JillÕs
Story, Abbreviated Version
In
1981, I became a statistic: I became a runaway teen, escaping sexual and
physical abuseÉ.I left, figuring that my life couldn't be in any more jeopardy
than it already was at what I'd called home.É.
As
a runaway teen, your old concerns quickly disappear and are replaced by new,
life threatening ones. There were no familiar faces and no one who wanted to
talk to a teenage girl who was homeless; even my name became irrelevantÉ.I'd
resorted to sleeping in cemeteries, and stealing food out of dumpsters and from
convenience stores in order to eatÉ.I had to hide from security guards, store
and restaurant employees and others who didn't want a homeless girl
"loitering". As a runaway teen, I was viewed as something less than
human. Still, it was safer than going home.
Into
my hunger, loneliness and desperation came a man named Bruce. Attractive, well
dressed and very charismatic, he approached me in a suburban mall and offered
to "help" me. He could provide me with food, shelter, clothing,
work--and I really wanted to work. I wanted desperately to be off the street
and to have something to doÉ.When I questioned whether or not this
"work" was prostitution, he retracted the offer and began to walk
away. Desperate, I ran after him, pleading with him to give me another chance
and to forgive my insult.
He
brought me into his "office" (which was actually his cellar)
blindfolded under the pretense of not wanting competitors to know his location
in case I was a spy for them. I put my fear aside and agreed to being
blindfolded because I needed what he was offering. When we went into his
"office", he explained that I had to audition for the job and should
step on the stage and raise my hands. When I did so, I felt leather straps
being put around my wrists but didn't understand what was going on. He pulled
my pants down and my shirt up, leaving me virtually naked.ÉHe shoved out the
wooden box I was standing on, and I was left hanging in mid air naked,
suspended by my wrists. It was the beginning of my "training" for a
position as a prostitute that catered to "clients", who wanted to act
on their violent bondage/torture fantasies. While still hanging from my wrists,
I was told that unless I agreed then to sign a contract, I would never be let
downÉ[While] hanging [I was] hit, punched, whipped and penetrated with a beer
bottle....I gave up and agreed to sign, at which point I was let down, bound
behind my back, gagged and blindfolded, thrown into a tiny closet under the
cellar stairs without food or water and left thereÉ.after what seemed like a
couple of daysÉhe freed my hands and told me to sign by his finger while I was
still blindfolded. What I signed wasÉa slave contract. By doing so I was
essentially agreeing that I was no longer a human being, but rather, a slave,
whose sole purpose in life was the fulfillment of Bruce's desires and those of
his "clients"É.
What
followed next--the "training"-- was months of being tortured,
starved, dehydrated, sensory deprived and raped. I was supposed to learn how to
"want" to be a slave and "want" to be punishedÉ.I had to
apologize for being alive, had to thank him for each act of torture and beg for
more. If I resisted, the punishments got worse, until I gave up and agreed.
Once
he was satisfied that my training period was nearing the end he began to refer
me to "clients" who would use my body for their fetishes. They paid
Bruce to rent my body to rape in as many ways as they could devise without
killing me. I was held underwater in toilets or bathtubs, whipped, hung,
shocked with electrical current, and paid to have me tell them how much I was
enjoying it.
One
of my early clients portrayed himself as a nice guy who was going to help me
escape, which I agreed to try. It turned out to be a test of my
"loyalty", the failure of which resulted in a savage night of gang
rape, beating, being hung by my wrists and ankles, and an attempt to hang me by
my neck which left me physically scarred and damaged my vocal chords for life.
I nearly died that night and never tried to escape again.
For
three years I was forced to let men rape me for Bruce's profit. During that
time, I'd nearly been killed several times, including Bruce's failed attempt to
perform an abortion on me after I'd become pregnantÉI entered a suburban Los
Angeles hospital bleeding extensively from my vaginal area. On my wrists,
ankles and neck were burns, cuts and scars. Having been hung from the ceiling
by my wrists while my pimp attempted to abort a child that I was pregnant with,
I was in shock and nearly unconscious when I was brought into the hospital. A
broken, long-neck beer bottle had been shoved into my vagina as the object to
remove the fetus. Needless to say, it didn't work out. The fetus remained in my
womb but the abortion attempt nearly killed me.
Fearing
retaliation from my pimp. I didn't communicate to the doctors what had actually
transpired, but instead, remained silent allowing my pimp's explanation of my
abortion attempt to go unchallengedÉ.my pimpÉwas masquerading as my older
brother, who was pretending to help his psychotic little sisterÉ[and they
believed him].