Kicking Karma in the Balls: a Memoir, by Anna Drago
“watching me naked, completely exposed, on my knees”
(*Disclaimer: The names in this memoir have been changed. This memoir includes a sensitive subject meant for mature audiences only. If sexual assault may be a trigger for you, please do not continue reading.)
Here I am surrounded and pinned down in this downtown parking lot by five drunken assholes. Is this supposed to be life’s cruel joke? I’ve finally moved on from my stupid mistake and started to find happiness again, so life decides I need a reminder of what happened the last time?
+ + +
Parents are supposed to guide and protect their children, teach good morals, leading them by example. Yet, when those parents are consumed by addiction, or are workaholic busy-bodies, their children must fend for themselves, finding their own way through challenging teenage years. That situational emancipation can get them into some sticky situations. For example, when an older man started showing an interest in me, I felt so special and sophisticated. Why else would someone so mature notice a young, inexperienced girl, like me? When Dick told me I was sexy and wanted to pursue a relationship with me, I didn’t stop to consider if it was a good idea, or if he was a sadistic bastard. I was starved for a loving relationship, and as far as I was concerned, I could get that love I was lacking from him.
“I have a surprise for you tonight, Princess,” Dick’s gravelly voice dragged over the phone.
“What kind of surprise?” Anticipation and dread blended into a vile concoction in my stomach.
Chuckling, “I have some friends who want to meet you. They can’t believe such a hot fifteen-year-old would want such an old pig, like me.”
“Oh. I see.”
“Is that okay, Princess?”
No. “Yes.”
“Okay. Be here at six o’clock.” The bass of his voice dropped until it became a harsh warning. “You’ll be my good little girl, won’t you? Don’t disappoint me. I’d hate to have to punish you.”
“Yes, I’ll be a good girl.”
Nights with Dick always had a methodological process to them. The first task was to strip naked as soon as I arrived. Put my hair in a ponytail. Then, the wrist restraints would go on.
Then I put on the ankle restraints.
Get on my knees.
Spread legs open.
Hands behind my back.
Eyes down.
Be a good girl.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Dick would sit on the couch, watching me naked, completely exposed, on my knees, as he jerked off. What happened next would depend on his mood. Some nights he was the man I first met: gentle, caring, attentive. Other nights were the Mr. Hyde to his Dr. Jekyll; he would be rough, crass and volatile. Guessing which mood he would be in was usually as predictable as playing Russian roulette.
Tonight, his surprise friends were five balding, pot-bellied, Centrum Silver men. Kneeling on the floor naked like usual, the men flooded my senses. I was suddenly drowned by petting, groping, rubbing, grinding. Hair got pulled this way. Leg got yanked that way. Teeth bit into tender flesh. A firm palm stung my cheek. A cane snapped across my behind. Bodies pumped into me. High pitched screams assaulted my ears until a hand tightened around my neck, choking out the sound. Sweaty flesh filled my mouth until salty cream scorched an acidic trail down my throat.
+ + +
Jagged gravel digs into my temple. The harsh sting draws me out of those dark thoughts about my past with Dick. This close to it, the scent of oil drippings from these cars fill my nostrils, masking the putrid smell coming from the dumpster across this parking lot.
How much my life has changed in the past four years. After growing myself a metaphysical pair of balls, I was able to get out from under Dick’s wretched control. I went back to school to get my diploma. I got a job, that paid the bills. I picked up the pieces of my life Dick had broken, bent, scratched or ruined. Therapy was helping me learn to trust again and risk falling in love.
+ + +
Tonight was supposed to be a celebration. After quitting the job from hell, I was supposed to enjoy the new Adam Sandler comedy with my beneficial friend, Brian, have a hot make-out session while we waited for our dinner, and then take the party to my apartment.
Instead, Brian had decided to cause some trouble outside one of the nightclubs we went to and get himself arrested. As if that wasn’t enough of a kick to my gut, the jackass’s keys were sitting with him at the Denver County Jail. The car to those keys happened to be parked in this very parking lot. Had I taken the keys before Brian got hauled away in handcuffs, I’d have been able to drive myself home instead of being stranded in LoDo at 2:30 in the morning on a Saturday night.
Still in my work uniform, since I hadn’t taken the time to change before getting my party on, I’d been sitting on the cold guard rail waiting for a taxi. Apparently, a long line of club-hoppers were also trying to get home, because the taxi operator had informed me it was over an hour long wait until a taxi would become available.
The wait hadn’t been too unpleasant until these drunkards stumbled down the street. By the time I realized I should duck behind a car so they wouldn’t see me, they were already stepping off the sidewalk to cross the street in my direction. It was a shame there were no cars on the road. I would have enjoyed watching them get flattened like that bright green amphibian hopping across the street in “Frogger.”
Crossing the barren street successfully, they approached me with about as much finesse as a wasted Pepé le Pew. My attempt to make a get-away down the alley just resulted in drawing their full attention. One of the first things you are taught working with big predators, like tigers or lions, is never turn your back to them. That’s when they will strike.
“Hey, you look good in that uniform.”
“Wanna have some fun with us, babe?”
“I think she does.”
Faster than I imagined their inebriated state would allow, the guys were on me. Drunkenness only equals the playing field so much. My vertical limitations offered little resistance against their combined body mass and strength. I may have stood a fighting chance if the one in front of me hadn’t lost his balance and tumbled into me, sending me crashing to the pavement. My lungs deflated when his solid form dropped onto me.
Where were the cops when you needed them? They seemed so eager to arrest someone earlier. Now they could’ve put five sets of cuffs to good use.
+ + +
Some hands begin feeling around my stomach, breasts, legs, anywhere they can reach.
The hand yanking on the waist of my slacks gains my full attention. Thank the Goddess alcohol is such a bitch on fine-motor skills. The dude is too drunk to get my pants off. If the worst they do is a little groping, I’m content to stay docile. Pissing them off doesn’t seem like the best strategy. If life has taught me anything, it’s to pick your battles.
Using the guy at my waist as leverage, Drunkard holding my legs down gets up and stumbles until he is a few feet from my head. A fresh dose of terror shoots through my system as he drops his pants. This situation is about to escalate way too far. Dendrites firing at hyper speed to come up with a plan to get out of here; the relief from his public urination is strong enough to make me dizzy.
Splashing piss causes Bad-Motor Skills to lift off of me, slightly.
With my legs free and his body raised higher, there is just enough room to maneuver.
Bam!
My knee is already on a second pass to slam back into his nuts when his body rolls off of mine. The momentum from my knee is enough to get me onto my feet before he even has time to cup his delicate family jewels. Goddess forbid if his little rod can’t perform anymore.
Either karma or sheer dumb luck has a taxi pulling up to the curb down the block. Ignoring the shouts and drunken lunges to grab me, I beat feet over the sidewalk.
Sliding into that yellow box on wheels is as glorious a moment as if I were stepping into heaven, itself. I am safe; I have survived; and I managed to kick karma in the balls.
+ + +
I thought I seemed so clearheaded in the parking lot, but the adrenaline pulsing through my system is making everything move in slow motion. Blinking isn’t helping to clear the fuzzy haze clouding my vision. Shivering, my trembling hand turns up the backseat heat. I’m so cold. Had I been cold waiting in the parking lot? I can’t remember.
My purse – where’s my purse? I’m going to have to pay the driver. Wait, I have a credit card in my pocket. I hope he takes credit cards. Where’d my purse go?
This is my apartment. When did I tell the driver my address? I must have, right? Damn, I don’t remember.
There are not enough blankets on my bed. I’m buried under a pile of them, but they aren’t warming me up. I can’t stop shivering. I just want to get warm, but I don’t have the energy to get up and get more blankets from the closet. It’s too cold to get up, anyway.
Sleep. Sleep will make it all better. Wait, I don’t even remember walking up the stairs and unlocking my door. Did I pay the driver? I hope so. I can’t remember. Did I give him a tip?
Fuck, I think I’m losing my mind. My brain’s freezing up so I can’t think straight. That’s it. It’ll all be better in the morning. I just need some sleep.
+ + +
Anna Drago is losing her publication virginity with this memoir. Her self-published urban fantasy novel, Noctem Isle, is due out next year. This Mississippi girl currently resides in Denver, Colorado with her soul mate and furry children. She currently puts her biology degree to good use working as a romance consultant and shift manager at an adult novelty store. Find out more on her website, here.