Still in the early days of my new career change I would meet so many interesting people. Like this one women in her mid-20’s from Casistan. She was from a broken home on some little farm. She would spend a lot of her childhood helping the family tend to the farm. She was a cute child full of innocence and knew nothing of the outside world and some could argue that it was a perfect life. In the early 1980’s a massive winter lasting 5 months came rolling through and decimated everything. Farm land became infertile, animals froze to death, and many townspeople died.
Among the death toll from that winter was this little girl’s mom. Mom had caught pneumonia in the winter’s 4th month and because of the blizzards the family couldn’t get her to a doctor and no doctor could make it to them. In the spring as the family, now only a little girl and her father, grieved for the mother’s passing the two tried to hold it together for each other. But as the summer rolled around dad’s attitude had begun to change. He was stressed out about the additional work load being one person down and unable to cope with his feeling of losing his wife; he became a different person. Pushed to his limit and unable to control his anger he would from time to time lose control and take it out on a little girl.
She would endure regular beatings and wonder what she did wrong, why she was being hit. She began hating herself but eventually understood why. She was being punished for mom dying; she was being punished because she was the one that was supposed to die, not mom. After some time she no longer cried and accepted her punishment. After her beatings she would crawl to her bed and from underneath the bed would pull out a box of old torn up books. She would spend each night reading tales of flying boys coming to take other little children to Neverland, or fairytales that ended with a princess saved by a handsome prince.
For years the beating continued and so did the reading. On good days when she was allowed to go into town and the bruises were visible, she would pick up supplies for father but would also quickly visit a little book shop. The shop was owned by a missionary and would engage in small discussions or debates every time she came in. The two were delighted with each other and were the highlights of each of their days. The Missionary could see the pain in her eyes and each visit he would insist on giving her a new book. Over time he would give her everything from American classics, to Russian, text books, and poetry. Each one she would have finished within a few beatings.
Her world was being blown wide open with ideas and philosophy and hopes for a better life. That realization would come a day late when that night she received the worst beating she ever had and something happened that hadn’t in years; she cried. That night after father went to sleep she packed up a few books, and 2 days of clothes. She snuck out of her house and ran, never looking back. With the help of the missionary she wAould find herself in America within a few days. With lots of help from a lot of loving and caring people she met in America she was provided government assistance for housing, and because of all the reading she had tested extremely high. With those test score she was given an opportunity to go to a real school and after four years in a high school she graduated at the top of her class.
After high school the government assistance dried up. When she stepped foot into my class it was hard not to notice that she was beautiful. She was stunning but unlike the stereotypes for someone that beautiful she was brilliant. But like the struggling college women stereotype, she was an exotic dancer trying to pay her way through school to get her license to practice medicine. She had put up a compelling front to all those looking in that she was happy. But the eyes told everything, she was miserable, and the long sleeves said there was a problem. I never noticed her in class or around campus with a boyfriend or hanging out with any male students. I always thought that was a shame because she was so bright and beautiful.
Slightly after she aced my class she had stopped by and told me she was taking a semester off due to some financial problems. She mentioned she had a few jobs lined up and planned to be back in the fall semester. In my new role I knew there was nothing I could do to help, so I wished her luck and asked her to please come back and visit. The job that she had mentioned was a model for a local convention. She was to dress up and man a booth, but she had to dress up for a fetish ball. She was into stuff like that so it wasn’t too far outside her comfort level. Something amazing happened that night and among all the sexual deviants. While she was dressed up and manning her bondage booth she was arguably the sexiest person there. So much so that a local event promoter and exotic agent caught wind of the beauty on the other end, the one with the huge crowd surrounding her. He rushed over and pushed his way through the crowd to get a look. At first glance he saw that she had a very “Dita von Teese” look to her and knew instantly he had to represent her.
The man eventually became her agent and began plans to market her. He had visions of global fame both inside and outside the exotic/fetish world. The two began working very closely together on best ways to sell the image, which talk shows to do; there were even some early movie scripts. Day and night the two would spend all of their time together. Naturally, being in close proximity to someone and always talking about fetishes and sex toys the two quickly turned the professional relationship into more. Everything was moving so fast that the sexual relationship spawned into love. The first time since her mother died she felt love, love from a man. It scared her so much and at times she thought about leaving him. But like after her beatings she read and fantasied about a fairytale ending and she was convinced that this was her happily ever after.
She did come back to visit me a few months later and told he all about the adventure she had been in. I joked about how that was her fairytale ending complete with a prince saving her from the shackles of a dungeon, and she would joke that her prince actually puts her in those shackles. Shortly after my visit she was married. I phased out and quietly attended the wedding, and it was a beautiful reception, fitting for a princess. The two made plans for a tour across the country to headline fetish balls. They had agreed to take some time off after the tour to pursue a family, complete with child. The first stop of her tour she dressed up as he did a hundred times before and manned a similar bondage booth. The difference in that booth was a new project they were promoting and came complete with hand/foot straps and a throat strap. Once she was bound the throat strap was put on. This was the first time she had tried out this product and thought she could work it. Tragedy struck that night as the throat strap was placed too tight around her neck and the fail safe refused to engage. No one was able to get it off until it was too late. She died thinking, “Remember me at my best; let my worst die with me.”
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