was no prince. He was unkempt and shifty, but hell, I was out to prove something. He said he'd love to show us places in the Village and score some good weed. Amanda, the only apparently sane member of our group, balked.
"You guys are nuts! What do you know about this guy? Who knows what he could get us into."
"Oh, Christ," Sly said. "What a bunch of princesses! You're so used to your privileges you don't dare take a chance. If I showed up in a limo, you'd jump to go with me, wouldn't you. But no, I don't look all-college, so why trust me. Go fuck yourselves then."
Well, that was a challenge we couldn't turn down. We would show him we weren't some stuck-up society girls. I wasn't sure how the other girls felt, but I was scared. But I figured dammit if you're going to go adventuring you gotta go adventuring. And being scared is just part of it. Oh boy, what a dummy!
"Oh come on," I said. "Don't be a bunch of pussies. I'm here to have some fun. Are you with me or not!" That's me, the ringleader. Jeez! But I guess I was persuasive enough.
Amanda told us what she thought of our 'adventure' and left to go back to school. Sly called a few of his buddies and all of us bar-hopped for a while until we were all pretty well oiled. I suppose I could offer that as an excuse, but I think that the real reason we all went to that fleabag hotel with Sly and his pals was we kind of felt committed by then. So yeah, we fucked. And no, it wasn't great. I think I passed out while some guy was slobbering into my pussy. Anyway, by morning we found ourselves alone and deserted, our pocketbooks rifled, our credit cards and valuables gone.
We swallowed our pride and called Amanda to come and get us, swearing her to secrecy and vowing to each other that we'd just swallow our losses and never mention the escapade again. To be safe, we all went to health services to get checked out for STDs, and then cancelled all the credit cards. That seemed to be the end of it, until a couple of weeks later when I didn't have my period. Oh shit! I did the test, and sure enough, one of those bastards must have fucked me bareback and I was knocked up good. So much for birth control pills!
Clearly, I needed to get rid of the baby before I began to show. Unfortunately, I had no-one that I could trust who also knew a no-questions-asked abortionist. There was only one place to go. I swallowed my pride and my anger and tracked down Sly.
"Not my problem," he said helpfully. "I never laid a hand on you."
"That's not the point," I said. "I'm willing to pay. I just need it done quietly, and soon."
He allowed as how he'd get back to me. Next day I got a text from him with a phone number. I made the call. I don't need to go through the details again here, but the job got done.
Now, I thought, I could put all that behind me and get on with my life.
Of course, it didn't turn out that way.
About a month or so after graduation, just when I was newly set up in my own apartment in the city working at my new job, and all seemed to be going according to plan, I got a text from Sly, which included some truly remarkable pictures of me lying there on the bed naked, legs spread wide, with this Black guy's head deep in my crotch and at least more than one person's cum decorating my chin and breasts. And if that weren't enough, the text included a copy of a bill from the guy who had done the abortion!
Sly's text just said "Give me a call when you get a chance. I could use some help in picking out the best pics to send to mom and dad. If you need help paying this bill, your kid's dad will help, though he's pretty pissed that you didn't let him know, and he's threatening to take you to court over it."
