This is the second and concluding chapter of Kissing the Butterfly. If you haven't already done so, I recommend reading part 1 as otherwise much of this chapter won't make sense. This chapter describes Katy's life between leaving her brother's house and being picked up by him six years later, as well as bringing her story up to date.
We would like to thank all those many people who have contacted me, urging that we publish this account, this is for you.
Minnie.
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October 2016
The day I opened the door to find my parents stood outside I wanted to scream!
But I didn't, instead I let them in, tried to stay calm. Aunt Frieda led the way into the living area. Mother and father both stopped before sitting and looked around, it was my father that first noticed the canvas print on the wall.
"I hardly think a picture of that nature suitable for a lounge wall!"
"Oh, where do you think it suitable for?" Asked Frieda .
Peering closely at the canvas and presumably seeing the just noticeable labia below the tattoo, my mother answered the question
"A fire, obviously, it's highly offensive!"
"I think it's beautiful!"
Both my parents turned and looked at me.
"I hardly think your opinion is required!" Sneered my mother.
So, that was the way this meeting was going to go, well not if I had my way!
"I think it's a beautiful picture of a beautiful woman, one who is obviously not ashamed of her body, or her sexuality!"
"Well I think it is disgusting, such brazen behavior should be outlawed, and pictures like that burned, whoever took the photograph in the first place should be locked up and the hussy who modelled for it birched!"
So much for my mother's opinion.
My father suggested taking it off the wall!
"I think you are both forgetting that you are guests in this house." My father's sister reminded them both.
An argument ensued about the rights of parents to comment on their offspring's taste, I listened for a few minutes, wondering how my father and my aunt, his younger sister had ever been raised together?
Fed up with hearing my parents narrow minded opinions I asked if that was the reason for this visit, to question Robert's taste in art?
I think it was my father that took the hint.
Between them my parents explained that they had come to offer me the chance of forgiveness, and the opportunity to go home with them. I could once again be part of a good Christian household and the larger Christian community!
FORGIVENESS! I could barely contain my anger, my rage, and to be honest, my amazement.
I rounded on my oh so caring parents.
Why would I be seeking forgiveness, I'd been just a child when I'd felt I had no choice but to leave, I'd tried three times to go back home and been turned away each time, they apparently didn't see the irony in that! And as for the wider Christian community, I'd managed to get a bed for a night of two, here and there, with acquaintances from the church, or friends from school, not that I'd had many, but I'd still ended up homeless and on the street.
"Do you know who took me in, after I'd slept in a shop doorway for two nights? A prostitute, only a common whorehouse prostitute offered me any shelter!"
My mother interrupted my tirade by stating that Frieda had suggested that I too had resorted...
"Yes mother, I too resorted to that, I became a whore, I sold myself to stay alive, do you have any idea how cold it is at two in the morning in a shop doorway? Because I do! And I know the feeling of being pissed on to wake me up!"
I needed to calm down, so I offered to make us all a drink, fortunately the coffee machine that I'd finally learned to use had some decaffeinated coffee to go with it.
As I stood in the kitchen my mind wandered, back over six years to that day.
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May 2010
I'd been woken from a fitful sleep, wrapped in old newspaper as added insulation from the cold, I found myself warmer, and wet. A young man was pissing on me, I was soaked in urine as he laughed out loud and told me that that would help keep me warm. He quickly moved away when he saw a couple of policemen coming along the sidewalk. One of the policemen turned out to be a woman and she told me to get up and move, if they came back in ten minutes and found me there I'd be arrested.
I moved on, soaked and stinking of pee I found a sheltered spot behind a car showroom and tried to get some more sleep. I cried myself into a fitful slumber.
The following morning found me tired and still wet at a small supermarket buying hotdogs in a jar, minutes after they had opened. As I came out I bumped into a girl about two or three years older than me. She was very pretty.
She said hello, I said hello, we got to talking.
She was a whore, she freely admitted it, she worked just up the road in what was an unlicensed, therefore illegal brothel. Simply known as a whorehouse. She said they were always on the lookout for young pretty girls like me and that I could do a lot worse.
I would be warm, have a good place to sleep, a room of my own, and get paid!
I was at a low point in my life. I had only a few euros left in my pocket, my clothes were good but wet, and the wetness was urine, I stank and I was cold. I was on the streets, on my own, and I was frightened.
I accompanied Lisa (as she introduced herself) up to a quite normal looking shop, selling tourist memorabilia. We went through the shop to some stairs and at the top through a large heavy door. In an office was the biggest man I'd ever seen. He was Marcus, the owner, he must have been nearly seven feet tall and very heavily built as well.
Lisa introduced us and after checking my id and asking some very pointed questions he said that a girl was leaving that day so I could have her room. Lisa showed me around and I met some of the other girls, or rather women, as most of them were considerable older than either me or Lisa, there were five of them there, I was told there would be eight of us altogether. There was a large lounge area where we were expected to congregate when not in our rooms 'entertaining'. We shared a kitchen, and also a large bathroom with one bath but three showers and three toilets, all in individual cubicles.
The room I was to take over wasn't ready for me so I left my personal bits and pieces with Lisa and borrowed a robe. I stripped in the bathroom and showered. While I was in the shower another girl came in and offered to rinse my clothes for me. Like a fool I agreed, and never saw my clothes again. I found out later that day that it was the girl I was replacing that took my clothes, they were better quality than hers, so to her, fair game!
Later that day, in borrowed clothes I had to visit a health clinic. All my checks cleared and with my first contraceptive implant in my arm I returned to my new home.
My first client was the following day, I was terrified! At least I was allowed to share that first experience with Lisa. The client had paid for a threesome so I was eased into the job. In effect I was a virgin, I'd lost my virginity, but wasn't conscious at the time, at least not that I could remember. It was an ordeal, kissing and touching another girl was totally against all I'd been raised to think was right. I watched, shaking with fear as the client fucked Lisa. When it was my turn and when the man penetrated me I thought I was going to die, it hurt but that wasn't the problem, it was the shock of being used in that manner, by a total stranger, a man old enough to be my father. As I began to scream Lisa quickly covered my mouth with her own as the man hammered into me. The man had been told that Lisa and I were strictly 'condom only' so at least he ejaculated into a rubber.
The next client, only about two hours or so later was a bit easier, after that I became hardened, but never immune.
Marcus was an enigma, a huge but very gentle man, at least to us girls. He looked after us and paid us decently, we got about half what he charged, maybe a touch less, the rest paying for his premises and overheads, including keeping the kitchen stocked and his profit. That was much better than most other places. Marcus also paid our medical needs.
I lived there for nearly two years , usually dressed as a schoolgirl because I looked so young, much younger than I was. After I'd been there a month or so the condom rule was relaxed, a condom was usual, but for an extra fee (which was given straight to the girl involved) we could 'bareback'.
I barebacked, I learned to deepthroat, I also learned that sex with another girl wasn't the evil, wicked act I'd been brought up to believe. I learned to go anal, It's surprising what you can get used to, when you have to. I didn't learn to take two men at the same time, Marcus wouldn't allow that; that came much later.
I was having an afternoon off, out with Lisa in the city, when the police raided Marcus' place. When we went back there were several police cars outside so we turned down a side street and went back into the city. We both had our id's with us and some of our money, so we took a train and got ourselves to another city the same day.
We stayed away for two days and then went back. The shop was closed up. A neighbor told us that Marcus had been reported, probably by a former 'girl'.
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October 2016
The coffee made, decaffeinated for my parents, extra strong for both Frieda and myself, I went back into the living area.
Frieda looked uncomfortable, my parents just looked smug.
My father started to tell me what had happed, who came, who went, from the church. He had finally retired (early) from his accounting job and was taking an even more active role in the 'mission work of the church'. I could see my aunt getting more and more annoyed the longer he talked.
Finally, with a huff, Frieda told him to shut up.
"Don't you think you should be asking your only daughter how she is? How she has managed? Where has she been? It seems to me you're more interested in your own petty role in a church than in the welfare of your daughter that you haven't seen in six and a half years! Aren't you the least bit interested?"
