Page 35 of Stripping Keys
I can’t think about this shit.
I won’t.
It brings up too many memories that I refuse to think about.
Needing to clear my head, I stalk down the hallway, out of the clubhouse, and out into the night. I straddle my bike, start her up, kick the stand up, and hit the throttle. The gate barely opens for me before I’m passing through, turning out of the club property onto the road.
Revving the throttle harder, I fly down the road, my mind swirling with the thoughts I was trying to shove out of my head. Why can’t I get the image of her pregnant out of my head? I know she’s not, but the potential idea of it fucks with my head.
I swore a long time ago, I’d never have kids. Is that something she would want? It’s not something I think I could give her. I don’t have anything against kids in general, but with my past, I don’t . . .
Fuck.
Swerving between traffic, I take a turn, then another, heading for the roads leading toward the highway. Not sure where I’m heading, I’m just letting the road take me for now. Let it guide me where it’s taking me.
Time passes, and with it, the thoughts still linger. I can’t stop thinking about it. About her. She’s back at the clubhouse, probably wondering what the hell happened, and why I left the way I did.
I already admitted to myself that she was it for me. I knew that, but that’s it. I refuse to live a repeat of my past as a future.
Speeding down the roads, hours pass before I finally slow down, realizing where I allowed myself to be led.
Fuck.
I haven’t been back here in years. More memories flood into my head, none of them good.
Staring up at the now run-down building, I can’t believe that it used to be where I lived. At the time, it had been kept up. Plants were planted in the beds in front and along the walkway.
Parking my bike, I make my way up the deserted walk. It’s almost like I’m being blindly led up the porch and through the haphazardly lying door.
Inside, you could see the furniture was still there, but instead of in the shape I last remember it being, it was dirt-covered and musty-smelling.
Memories assail me, leaving me to their devices.
As I walked, I could hear the sounds of the voices of those who visited the establishment when it was open—my mother’s voice among them. I take care to watch my step as I walk up the stairs leading to the rooms up there. The one at the far end, the door was closed, but opening it, it looked the same yet different from the last time I’d been inside.
Bars were on the inside, nothing to distort the view from outside. It kept me from escaping her. It was the room she kept me prisoner. There were toys still in the corner. Dust and cobwebs were everywhere. The musty smell was foul just as it was throughout the entire building. Moving away from the room, I step toward the one next to it.
Opening the door wasn’t hard. The number attached to the front of it was hanging misshapenly, barely hanging on. In the middle of the room was the bed I laid in more than I laid in my own.
From the time I could remember until I ran, this was the room my mother used to sell me. She used my body to serve her purposes. I wasn’t the only one she did this for. There were others, but she managed to keep the establishment running for those she worked for.
Only when it came to selling me, it was different. She did it to pay for her drugs. I was what she used to keep herself the way she wanted. It didn’t matter who, man or woman, she gave me to them.
From an early age, I learned what sex was. I didn’t know what they wanted me to do at first, not until I was taught.
My mother would give me pills that would make me compliant and allow the client to have their fun. Sometimes she’d give me something to make it so I wanted to fuck all the time. It didn’t matter who it was, all I cared about was fucking.
I learned in this room what BDSM was. How to pleasure a woman and a man both. Nothing was off limits.
Looking away, I shook my head, wondering just how I ever escaped this life. If my mother had found me, would I have been dragged back into this life?
If it hadn’t been for the club, I don’t know where I’d be. Nines’s dad had been the one to find me walking along the side of the road in the middle of the night. I was seventeen. He’d been on his way back to the clubhouse. Don’t know why he ever did it, but he’d stopped that night and talked to me about where I was going. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. He said I could come to the clubhouse until I figured it out.
I didn’t take him up on the ride, but two days later, I found myself at the clubhouse. He told me where it was. Gave me the directions and I followed them. Took me a while to get used to being around them all without having my guard up. Took me about six months to learn that I was good at computers. Taught myself everything I knew, and when I prospected, I knew exactly what I wanted to do to contribute to the club.
To the club, I wasn’t what my mother forced me to be. I was no longer forced to have sex with anyone. I became the man I am. The club gave me a safe place to land, to strip away the horrific past and become someone else. Someone with worth.
I love being a member of the club. I love what I do for them. There’s never a dull moment in the club. Not with the ol’ ladies’ antics.
