Date: Fri, 1 Dec 2006 13:55:19 -0800 (PST)
From: Stephen Aramburu <aramflag@yahoo.com>
Subject: Power of Love Part 5b

	This section of this story deals with child abuse.  If you find
this content disturbing or if you are under the delusion that abuse doesn't
exist, leave now.  Child abuse does exist and often in this fashion.

Another event that I shall never forget for as long as I live:

	For the next couple of days after the funeral, I was extremely
pissed off and extremely depressed.  Nothing seemed to make
sense...everything around me was falling apart.  The whole world was
collapsing onto me and crushing me.  It's surprising that I'd never
contemplated suicide, but I didn't.  I felt, that despite all that was
happening, that there was still a purpose in life.  I was still young, just
eight years old at the time, and always felt that at some point, I'd be
rewarded with something good.
	I became very spiritual and would kneel down at my bedside and pray
every night to whomever it was who was supposed to answer these prayers
before I went to sleep.  Some of the other kids in the dorm would make fun
of me, but I didn't care.  I needed support...any kind of support...for me
to carry on the way I was.  I prayed for a better future...I prayed for
love and for somebody whom I could depend on...someone, anyone, who
actually gave a shit about me.  I wasn't picky.  I wouldn't pray to become
supreme ruler of the world or for psychic powers, like those in X-Men, or
for anything that was too stupid to come true.  Trust me.  When you see,
with your own two eyes, your own mom being heartlessly poisoned by your
so-called "dad", you're never picky about anything.
	I just couldn't get that image out of my head.  My dad shoving rat
poison down my mom's throat...so that he could be with another woman!  The
woman with my dad at my mom's funeral...I hated her...that whore...she was
the reason my mom died!  I would often picture her in hell...her flesh
burning in the unbearable heat while the demons gnawed on her bones.
	I never told this to anybody.  Everybody at the Bollittierri
Academy knew that my mom died and felt really bad for me...but they didn't
know the whole story.  I regret, to this day, not having the nerve to tell
anybody and just allowing my dad to get away with such an act of sheer
heartlessness.
      I trained hard that year.  My body was getting into amazing shape and
I struck the tennis balls with a type of power and a type of abandon and
recklessness that I'd never even known existed within me.  I would work out
tirelessly in the gyms for many hours everyday and go onto the practice
courts and crush whoever I was supposed to play that day.  My results in
the tournaments that I was entered in improved dramatically in the summer
of that year.
      "Yecheng...relax.  You're pushing yourself too hard," my coach would
often say, but fitness training and tennis had become my passion...pain had
become my joy.  I would train like a dog for hours and hours, just as long
as I could keep my mind off of my SOB dad and what had happened to me.
      For a while, it seemed to work and the summer and fall seasons were
filled with amazing results from my competitive play and passed in what
felt like a matter of days.  But alas, winter break came up and the dorms
at the Bollittierri Academy closed.  This was a joyous occasion for
everybody else...but not for me.  I had to go home...to my dad.
      The snow was falling, in chunks (something unusual for a tropical
environment, like Florida), from the sky and a good friend of mine agreed
to give me a ride home.  I walked up to my snow-covered house, thanking my
friend's mom, and stepped in.  From the outside, it hadn't changed at
all...it was still the quaint, Victorian-style house that it was the last
time I saw it.  But when I got inside, I was stunned.  The clean, cozy home
had become a pigsty.  My mom had always kept the house incredibly neat, but
now, the once-white walls were stained with gray and yellow.  The carpet
was soiled with all sorts of shit...as though it were one, big diaper.  The
food on the counter was moldy and the piano, the TV, and the refrigerator
stood buried in a pile of garbage, collecting dust.  The entire house
reeked of alcohol and smoke, as if some drunkard had been wasting his
pathetic life away in it.
      I walked up the creaking stairs which, just months ago, had been
brand new.  The second floor was better...not nearly as filthy, while
bearing some miniscule resemblance to the way it was the last time I saw
it.  The door to my dad's room was closed, so I assumed that he was
sleeping in his room.  Ha...was I wrong!  I slammed the door to my room
open, as I always had...and there was my dad!  He was in my bed...on top of
a woman!
      The girl, who I must admit was very attractive, screamed at the top
of her lungs, humiliated beyond reason.  She grabbed the bedsheets and
covered her breasts.  My dad looked equally embarrassed and his face turned
bright red.  I just stood there in the doorway...shocked.  It was truly the
most disgusting sight that I've ever witnessed in my life, but for some
reason, my legs refused to budge.  My eyes locked straight onto my dad, but
I wasn't looking at him.  I was blanking out...I was just so shell-shocked
that I felt my organs rumbling and boiling inside of me.  I felt a cold
sweat on my forehead and my mind suddenly became empty.
      "Get the fuck out!" my dad demanded, his face overflowing with fury.
I had just snapped back into reality and was about to turn to get out of my
room...too late.
      "Get the fuck out!" he screamed again...this time with more rage and
authority, as he jumped out of bed, not bothering to put his clothes in,
snatched me by my neck, and slammed my entire body against the wall with
such force that I felt the entire house shudder.  I let out a loud cry of
pain as his grip on my neck tightened even more.  The whole room started
spinning and I was desperately gasping for breath, for I felt as though my
head would explode from the pressure he was exerting onto my neck.
      "Yecheng, you pervert!" he yelled.  "You're interested, aren't you!?
Interested in your daddy's sex!  Daddy's gonna teach ya a lesson today!
You better learn it well so that next time, you'll know to keep your ass
out of my business!"  With that, he pinned me against the wall and slammed
his fist into my stomach...then again...and again...and again.  The pain
was excruciating as I felt the gush of blood bursting through my mouth.
His fists never seemed to stop coming.  At one point, I thought that he had
ripped right through my belly with his fist.  But I was wrong, much to my
relief.
      "Stop it!" cried an angelic, high-pitched voice.  That's when my
dad's girlfriend jumped out and grabbed my dad's fist.  "You're such an
asshole!  Stop it!  He's your own son!  He didn't know we'd be in his
bedroom!"  My dad then let go of my neck as I fell onto the floor, like a
sack of potatoes, tearing and gasping for breath.  Then, my dad shoved his
girlfriend aside, ran for the bathroom and began vomiting for about a whole
minute, before passing out.  That's when I realized that my dad was drunk.
He was drunk all along.
      "Baby...are you alright?" said his girlfriend as she ran over to his
side and held onto him.  I closed my eyes and crept back downstairs,
holding onto my stomach.  My dad had just split my gut in half, I thought,
as it felt like it was being consumed by fire.  I sat down onto the sofa
and started crying weakly.  The tears flowed down my face in torrents, but
the sobs managed to can themselves within my body.  I was too exhausted to
sob.  The burn that my lungs felt just didn't let me.
      For the next few minutes, I sat on the sofa...unable to speak.  I
felt like a corpse...unable to grasp what had just happened.  My whole body
was in shock.  My feet felt cold.  My belly was burning with pain.  My head
was swirling and confused.  It was then that I felt a deep, indescribable
hatred for my dad.  First, he killed my mom and now, he'd just beat the
shit out of me.  Then, I snapped back into reality.  The police!  That's
what I was gonna do!  I was gonna call the police...bust his ass...avenge
my mom!
      I ran over to the telephone and dialed 911.
      "Can I help you?" said a kind, feminine voice.
      "Come, quickly!" I begged.  "I...I have a psycho in this house!
He...he just beat the shit out of me and killed my mom!  You have to get
him...get him quickly!"
      "What's your name?"
      "I'm Wong Yecheng!  I live on 39 Bradenton Avenue!  Come
quickly...please!"
      Within several minutes, the police were knocking on our door.  I
welcomed them.  They took my dad and his girlfriend away and put me in a
children's center for a couple of days.  I later learned, much to my
horror, that after all that was said and done, the court was unable to find
any evidence of abuse (haha...dumbasses).  Therefore, my father was granted
full-time custody of me.
      He picked me up from the children's center that day and shoved me
into his truck, his face contorted with sheer hatred.
      "Don't think that just because I was drunk that I didn't know what
you did!  You turned me in to the police...almost got my ass busted real
bad!" he told me as he was driving me home.  "You think what I did to you
that day was bad?  Just wait 'til we get home!  Then, you'll know what pain
is really about!"  At that point, my own hatred and rage had reached its
limit.  I didn't care whether or not my dad heard what I had to say or not.
I was going to get beaten either way.  I knew that I shouldn't have said
what was on my mind, but I let loose and everything came out.
      "You think I don't know what real pain is?" I snapped back.  "After
seeing you kill mom with my own two eyes?"
      "What!?" my dad stuttered...shocked.  "She...she died of coughing!"
he lied lamely.
      "Bullshit!" I yelled as I spat in his face.  "I saw what you did!  I
saw how you practically shoved that rat poison down my mom's throat...how
you'd been keeping her sick all those months, making her last moments on
earth a living hell!"
        "What...what..." my dad couldn't figure out what to say.  He was
just too ashamed and too shocked to say anything.
      "You know what?" I continued.  "You could beat me...maim me...rape
me...I don't care anymore.  All I know is that I hate you!  You're not my
dad!  I..."
      "Shut up, you little bitch!" he demanded as he shoved my fist into my
cheek with so much force that I nearly fell off of my car seat and into the
car door, as I grasped my swelling face...trying to force back the tears.
My dad's face was flustered with anger and shame.  "You are to forget
everything you just said!" he demanded.  "If you dare call the police on me
again and tell them anything you just said, I will kill you!"  I said
nothing more throughout the car trip.  Neither did my dad.  Tears were
streaming down my face, but I was satisfied...satisfied that I got to
insult and mentally damage that drunken crackhead.  That night, I got the
shit beaten out of me.
      Life pretty much sucked for the next couple of years.  In the
beginning, I got abused on a daily basis.  My dad would come from the bar
every night, drunk as a dog.  He'd grab me, as soon as he sees me, and slam
me against the wall and would scream and cry as he spasmodically pounded me
like a punching bag. Eventually, however, I did find ways to avoid this
abuse for days at a time.  I would sometimes hide in places where he was
too drunk to think of looking or spend the night over at a friend's house
or stay in the Bollittierri Academy dorm, which was free after I got that
scholarship.  But in spite of all this, I would still get beaten up at
least five or six times a month.
      Two years later, my dad's girlfriend, who I later found out was a
bartender at a night club named Sylvia Chen, got pregnant and gave birth to
a son on my 10th birthday.  I had and still have nothing against Sylvia or
her son...I think that they are both decent people who had done nothing
wrong.  But I couldn't help but feel jealous and angry every time I see the
three of them, gathering around the table, chatting happily like any
regular family should.  My dad spoiled Sylvia's son, giving him expensive
gifts for both special and regular occasions that would cost dad his entire
month's income or more.  I just couldn't grasp why my dad hadn't treated me
or my mom the same way he treated Sylvia and her son.  He loved Sylvia and
adored my "brother."  He killed my mom with rat poison and abused me like a
punching bag whenever he got the chance. Our "family" had a huge
celebration on my 10th birthday...but I wasn't included.  I sat in my room,
crying...crying that nobody even gave a shit about my birthday.  No cake.
No candles.  No presents.  No celebration.  I felt worthless.  I felt
neglected.  I felt unloved.  I would contemplated suicide several times in
the following months, but would ultimately decided against it.  Life was a
living hell.
      I soon realized that I was the only one in this world who could take
care of me.  I was the only one who loved me and cared about me.  If I were
to become anything in life...other than a hobo in the streets of New York,
I was to make it in the world of professional tennis.  I was to be ranked
at least in the Top 100 when I turned eighteen.  I needed good results from
professional tournaments so that I could make enough money to support
myself and eventually break away from my dad and all the abuse that I had
to suffer.  I soon learned how to take care of myself.  I'd experimented
with and learned how to do many useful tasks in life, such as making
appointments, booking plane tickets, negotiation (that's how I got that
scholarship), starting bank accounts, managing money, and many other things
that preteens weren't supposed to know.
      When I turned eleven, I got good enough to play a ITF and
semi-professional tennis tournaments ...the traveling gave me time away
from my dad.  I played on average one tournament per month in places like
San Diego, Beijing, Madrid...etc. and had even managed to win a couple of
them and the enormous prize money that came with it.
      My months of training at Bollittierri's were definitely paying off
and I was getting fitter and stronger with each day.  As soon as I hit
puberty, the muscles on my body just started rippling out, as if from
nowhere.  By the time I was 14, I was very slim, very fit, and very
well-muscled.  I was still kind of short, at 5"3, especially for an
athlete, but I knew that I would eventually be as big and as strong as
people like Andy Roddick or James Blake.  Then, I'd show my dad why he
shouldn't have messed with me the way he did when I was young.
      I was soon establishing a place for myself in the world of tennis.
My world ranking in tennis skyrocketed from the low 600's to #246 in the
world in 2006.  I would soon be good enough to play professional
tournaments.  And I'd get to meet and perhaps even play against my idol,
Andy Roddick.
       My big break came, however, in the Spring of 2006 when I received a
letter from an old friend...a Chinese government official named Wang
Tiangang.  In the letter, he told me that I was chosen to represent China
in the 2008 Olympics (I was born in China, as were both my parents.  We
moved to the U.S. when I was three) and that I would train in the Xuzhou
Tennis Academy, the Bollittierri's of China, for the summer.  This was it!
I thought.  My big break!  An entire summer away from my dad!  And to play
in Beijing Olympics, no less!  I had to seize this opportunity!  What kind
of idiot wouldn't?  So naturally, I accepted.  We made the arrangements and
after playing a tournament in D.C., I flew to China and met with Tiangang,
expecting a nice, abuse-free summer.  But what I would end up getting would
change my life forever...I landed in Shanghai and was to stay in Tiangang's
home for about two weeks...that's when I met...him, Tiangang's son, the
love of my life.
      The first time I walked into his home and saw Zequin, I was just
blown away by the sight that greeted me at the door.  He was a year older
than me and about 3 inches taller than I was with a very athletic figure.
His face was unlike anything I've ever seen...so flawless and so bright.  I
had never imagined that anybody could look so good.  Zequin and I became
almost like best friends within the first few days of knowing each other.
All of his friends from school were on vacation, so the two of us hung out
in downtown Xuzhou almost everyday.  We did everything together.  We
watched movies, hung out at the arcade, went shopping at the mall (they say
that shopping is a girlish habit, but it's really fun), swimming in the
indoor pools, hockey, basketball, you name it!  I was beginning to feel a
special attraction to him.  I would often find myself staring at him...I
liked looking at him.  He was like gold to my eyes.  At first, I thought
that I was staring at him simply because I respected his athletic body and
that I was comparing it to my own in terms of muscle tone and thickness.  I
had always liked to do that with other boys, especially those who I was
jealous of.  But I soon realized that I wasn't jealous of him.  I wasn't
comparing his body to mine.  I was attracted to him.  I felt like Zequin
actually cared about me...the first time I felt this way since my mom died.
I felt like he genuinely enjoyed my company...he gave me a sense of
self-worth and self-respect that I'd never felt in my life.
      It was about a week into my stay at his home one night, as we
returned from the indoor tennis courts.  That night...I had a horrible
nightmare in which I saw my dad sneaking up to my mom with a dagger...I
woke up, my face drenched in tears, as my body was wrenching from the shock
of that dream.  That's when de came up onto the bed and put his arm around
me and gave me a warm, tingly feeling that I'd never felt before...I guess
this was love.  Then, one thing led to another, and before I knew it, we
were kissing passionately in the bed and all of our clothes came off.  I
wasn't sure exactly what we did that night...but it made me feel
lightheaded and warm...as if I was floating on a cloud, getting drunk with
the sweetest wine imaginable.  All I remember was the ecstasy and the fact
that he was touching me in places that I'd never imagined anybody would
ever touch...and it felt good...it felt natural and sweet.  Before long, I
was basking in the glory of a new feeling...the greatest feeling of my
life...orgasm.  It didn't take long before I'd realized what we'd just
done...we'd just had sex...this was my first taste of love.  I'd met my
soul mate.

      Well, that was basically the story from Yecheng's point of view.
Readers...you're in for a treat next chapter...I won't tell you what,
you'll just have to keep reading.  I accept all comments.  If you have any,
please email me at aramflag@yahoo.com.  Please comment.  It motivates me to
write better.