Date: Fri, 01 Mar 2002 17:58:14 -0500
From: Tom Cup <tom_cup@hotmail.com>
Subject: Jenny Chapter 6 - Lesbian/Young Friends

Copyright 2000, 2001, 2002 by the Paratwa Partnership: A Colorado
Corporation. All rights reserved.

No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means electronic or mechanical, except in the case of reviews, without
written permission from the Paratwa Partnership, Inc, 354 Plateau Drive,
Florissant, CO 80816

This is a fictional story involving alternality sexual relationships. If
this type of material offends you, please do not read any further. This
material is intended for mature adult audiences. Names, characters,
locations and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination
or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Jenny
By Tom Cup
Chapter 6
The Dark Place



It's strange to think that I begged to be beat. Mom came in and nailed my
window shut. She then put thick black curtains over them. With the door to
the hall closed, even when it was light outside, I could see nothing. She
didn't speak to me. I tried to tell her I was sorry. I told her I'd do
anything she said. She never answered. The only time I saw her was when the
door opened for lunch or dinner, and for my two bathroom breaks. I got no
breakfast. At first I was defiant. When I realized that she was making me a
prisoner in the dark, silent, dungeon of my room, I promised myself that I
wouldn't break. I ate what she gave me and tried to wait her out. As time
went by, I began to long for her company, long for her voice, long for
anything. It became too painful to be so alone. I cried and screamed for Mom
to please say something, to beat me for being bad.  Mom smiled but remained
silent. I received no lunch for two days for the outburst. I fell silent
after that. I waited for Mom to tell me what to do. I waited for the day of
my release.

"Get up," Mom said.

My body was sore from the long hours of bondage. My mind was in shock. Mom
untied my feet. Hands still tied, I was led to the bathroom. Mom held a
wooden handle in her hand. I couldn't raise my head. Tears began flowing
from my eyes. My hands were freed.

"Strip."

I did as I was told. Mom allowed me to bathe for the first time since my
return home. I wept as I rinsed the grunge away. I simply couldn't bear
being back in the dark. Mom stood watching as I bathed, tapping the stick in
her hand. My shower finished, I dried myself and waited with pleading eyes
to be told what to do next. When Mom told me to hold out my hands, so they
could be retied, I fell to my knees, clung to her and wept bitterly.

"Please Mommy, please. No," I cried, "I'll be good Mommy please. I'm so
alone. Please don't make me go back in there. Please Mommy, please."

I wept at Mom's feet, clinging to them. When had the feel of the bathroom
floor and Mom's feet become a comfort to me, an anchor against the storm?
Mom had beaten me into submission many times. I was prepared for that. Maybe
she knew it. Maybe she was just being inventively cruel. It didn't matter
because it worked. I was hers. She knelt beside me and held me. I clung to
her begging her to forgive me. She shushed me and told me everything was
going to be fine.

Mom gave me the clothes I was to wear. I was allowed to do my chores.
Although the whole ordeal lasted only three weeks, for me it seemed an
eternity. When night fell and it was time for bed, fear and dread filled me.
I stood at the door of the darkened room weeping. Mom smiled and asked if I
wanted to sleep with her in her bedroom. I hugged her in gratitude. My room
that once had been my escape from Mom and her cruelties was now a place of
torment. I slept clinging to Mom through the night.

*****

The next day Mom gave me my homeschooling assignments. I sat at the kitchen
table after breakfast and worked until lunch. After lunch I did more lessons
until 3:00. I then did my chores, including making dinner. Because I had
missed three weeks of studies, I had to study for an additional three weeks
after dinner also. Time moved quickly. Mom kept reminding me that I had to
do well on the district test. She would be upset with me if I didn't. The
dark place, as I now referred to it, scared me not only because I hated it
so much but also because it showed that Mom didn't have to beat me to hurt
me. I never spoke unless Mom asked me a question. I raised my hand, as if in
school, if I needed to ask a question or go to the bathroom. I did nothing
without Mom's permission. Mom seemed pleased at her new power over me.

As the days passed, I realized the cruel irony of my situation. When my Dad
died, I was almost five. Dad was an alcoholic and a beater too. He didn't
beat me. He beat Mom. Then Mom would beat me. Mostly we were beat because I
made a mess or too much noise or I was just in the way.

"Can't you control that brat!" was Dad's favorite refrain, "If you can't
control her then by God I will!"

I don't think Mom wanted to punish me back then but I think somewhere along
the line it became habit. He beat her. She beat me. We were so relieved when
he was killed in the automobile accident. We even had a couple of good years
afterwards. But what was ironic was that as much as my Dad was a violent and
oppressive man in life, he also provided the means for Mom being able to
stay home, become more of a drunk and more abusive to me. Mom was thrilled
with excitement when she learned that the old drunken insurance sales man
had triple policies that would allow her to avoid the job market. I was
also. Back then, anything that made Mom happy made me happy. I simply didn't
understand why things didn't remain happy between us.

*****

Summer came and there were outside chores to be done. Mom stressed that
being allowed to do outside chores was a special privilege that she would
take away if I started to misbehave. I had no intentions of misbehaving.
Intentions, however, are noble desires not yet given the breathe of life. My
intentions died when, a week after I began my outdoor chores, I saw the
purplish-blue Dodge twin cab Dakota start slowly down our street. My heart
began pumping rapidly. Thoughts of Sara had been pushed so far out of
consciousness that they were practically forgotten. The truck didn't stop
but Chad looked directly at me. Sara bent over and waved at me through the
window. I glanced quickly at the house, not seeing Mom, I waved quickly and
returned to my work. In the dark place I had come to believe that I was
alone and forgotten. I believed that Mom might one day not open the door. I
believed that I might die there and no one would know or care that I was
gone. The slow passing wave of purplish-blue reminded me that darkness fades
in tribute to friendship shared. Sara had not forgotten me.

The next day, as I was weeding the shrubs around the front of the house I
found an envelope. Inside was a note from Sara.

"Hi,

I know this might get you in trouble but I have been so worried about you.
If you don't want me to leave you any more notes, leave this one here. I'll
understand.

I know this is crazy but I can't get you out of my mind. We've been driving
by almost twice a week looking for some sign of you. I am just so happy to
see you again. I really love you and am sorry I made things worse. Please
forgive me.

Sara"

I was filled with joy and terror at the same time. Sara said that she loved
me. If Mom found out I was in contact with Sara I couldn't imagine what she
would do to me. The shadow of the dark place fell on me. Yet sunrise rose
from Sara's message. She wanted me to forgive her. Again, I had a choice. I
could tempt Mom's wrath or I could remain a tortured slave. I began to cry.
I didn't know what to do.  I was weeping when I heard the door to the house
open. I looked up as Mom rounded the corner.

"What are you doing?" Mom asked.

"I'm sorry Mommy," I answered through teary eyes.

"Get in here."

I rose slowly. I walked pass Mom and into the house. Mom went and
investigated my work. She told me I had done a good job and to stop crying.
I wasn't going to be punished. That night while getting ready for bed I
found the note. I had absentmindedly slipped it in my pocket when the door
opened.

******


"Hi again!

I am so happy. I thought that you would hate me. The next note will be in
three days under the leaves in the back near that tree by the lounge. If you
can, please write to me. If you can't, I'll understand. I can't imagine
what's happening to you. I hope you are OK. When I found out that your Mom
took you out of school I was so terrified. I do still care about you. I wish
we could be together again. Anyway, Tina and Chad say hi too.

Your girlfriend forever,

Sara"

We had found a way to communicate. I wrote to Sara, whenever I got a chance,
telling her what was happening to me. I looked forward to each letter from
her and yet I was beginning to feel that there was little hope left for me.
Some times I was able to respond. Most times I could not. But still I was
able to tell my story.  When I wrote, I told as much as I could about what
had happened in the past. I talked a lot about the dark place.  I talked a
lot about how afraid I was. I told Sara that I had been thinking about
killing myself. She wrote back telling me how much she loved me. She
promised that she would get me out. I wanted so much to believe her but it
was hard. A few minutes of hope framed by days of servitude to Mom wasn't
enough to strengthen me. The tide was on Mom's side. I was slipping deeper
and deeper into despair. Sara's notes though encouraging reminded me of what
I had lost. They reminded me that there was a world to which I never
belonged. I was an outcast no matter which way I turned. I loved Sara but
the notes served to convince me that our love was not meant to be.

"What the fuck is this!"

I didn't have time to answer before feeling the blow.  I went reeling to the
floor. I looked over my shoulder at Mom. She was standing above me waving
one of Sara's notes. I couldn't understand how she had gotten it. I had
destroyed all them after reading them. The next note wasn't due for two
days. I had destroyed all of the notes, all of them except the first one.
She had found it.

"I said what is this you little cunt!"

Mom grabbed me by the hair. She began dragging me toward my room. She cursed
me and said she knew she couldn't trust me. She said she was going to beat
me and then lock me away forever. I was screaming in terror. I could feel
the dark place closing in on me, suffocating me, and becoming my tomb.

"No, Mommy please!"

"Shut up! What you and this girl been screwing each other? You some kind of
dike on top of everything else? You make me sick!"

I couldn't stand the thought of being in the dark place again. When we got
to the door and Mom released my hair to tie me, I pushed her and ran. I
heard her screaming my name and ordering me to get back to my room. I ran
and kept running. I didn't know where I was going. I just couldn't stand it
anymore. My pain and despair streaked my face with salty wetness as I ran.
My loneliness and fear heaved in my chest. I found myself leaning against
the wall of the 7-11. That was when I thought of Sara.  I didn't have any
money. I was so frantic that my reasoning abilities came slowly.

"What'd I do? What'd I do?" I cried to myself.

I picked up the phone and dialed the operator. I made the call collect.

"Oh please be there. Please be there."

"Hello?" It was Sara's voice.

The operator answered,  "I have a collect call from a Ms. Jenny Davis.
Will^Å."

"Yes, yes, operator we'll accept the call! Jenny!"

"Sara, Sara you got to help me. She found the note."

"Oh my God, where are you? Chad and Tina aren't here."

"Oh no, oh no. What am I going to do?"

"Where are you, Jenny? Jenny? Jenny?"

I let the phone drop, hearing the car pull up behind me. It was over. Chad
and Tina weren't there. Mom sat in the car glaring at me. I closed my eyes
to finish my tears.  I walked to the passenger side of the car, opened the
door and slid in. Some times in life you have to realize when the deck is
stacked against you, when you've played your best hand and are out of chips.
I had reached such a point in my life. Mom would have her fun with me. But
in my mind it would be the last time. I would win in the end. Mom loved to
make me suffer but the dead feel no pain. So beat me Mommy. Lock me in the
dark place or whatever you think I deserve. I'm not staying in a life that
lets people do to little girls what you do to me. And God, I hate you. I
hate you for showing me what love could be like and then taking it away. I
hate you for baptizing me to the point that I desire drowning. I hate you
because light never truly defeats darkness. I hate you most of all because I
believed you would one day help me. But you won't. So I hate you God. Do you
hear me? I hate you.

*****

"Aren't you going to punish me?"

"No," Mom answered calmly.

"Why?"

I knew the answer. She needed to wait. She wanted to know what I had written
to Sara. I told her. I confessed to Mom all my evil deeds. I told her about
touching myself. I told her about sneaking out and making love to Sara. I
told her how much I hated her. I poured out my confession like the condemned
prisoner on the way to execution that I was.  I knew this would not be a
swift trial, judgment and execution of punishment. Mom would wait to see
what damage was done by my letters. I would not. While I was free to act I
would act.

"Can I take a bath now?"

"Sure. Whatever you want." Mom sang.

I ran the tub and slipped into the heated water. The water was so soothing.
The pain of my release was little compared to the pain I had already
endured. I closed my eyes. The room and the house began to drift away. I saw
Mom looking up at me with a puzzled expression. "Where are you going Jenny?"
she asked. "Anywhere," I answered, "Anywhere where you're not." I could
almost hear the angels, a great cacophony of noise and the melodic voice of
God calling my name. And Sara was there. Sara. Yes, I was in heaven. So
there was a God and a heaven. I couldn't have wished for anything more than
to be with Sara, forever, in heaven. Don't cry Sara. Why are you crying?
Everything will be all right now. Darkness took me.

************************************************************************
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************************************************************************

News:

Name Change:

Beginning March 1, 2002 access to the Tom Cup Library can be gained by going
to http://www.tomcup.com. Access to the site will also remain available
through http://tomcup.iscool.net.

Calvin in Paperback

We are pleased to announce the pre-ordering sale of Tom Cup's Calvin. This
is one of the fans of Tom Cup's writing favorite stories. Being released in
paperback, this story has been newly edited with new additions to the story.
For more details visit http://tomcup.iscool.net or http://www.tomcup.com

Youth initiative:

Tom Cup and friends have launched Alternative Lifestyles of Youth as the
flagship of the Anysexuality For Youth Initiative(AFYI). We are currently
seeking donated legal advice for the formation of the AFYI Foundation (Name
tenative) and other sevices. For a copy of the previous board minutes,
please contact Tom Cup at tom_cup@hotmail.com

New sites, New Stories, Old Favorites added to the Tom Cup Library:

If you haven't visited the Tom Cup Library in a while, you're in for a
treat. Calvin - Book 2 is in production, Kevin is back (as well as Antonio)
in Kevin Part 3 - Donna, along with other new stories and sites. Check it
out!

All my best,

Tom Cup

"Why is it that the words we write for ourselves are so much better than the
words we write for others?" Sean Connery as William Forrester in the film
"Finding Forrester."