Message-ID: <36401asstr$1020931802@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: billyboiiiiiii@yahoo.com (bill johnson)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 9 May 2002 00:18:50 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Sean and Moger, Part 3
Date: Thu,  9 May 2002 04:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Part 3

"Daddy! Daddy!" They  ran to the door every day when I came home from
work. Jesse was 6, Lori was 4, and Sammy just turned 3. The house was
never dull. They were the loves of my life.  I hired a permanent, live
in nanny to stay with the children. They loved her very much, not
knowing or remembering their mother.

Some may wonder how I could possibly love the youngest one. I realized
right away, though, that it wasn't his fault his mother did what she
did. And he was legally my child. And parenthood is a lot more than
just genetics. And, I have to admit, as adorable as the two older ones
were, Sammy was the cutest and sweetest one of the three.

I completely wrote off Moger. Nothing was heard from her in the three
years since she left. I figured that she was out of my life, and I
didn't need to mope about what might have been. She simply had a
terrible and uncontrollable hunger for drugs, and when push came to
shove, she couldn't kick it. Sometimes I had my doubts that she was
still alive. If I would have learned of her death it wouldn't have
surprised me, or grieved me. I felt that she had already died; she
died back when her happiness and love for life did.

One Sunday night, while sound asleep,  I had a powerful dream. I awoke
and sat straight up in the bed. I wasn't able to recollect any of the
details of the dream's scenario at all. Something happened in it, and
it was indelible in my psyche, but I remember none of the details,
except for a mysterious voice repeating one line several times.

"Go yet, love the woman, yet the adulteress." The voice repeated and
repeated the line over and over in my head. I tried to dismiss is as a
strange dream, but the words kept ringing in my mind.

"Go yet, love the woman, yet the adulteress." I tried to go back to
sleep, but I kept hearing the words in my head.

"Go yet, love the woman, yet the adulteress." I just tossed around in
bed the rest of the night, unable to go back to sleep.

Early on Monday morning I left for work. I turned on a classical music
CD in the car, and  thought I heard a faint voice singing with the
music "Go yet, love the woman, yet the adulteress." I immediately
clicked it off.

I was afraid that this may be a message from my familiar "inner
voice". How could I love her after what she did to me?

I was at my desk reading mail when I suddenly remembered another line
from the dream.

"Your love for her is greater than her love for drugs."

I began to think back on the happy Moger, the beautiful and cheery
wife and mother she was before she began craving cocaine. I found
myself grieving over the loss, and all of my pent in emotions came
out. Tears began to flood into my eyes. I told my secretary I was
taking the rest of the day off, that I was not feeling well.

I lay in bed all day crying. I finally admitted to myself that I did
still love her. She may never change, but what if she could? I had to
give it an attempt. I had to try to find her. I had to talk with her.
I had to see if there was even the remotest chance for us to get it
back.

The next morning I went straight to a private investigator in Kansas
City. He did some work for me in my first divorce, and was successful
in getting information that prevented my ex-wife from getting any of
my assets. I gave him all of the information I could think of,
everything I knew about Moger. Three days later he called me at work.

"She's in South Chicago, working the streets under some big-time pimp
who goes by Frankie. According to my sources there he's one of the
roughest in Chicago, he's hooked up with several crime families across
the country. She works South 63rd Street outside a hotel called the
Flagonlove Inn."

I immediately booked a seat on the first flight to Chicago. 

A cab let me off in front of the hotel, and I went in and registered.
It wasn't fancy, but it wasn't a fleabag dump, either. A bellhop
showed me to my room. At the evening I went to the street. A guy
wearing a mink hat approached me.

"You waiting for somebody?"

"I'm looking for some party time. You Frankie?"

He laughed. "Shit, man, the biggie don't come on the street. What you
want him for?"

"I heard he has a Jennie Sue that gives good head. Her rep is all over
Chi-town. I want some of that action. Some chick called Moger." I
tried to speak my best `street lingo'.

 He nodded. "She's available tonight. A hundred bucks."

"Shit, for a blow? You gotta be kiddin me!"

"Don't be fuckin wit me, man. You want her or not?"

"Yeah, send her to room 467."

"She'll knock four raps on your door, and you'll know it's her. You
got one hour, if you don't nut by then you're shit outa luck. No
fuckin games, man, or you'll be sorry."

"Spare the bullshit, I pay for my services. I ain't looking for
trouble, just a good blow."

"OK. As long as you understand. Frankie don't take kindly to anybody
fuckin' with him. She'll be there at 9."

I went to the room. I got very nervous as I waited for her. 

The four raps sounded sharply on the door, right on time. I stood on
the hinged side and opened it so she couldn't see me. She walked in
and I closed the door.

"Sean! Shit!" She ran to the door to try to get out, but I stepped in
front of it and blockaded her.

She looked rougher than I had ever seen her. It was obvious that she
was heavily on drugs. The wickedness of her lifestyle had aged her
beyond her years. She had make up caked on thick, but it didn't cover
her rough appearance. The light in her eyes had gone completely out.

"Why did you come here? And how the fuck did you find me?"

"I know this is going to sound crazy, but, I love you, Moger. I always
have."

She laughed cynically. "There is nothing here to love. You're a stupid
fuckhead to think that there is."

"Call me what you want, but I still love you. I came to see if you've
had a change of heart."

She scowled. "Do you want the blow? If so, then drop `em, let me do
you, and shut the fuck up.  I don't want to listen to a bunch of
bullshit."

"I don't want sex. I want to see if there's even the slightest
chance...."

"For what?" She sounded vicious.

"For me to get you back. Not just your body, suffering in this
miserable existence. But the real you, the one who was so happy
before. You were happy, right? Don't you ever miss the way you were? I
sure do."

"She's dead. She died when the desire for drugs came back. I remember
the day. I knew I wouldn't be able to kick it. She's gone for good,
and there ain't no sense crying over spilt milk."

I approached her and poked my finger at her heart. "I think she's
still alive in there somewhere."

She just laughed in scorn.

I said, "I'll tell you what. I don't want a blow, I want a hug. Give
me a hug. A warm, loving, genuine hug, like we used to give each
other. That'll give me my money's worth for the evening."

"There ain't a genuine bone in my body, Sean."

"Come over here, and let's see." She came and put her arms around me.
I held her and closed my eyes. I wasn't holding a junkie whore in my
arms. I was holding the only woman I ever loved. She stiffly and
ingenuously held me at first. I didn't let go.

I began to cry, realizing again what had been lost. She began to warm
up some, and her embrace began to radiate more and more genuineness. I
just held more tightly to her, and she began to cry.

Then suddenly she said, "Fuck!", and let go, pushing herself away.

She began to cry bitterly. "Why did you come all the way up here just
to fuck with my mind? THIS is my life, and there ain't no escape from
it. You're in love with a dead woman. Get over your grieving and get
on with your life. I accepted it, and you can too. I've fucked my life
up so bad that there's no way it can be fixed. I'm stuck big time. I'm
into Frankie for nearly 25 grand, and he's no pushover. He'll kill me
if I try to get out. One girl last month tried to run off, and her
body was found the next day tossed in a dumpster."

"You owe him money? You're one of his girls. Doesn't he pay you?"

"I'm one of his junkie girls. He provides powder, and charges it
against the trick receipts. It happens to all his junkie girls. We
just get deeper and deeper in the hole with him, and there ain't no
way out. We don't make nothing; he keeps all of the money. That's his
way of owning us. I tried to hold back some on him once, some tip
money, and they beat the shit out of me. He's real powerful and has
connections everywhere.." She paused. "Sean, just go back to Missouri,
and forget about me."

I shook my head `no'. "There are three little ones back in Missouri
that I love more than my own life. They  bring me a lot of joy, just
like you used to do, when it was good. All three of them exude some
part of you, the happy, carefree Moger. That makes me love them more,
and makes me miss you more, too."

"You kept the last one?" Her mouth dropped open in shock. "You kept
him, even though he's somebody else's child?"

"He's my child. Maybe he doesn't have my DNA, but he has my love, just
as much as the other two." I took a picture of them from my shirt
packet, but she quickly turned her head and knocked it out of my hand.
It landed on the floor face down.

She sat down and began to cry. Then she spoke harshly. It was so
obvious that she was fighting her emotions. "Get back on the fucking
plane and fly away from here. She's dead, I tell you. She died back
then. Those children's mother died. She's dead."

A sharp beeping sounded from her satchel. "I have 10 minutes left. I'm
going to leave, so you can't keep adding more misery to my already
pathetic shitty life." She stood and walked to the door. "I'm going to
have to take the hundred, you know that."

I handed her 5 twenties. I tried to hug her again, but she pushed me
away. She opened the door.

In the hall, before I shut the door, she looked at me and said, "Just
let go of it, Sean, there's no chance. She's dead. Let go of it." She
walked down the hall. I watched her as she got on the elevator.

I felt a little warmth in the earlier hug, before she pulled away. I
sensed that there was hope. I felt the old Moger for just a brief
moment. Then I got an idea from my inner voice.

I went back down to the street and stood in the same spot. The
mink-hatted man approached me again.

"What, you looking for more action?"

"I need to see Frankie, I want to talk business."

"Frankie is a very busy man. You need to have an appointment, and he's
booked up..."

He stopped speaking when I flashed a crisp $100 bill. I said, "Make
one for tonight, please."

He said, "Let me see what I can do."  He stepped several yards away
and made a call on his cell phone. He came back and said, "Frankie was
able to carve out a few minutes of his precious time. He'll pick you
up in his limo. Be here at 10:45." He held out his palm, and I slipped
the bill in his hand, thanking him.

I had an hour to kill, so I went to a nearby coffee shop for a
cappuccino. Right at 10:45 a black limo pulled up and parked The
driver got out and opened the door. I got in and sat next to a
sharply-dressed and clean cut businessman in an expensive suit. There
was a very large man sitting next to him with a wire in his ear, who
looked like he could have played O line on any NFL team.

"My time is very precious, but Tommy said that you want to talk
business with me."

"Yeah, I do..."

He interrupted me, holding out his hand with his palm facing me.
"Strip to the buff."

"What?"

"I don't talk business with strangers unless they are naked. You know,
planted wires. You want to talk business with me you need to be cock
naked."

I hesitated for a moment and then took off all of my clothes. The big
man handed them through a little sliding window up to the driver, and
took a small light and checked me over thoroughly.

"He's clean." The man gave me a towel to cover my privates.

Frankie said, "I'm all ears."

"I want to buy to one of your ladies."

Frankie spoke up, "What, you think I'm some kind of slave trader?"

"I want to take one of your girls home to live in with me. She gives
incredible head, and money is no object."

"You could only be talking about Moger. Man, she is incredible. Men
come from all over the country to have her blow them. I've never seen
anything like it."

"I am dead serious. How much for me to take her from you?"

He flipped open his phone and made a call. He snapped the phone shut
and slipped it into his pocket. "My accounts receivable clerk tells me
she has a balance due of $24,560." He shook his head side to side.
"Man, it's so unfortunate when they have to have that powder. She ran
up quite a tab.  That would have to be cleared up, and then I'll sell
you the rights for another 50 grand. With appropriate handling
charges, you can take her for an even 80. Meet me back here tomorrow
night same time with the cash in a brief case. It needs to be all
hundreds. Then she's yours."

"How can I trust you to follow through, I mean, you could welch."

He looked at the big guy and laughed. "Joe. I am insulted that he
would think that low of me. Could he really think I made it this far
by violating my word on people?" The big guy just shook his head
pitifully and laughed quietly. Frankie looked at me,  "You want her,
those are the terms. Now, should I be looking for you tomorrow night?"

"Yeah, I'll be here."

"Just a warning, Mr......" He opened the little door to the front. 

The driver said, "Berison, Homer Berison."  He handed Frankie a
computer printout listing everything about Sean's life and work and
slid the door shut again.

Frankie smiled, "Isn't it amazing what you can learn about someone
with a little 9-digit number from a driver's license? Let's see here,
2567 Uthica Blvd., Independence, Missouri. Eight years, Jamicon
Corporation, senior sales rep, 143 thousand gross last year. Nice job.
Hmmm. Divorced. Three children, Jesse, 6, Lori, 4, and Lomas, 3." He
looked at me. "How sweet, I'll bet they are very cute." His smile
disappeared.  "I have connections all over the country. I'm not
playing games here. If you decide to back out,  you better let someone
know before I come back here tomorrow. My time is precious, and I
don't take kindly to being fucked with."

"I'll be here. I am very serious about this. I'll be here with the
cash."

Frankie nodded to the big man, who tapped on the driver's compartment.
The little door opened, and my clothes were handed back to me. I got
dressed quickly and the driver opened the door before I finished tying
my shoes. The limo drove off.

I went to my room and tried to sleep. I dozed on and off through the
night. At 8:30 AM I phoned my attorney. I told him the entire story,
and arranged for a courier to meet me at O'Hare with the cash.

It arrived at 4:30 PM. I took a cab back to the hotel and waited
through the evening. At 10:30 I went to the street with the briefcase.
The limo pulled up and parked. The driver got out, took the briefcase,
and opened the door. I sat down and Frankie pointed from my waist to
my feet, and then from my waist to my head. I stripped and the same
procedures were followed as the previous night.

After Joe declared me `clean', I opened my mouth to speak. Frankie
held out his hand for me to stay quiet. We sat quietly until the
driver slid open the little door.

The driver said, "Eighty G. All C notes."

Frankie said, "What time are you flying out of our lovely city?"

"I haven't booked a flight yet."

Frankie flipped open his cell phone. "Yeah, Two seats to KC, first
out. Call me back."

We sat silently for over ten minutes. His phone chirped out the Lone
Ranger song. He flipped it open and listened. "Okay." He snapped it
shut.

"United flight 486 departing 8:45 tomorrow morning." Joe wrote it all
down. The package will be personally delivered to security checkpoint
4B at 7:15. It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr.
Berison." My clothes were handed back to me and I quickly got dressed.
The driver opened the door and the limo drove off. Again my shoes were
untied. I went to the room, stripped to my briefs and t-shirt, and got
under the covers. I was exhausted, but I still had difficulty sleeping
that night. I arranged for a wake-up call at 4:45, but was lying awake
when I received it.

I arrived at the airport at 6:30. The tickets were held for me and I
paid for them with my credit card. I sat at the end of a row of seats
near the checkpoint and watched from a distance. At 7:05 a very
sharply dressed man escorted Moger to the appointed place. I walked
up.

"I'm Homer Berison." The man had a photocopy of my driver's license in
his hand.

Moger never looked at me, she just stared at the floor. She was high.
The man nodded and watched as we went through security. She had no
baggage or belongings. She was wearing a red dress, fishnet stockings,
and a pair of pumps. I did not speak to her, and she did not speak to
me as we walked through the terminal.

We silently boarded the flight, and continued our silence through the
entire flight. I dozed in and out of sleep on the flight, and she did,
also.

In Kansas City we got in the car on the long-term parking lot. She
spoke first. "You're a fucking fool, and I'm NOT going into rehab."

"Stop right now, before you say anything else. I paid $80,000 for you,
and I don't give a FUCK about the money. I can make ONE GOD-DAMNED
call and Frankie will get you back in a heartbeat, free of charge."

She laughed. "Eighty grand! You fucking fool, man, he ripped you off.
He knew I wasn't going to live much longer. That's why he cut me
loose."

"Well, then, obviously you're worth more to me than you are to him.
Nevertheless,  I own you now, so you can keep your mouth shut and go
through rehab like a good girl. OK? You WILL sign all of the forms and
cooperate FULLY, and if you escape or leave, I'll find you AGAIN and
you will be under Frankie. GOT IT?"

She nodded quietly and shrugged her shoulders. We drove straight to
the rehab clinic.

It was the same clinic I took her to when she was expecting Sammy. (Of
course that time  it didn't take long before she was craving again.)
The people running the clinic recommended that after she finished her
stay with them that she be placed in a Catholic women's home in St.
Louis for additional help . It specialized in helping the worse cases
kick the habit completely, using a very intense counseling and support
system that was successful in getting to the heart of their patient's
problems. I had the private investigator check it out, and enrolled
her.

Six weeks later she finished at the rehab clinic. She was clean,
sober, and very angry. I took her shopping for some clothes, and we
went to the airport where we boarded a short flight to St. Louis.

"You're going to stay at this home until you can see the truth about
yourself. They'll help you. I'll be in touch, and bring you back home
when they and I feel you are ready."

The home was located on Mennydaze Avenue. It was staffed by kind nuns
and offered very nice accommodations. I went every other Wednesday
afternoon to visit her and check her progress.

I made my first visit the second Wednesday she was there. I spoke with
the counseling supervisor first, a very professional woman named Dr.
Kinney. Moger was not speaking. She was just sitting listlessly in the
sessions. Dr. Kinney said that I could be instrumental in getting her
to open up and talk. They were treating her very kind, and giving her
the complete choice as to whether or when she wanted to open up. They
would be very patient and continue to accommodate her for as long as
it took.

They brought her in to a small visitation room.  She seemed less angry
and more uncaring. I considered that an improvement. She had a look
like she was doped up, but this home used no medication in their
treatments.

She sat quietly. She just answered my questions with "yes" and "no"
nods and shoulder shrugs. She gave a shrug when I asked if she liked
the home, and I considered that a positive, because I was expecting a
"no".

"Moger, this is going to work. You are going to get it back. Just work
with the people here. Cooperate with them, talk out how you feel, and
they can and will help you. But you need to open up. I love you,
always remember that. I wouldn't have purchased you from Frankie if I
didn't. Always remember that, and think about me, and think about
them." I handed her a photo of the children, the same one she knocked
on the floor in Chicago.

She looked at it and a tiny smile began to show on her face. Then she
caught herself and returned to the more sad, pitiful look. I gently
touched her hand and reaffirmed my love for her, and gently squeezed
her hand without saying anything more for the rest of our time
together. When it was time for her to go back to her room I embraced
her. She didn't put her arms around me. She just stood limp like a rag
doll.

"I love you, I love you. Never forget it. My love is more than words,
it is purchased with a price." They escorted her back to her room.

I went back two weeks later. The supervisor said that in the next
session after I left she began to speak and open up. They concentrated
heavily on her childhood sexual abuse. No one ever told her or even
seemed to even care about the severe damage that was done to her by
her step-father. Apparently he, (as a Catholic lady doctor would put
it), had a "very small sexual anatomy", which caused the abuse to be
free of any physical pain or damage. She, being so very young at the
time, simply accepted it as a part of life. She figured, though, that
the psychological pain she felt as a result was because of her, and
not because of him. The drugs were, therefore, a way of easing an
unexplainable pain.

She explained everything very clearly, and it all made sense. I waited
in a visitation room for her to come in.

When she arrived I hugged and kissed her. She put her hands on my back
and gently stroked them up and down, in an affirming sort of way. The
look on her face was a combination of numbness, sadness, apprehension,
and hope. I noticed a tiny, very slight light in her eyes.

"Moger, how has it been going?"

"Call me Margaret, please. Moger was a different person, a person who
was used only to give men sexual pleasure." She seemed calm and rather
numb as she spoke.

"OK. Let me start over, "Hello Margaret. How has it been?"

She sat down and began speaking. "I have been learning a lot about
myself, Sean. Things that I never realized before. I had no idea that
I was a victim. I thought what happened to me in my childhood was
normal, and nobody told me different." She began to flood up with
tears. I patted her shoulder in affirmation.  "Sean, I'm so sorry I
caused you so much pain. I really miss you and I miss the children. I
want to see them. Thanks for giving me the picture."

My eyes  flooded with tears when she said that. We talked for the
entire 45 minute time we had together. She said that the cravings to
get high were still strong, but not as strong as when she first
arrived in St. Louis. They were working on talking through the
cravings with her, and helping her to connect the cravings with her
psychological pain.

I told her that she had to continue living there until the cravings
could be easily controlled, but that I would continue to visit now
every Wednesday. When the session ended I held her close. I actually
got an erection as I once again desired her. I tried to not allow her
to feel it, though, as part of her treatment was to disconnect herself
from being a
sex object. 

She continued in the treatment center for another eight weeks. She was
almost totally free from the cravings, and had a good handle on them
when they did occur. Dr. Kinney said that there was nothing more for
them to do. She recommended that she return for a weekend every six
weeks for more counseling and some group therapy, just to maintain her
success. She was called in.

"Margaret, Mr. Berison would like to take you home with him. There is
nothing more for us to do here. Your progress has been incredible, and
we are very happy to have been able to help. You may pack up your
belongings, and you are free to go."

She smiled, and the light was back  in her eyes in full brightness. I
knew that I had my wife back.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

There is a conclusion, but I will not post it. Write me and I will
email it to you if you wish to read it.

This is not an original plot, I borrowed it from some ancient
writings. If you think you know which writings they are based on,
write me and I'll let you if you are right.

The answer will be included in the conclusion, along with some
parallel explanations. Thank you for your interest. Write me at

mailto:Billyboiiiiiii@yahoo.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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