Thursday, June 22, 2017

Planning and executing my mother's escape

Patrick knew the trauma we were going through at home but only realized the danger my mother was in.    I asked him for his help to help my mother and the little one’s escape from my father.  He knew someone who would help my mother.  It had to be a secret.   I had to convince my mother that my father would kill her if she did not leave with the two little ones.    I knew I could get my father out of town on a sex weekend to the sea and so I started whining and trying all my tricks about how good it would be if we would get away from mom, just Shane, Joy and he and I and then he agreed and on the Friday we packed up and left for Coffee Bay, not knowing when I would ever see my mother or my sisters again.   Patrick drove them to my mom's sister in Port Elizabeth.
Of course, when we got back to Umtata, my father smelled the rat and I got it in the neck for being deceitful and got myself another beating, but I did not feel it because my mother was safe.   I used all the psychology at my naïve disposable to get him to realize that it would be in the best interest to put the other two children, Joy and Shane, into boarding school and for the two of us to live together.   This way, there would be less to worry about regarding their daily needs, I could see that they received everything they needed and he could have a life of freedom.   And Joy and Shane would be safe.  And he could even get Jenny down from Johannesburg whom he was so in love with.   He bit the bait.   I arranged the boarding fees, the clothing, the marking, the equipment – I even make the white dress that was needed by the boarding school for my sister because it could not be bought and I stayed in town to take them out when it was not an out weekend. 

The coming home at late nights from the pub did not stop.   Sometimes he came home with women.   Then I was safe.  But he did expect me to kiss him goodbye in the morning before I went to school and there was a different woman in the bed each time, stepping over panties, sex toys, dildos, creams and all kinds of sexual contraptions that I had no idea at the time what they were.

Some nights he would wake me up and tell me to take off my night clothes and put on these lurid erotic costumes where the nipples stick out and the vagina has a zip or is opened.   He would then lead me into the kitchen where there would be anything between 6 and 8 policemen.   They would then expect me to prepare snacks for them.   They were particular about the snacks.   Sliced white bread baked on one side, then buttered, sliced tomatoe put on, grated cheese put on with a strip of bacon and then baked again.   And two  trays were never enough.   It had to be three trays.   And while this was going on, they would be feeling my bum, my nipples, sliding their hands in between my legs, up my buttocks and if I started crying then they would slap me on the bum.   They used to also have khoki pens where they used to write whore on my bum.    This happened many times.   What kind of father does that and what kind of cops participate in it? 
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