Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Almost to the end

Well, about 90,000 words in and still writing. The drama just doesn't stop for Mia.

If you love erotica, murder, romance, mystery...this book covers it all. I have posted everything I've written so far on Fan Fiction under the title of Mastering Mia. I encourage all interetsed persons to take a look.

I hope to complete the book over the next couple weeks, put together a cover and post in online for sale.

Thx to all the people who've read the story and given me feedback.


Friday, September 7, 2012

Good Reviews!!!

I have already published eleven chapters on the FanFiction site, under a pen name and the reviews are excellent. Chapter 11 is my favorite chapter. Mia is already at the base for Officer Training School and meets some interesting people. Let's just say - things start to get hot.

I feel the book may start a little slow, but that is intentional because Mia is a bit innocent, but she grows up fast.

If anyone is interested in finding it on FanFiction, LMK!

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Chapter 2

Ben parks the car alongside the four story building where he works as head counsel for Pitkin & Catelli. He hopes to become a partner soon, at which point he plans to marry me. I’m glad it’s his plan, because it certainly isn’t mine.
“Okay babe,” he says as he pulls up the parking brake. “Be here at noon and don’t be late.” He smiles, gets out of the car, and then turns back. “Oh and don’t think about leaving me here, remember I can find you.”
No, he doesn’t know what I am up to. He always makes comments like that, given his police detective background. He started at the law firm as a spy, so to speak. He conducted surveillance operations on cheating spouses, prescription drug pushers, and any other maleficent persons. He fooled his employers into thinking he was a good guy. They actually helped him get through law school so he could join the team in a more ‘professional’ manner.
“Don’t forget your sandwich,” I say and extend my hand.
He slaps it from my weak hold, sending it to the asphalt. “I’m not eating that shit,” he hisses.
Dr. Jekyll, meet Mr. Hyde.
I am amazed by my ability to make light of the situation. I guess I am certain I am on my way to freedom and its okay for me to laugh now. Either that or this is my insane way of coping. It’s like a bad movie starring me. It’s a sad comedy. The abuse is absurd and my sticking around is so damn pathetic that it’s funny. So why not let him enjoy his final minutes… hours… days of abuse. Yes, I am sure I will have to endure his crap for at least another week, but what’s a week compared to a lifetime?
He shakes his head and says, “Oh, and do me a favor and fix yourself up.” A sadistic grin creeps across his face. “You look like shit. I don’t want my bosses to see you like this.”
“Okay,” I say through gritted teeth.
I shift over to the driver’s seat and take off toward the Air Force recruitment center. There is no going back now, I tell myself. As I park the car in front of the white stucco building, I take a deep breath. Sickness overcomes me and I want to vomit, but I close my eyes and try to imagine myself free. But the prospect of being alone frightens me.  I have never been completely alone before. Raised in a family that constantly berates me, pointing out my flaws, and critical of my every word and action has left me an emotional cripple.
I want to be able to stroll amongst strangers, and not be self-aware. Most people probably don’t even notice me, but I feel like critical eyes are always upon me. I am never comfortable in social situations and beat myself up later for forgetting to properly introduce myself, make adequate eye contact or shake a hand. Most people would shrug it off, but not me. Things like that play in my head over and over again like a bad movie.
I am told by my mother that I have an odd way about myself, and that people just don’t like me. It is tough criticism to swallow, and I wish I could just accept it as who I am, but I want to be a better person. I want friends, not the shallow fair weather types, but the good types. The ones whose shoulders I can cry on and not worry about making them uncomfortable. The ones who I can share my most pressing problems with, and get back good advice. But that’s precisely what got me in trouble to begin with.
Enter knight in shining armor. Ben is a handsome man I met in my last year of graduate studies; he was in his final year of law school.  I had been rooming with my sister Katie while she prepared for her dissertation for her PhD. We did not get along, never did. We roomed for ‘economical’ reasons. She always got involved in my business and when she turned my best friend against me, I had had enough. And that was about the same time I met Ben. Desperate to get out of my situation with Katie, I jumped into his arms, turning off all warning bells in my head.
I had seen firsthand how jealous he was, but I ignored it, maybe even enjoyed it. I was flattered by the attention. When he asked me to move into his apartment I leapt at the chance. I had rid myself of Katie, but what I had really done was trade in one asshole for another.
Ben was my rock at the beginning. I shared my every emotion with him. He listened and comforted me when I felt depressed, but then all that changed. Soon he used everything I had told him against me. My family was poisonous; therefore, I needed to cut them off, he’d say. I didn’t want to be cut off. Distant, yes, but totally alienated from them, no. He hammered me into submission, and I soon became dependent on him for everything. And now, without an income, it is a dangerous situation to be in and I need out.
I pull down the little mirror in the visor and look at myself. I examine every detail of my face and whisper in my head, ‘Mia you can do this. You’re going to get out and meet new people. You’re going to walk freely in crowds and not even be aware of yourself. You’ll survive. But one thing you’ll not do is pick-up with another asshole.’
I flip up the mirror, take a deep breath and grab my purse. Holding my head high I walk into the building and introduce myself to the receptionist.
“Hello,” I say, “My name is Mia and I am here to meet with Cpt. Woodlow.”
“Please take a seat. I’ll let him know you’re here,” she says. She picks up the phone and talks in low tones. “He’ll be out as soon as he can,” she tells me.
I twist in my seat, unable to find a comfortable position. Glancing at my watch, I decide to give him fifteen minutes before making an excuse to leave. Do I really want to do this? It seems so rash and frightening. Ben, at least, is safe. I know what to expect from him…Abuse. Mia…you can get through this. Your sanity…hell…your life depends on it. You must escape!
Twenty minutes pass and I get ready to leave when the receptionist tells me he is on an important call and will be with me in five minutes. I wait, and thirty minutes later I am shuffled off to an office to meet with a thirty something year old man dressed in a smart blue uniform. The thought of a dress code irritates me, but living with Ben is worse.
We exchange introductions, and I start filling out recruitment forms as quickly as possible, wondering why they didn’t give them to me while I was waiting. My palms become moist and my heart pounds in my ears. I am uncomfortable under the stare of the man. As if feeling it, he gets ups and excuses himself. I finally finish and shake out my cramped hand. 
The man pops into the room and takes the forms. As he scans them, he explains the process to me. After the medical exam, there is officer training school, but that has to be scheduled for a different day. I want to get everything squared away now. Bam! Final! Grab my shit and be shipped to another state or country even.
“How long will the medical exam take?” I ask.
“The exam itself is quick, but the wait can be a few hours,” he tells me.
“Oh and how long before Basic Officer Training?”
“A new session begins next Monday”
“And what happens after training?”
“You are immediately shipped off to your station.”
“Okay so what next?” I ask.
“I’ll get these forms processed and then call you to schedule your appointment at the MEPS.”
“Military Entrance Processing Station.”
More delays?
 “Okay, so how long will that take?”
“Processing takes a day,” he says. “Are you in a hurry?” He smiles like a child who just realizes something amazing.
Of course I’m in a hurry you idiot. The military takes everyone, what’s up with all the bullshit delays?
“I’d like to travel,” I blurt. “I’ve never travelled before and would love to see other states, maybe even other countries.”
“We have a base in Japan.”
“Oh, Japan,” I say, feeling my breath escape me like a balloon with a hole. I am thinking small rooms, small places, and crowds of people on a small island. No, Japan definitely does not appeal to me. But then Ben would never travel so far to find me, if he were inclined to look.
“So I will give you a call tomorrow,” he says and winks.
Are you flirting with me? Yuck!
We shake hands and I leave.
I sit in my car for a several minutes and crack the windows, allowing the cool October breeze to pass over me. Closing my eyes, the nervous tension starts to leave my body and I begin to breathe normally again.
Oh shit! The time!
I start the engine and glance at the dashboard clock. It’s ten to twelve. No time for me to relax. I throw the car in reverse, back out then put it in drive. I tear down the road like a crazed maniac, the engine churning angrily with each change in gear. I don’t want to be too late meeting Ben. It’s not just the physical abuse that worries me, but the ranting, the non-stop ear shattering ranting.
I see him alongside the building, pacing, his face in a scowl. When I pull up he makes an expression as if to say, ‘what the hell happened.’ I glance at the clock and see that I am only ten minutes late. He pulls the door open which such force I thought he may rip the handle right off.
“What happened!” he yells.
I screw-up my face in an attempt of defiance, then say, “I had an interview.”
“You’re late! I told you noon. Get the fuck over!”
I start to slide over to the passenger seat when he shoves me, sending me head first into the door. I straighten-up and rub at the fast forming knot on my head. “You know that was completely unnecessary,” I murmur.
“Unnecessary,” he says in a mocking tone. “Do you have any idea how bad you’ve made me look in front of my bosses?”
I sit speechless, bracing myself for his rage.
He gets close to my ear, “Well, do you!” he screams.
My eardrum vibrates, feeling as if it will burst. I tremble under his hot breath as I choke back my tears.
“I was supposed to have lunch with them, and you were my excuse, but you didn’t show!”
“I’m sorry,” I quake.
We drive for several minutes in silence.
“So how did it go?” he asks with a sigh as if he is bored with my childish silent treatment.
“It went well,” I say. “They may call me back for a second interview.”
He smirks and says, “Sounds like a joke. If they were interested they would’ve offered you a job right away. You’re not going.”
“What?” I whisper as I turn to him, wide-eyed and incredulous.
“You’re not going. You know it’s a waste of fucking time, and you’ve already made me look like an asshole once. No, this shit isn’t happening again.” His eyes are tiny slits and his brow furrows.
I look out the window, my head is swimming. I have a fleeting urge to jump out and let a passing car run me over. I wipe at the salty streams that trickle down my cheeks. “You can’t dictate to me what I can and cannot do,” I finally say with determination. “This is my car. You need to get your own damn car!”
He slams on the brakes, shooting me forward. The seat belt jerks me back, digging into the flesh of my neck. The car behind us comes to a screeching halt. I watch in the passenger side mirror as a red faced man with clinched fists springs out of his car and marches toward us.
Ben stomps on the accelerator and sends us speeding down the road. He weaves in and out of traffic. I start to feel queasy. I throw my head between my knees and bile shoots out of my mouth, burning my throat.
Ben pulls off the road and stops. He laughs. I blindly fumble for the window button, but it’s no use. I continue vomiting, and then the dry heaves set-in. Once my stomach is empty and calm I sit back, trying to turn off my taste buds.
“You done,” he smirks.
My hands tremble and I cannot find my voice. He grabs my hair and pulls back my head. Reaching over with his other hand, he wraps his fingers around my throat.
“Don’t you ever talk to me like that again!” he yells inches from my face, spraying me with spittle.
I feel his dark burning stare upon me, but I cannot meet his eyes. My lips draw into a tight line as the muscles tense in my face. Finally, he releases his hold on me.
I cower when he throws an index finger in my face. “You get it!”
I nod my head like a mindless puppet.
He turns the car around, and heads back to the office building. Coming to an abrupt stop, he shoves the gear into park, and then yanks up the emergency brake, making the cheap plastic handle whine in protest. He jumps out of the car, slamming the door behind him. I slink over to the driver’s seat, worried that passersby will see my red, swollen face.
Ben turns back and I lock the doors. I struggle to release the parking brake. He pulls on the door handle, screams a string of obscenities and pounds his fist on the window. He warns me that I better be there at five to pick him up.
It is difficult, but I somehow manage to pull myself together and drive home.
When I enter the apartment the smell of vomit overcomes me. I still have to clean the mess, his mess. I walk into the kitchen and rummage through the fridge for some food, knowing I must eat, even though hunger escapes me. I roll up a couple slices of ham and shove them into my mouth.
I change into some old clothes, and get a bucket of soapy water and a scrub brush. Plopping down on the carpet, and holding my breath, I poke at the vomit. It’s like crusty oatmeal, I pick at the surface until I get to the thick, moist under layer. Scrubbing, without looking, I eventually clean the mess.
I dispose of the empty beer bottles. I want to take a break and watch some TV, but I am determined to finish my chores before running out of time. Rinsing out the bucket and reloading it with fresh soapy water, I walk out to my car.
After finishing, I jump into a hot shower. Closing my eyes, I imagine myself in a remote tropical forest, bathing under a waterfall. The water caresses my body like a warm silken blanket as birds chirp a soothing song. But negative thoughts soon intrude my happy place, and I begin to worry about the time. I race out of the shower, dry off and change into tight fitting jeans and a bust enhancing t-shirt. I blow out my hair with a round brush, making large golden curls. After applying make-up and a few squirts of body spray, I head out the door.
I arrive ten minutes early to Ben’s office and he comes out ten minutes late. He leaves the man he is with and taps on the driver’s side window.
“Hey come on out and meet my bosses,” he says jovially.

I shut the engine and hop out of the car.
Ben’s eyes pop. He moves in close and whispers, “Wow, you look hot.” Grabbing my arm he tugs me along. “Hey, Mitch this is my girlfriend Mia,” he says with a giant grin.
“Nice to meet you,” says Mitch as he extends his hand.
I give him a firm shake. Mitch fidgets, and I wonder if I missed a social grace. Did I grasp his hand too hard or maybe not hard enough?
“Where’s Kevin?” asks Ben.
“Oh he’s still inside, maybe you should check on him?” suggests Mitch.
Ben goes into the building, and I feel my muscles tense. My armpits become moist and my jaws begin to ache with nervous tension. Mitch shoves his hands into his pant pockets and exhales as if he has been holding his breath too long.
“I’m glad to finally meet you,” he says, “Ben talks about you all the time.”
“Really?” I say, incredulously.
“Surprised?” he jests. “You don’t think you’re every bit of wonderful he says you are?”
“Oh, no, of course I do,” I stammer, and then feel my cheeks flush.
He smiles big and glances about, his sights occasionally falling upon me. I cannot help but notice his beautiful hazel eyes, and chiseled good looks. His upper lip curls just enough to show his pearly white teeth. As my heart begins to melt, my eyes fall to his chest and I wonder what lies beneath his expensive looking business suit. For one brief desperate moment I imagine myself free of Ben and with mister hot stuff instead. He seems amiable and well off. And he is nervous around me, me of all people.  I jerk back to reality when Ben appears with boss number two. What am I thinking? If the guy likes me, then he’s surely an asshole. I am a magnet for them. I remind myself that I cannot be trusted when it comes to men. After I rid myself of Ben, it will be a long time before I date again.
“This is my boss, Kevin,” says Ben.
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
Kevin looks to be in his mid-forties, making him at least ten years older than Mitch and Ben. He barely nods in my direction, and ignores the hand I thrust toward him.
What did I do? Why did Kevin totally ignore me? Did I look at him wrong? Did I forget to smile?
Mitch breaks the uncomfortable silence. “I’m heading to happy hour, if anyone would like to join me.”
I so badly want to go. He seems so nice and maybe, just maybe he will sweep me off my feet and rescue me from the horrible Ben. But what am I thinking? How can I be so stupid? My brain is screaming at me, but my heart is pulling toward Mitch. ‘He’s a stranger’, I tell myself, ‘and you know there is no such thing as a Knight in shining armor.’
Kevin politely declines the offer and says he must get going. He mumbles something about wife, kids and responsibilities.
I give in to my imagination, picturing myself strolling along an empty beach with Mitch, hand in hand. The sky is a palette of purple, pink and gold as the sun falls beyond the horizon. The salty ocean breeze brushes by me as wave’s crash and water washes over my toes.
“We’re actually expecting company,” interrupts Ben, “but maybe some other time.”
“Sure,” says Mitch with a limp smile.
I’m disappointed too, but I need to keep my emotions in check. It’s for the best. Besides, no one is going to save me from Ben, except me, and I have already set a plan in motion.
I jump into the passenger side of the car and watch with sorrowful eyes as Mitch strolls down the sidewalk. His hands are shoved in his pants pockets, head held high, and there is a spring in his step. I imagine he is whistling an old time song about a man who has found love at last.
“Wow, so what was that about?” asks Ben.
“What?” I say, playing clueless.
“You mean to tell me you didn’t notice Mitch drooling over you?”
“Yeah, he was acting a little strange, but drooling?” I wave a dismissive hand and push out a sigh.
“You’re pretending, how cute,” he says, his voice lilting with a half-taunting humor.
I am waiting for the explosion.
“Would you be willing to sleep with him if it means a promotion for me?”
“Absolutely not,” I retort.
He breaks out laughing.
“I’m just yanking your chain,” he says. “Ha, that bastard must be eating his heart out.”
Yeah, keep gloating while you can.
Ben inhales deeply then exhales, releasing an ‘mmm’, as if he just smelt something delicious.
“You did a good job cleaning the car. It actually smells nice.”
Thanks asshole!

Friday, August 31, 2012

Chapter 1

“She’s not a bad person!” I yell, my fists clenched and held high, as if trying to pull down the powers of heaven to help me.
“You’re too brainwashed to see what she’s up to!” Ben’s face twists with rage.
“No one’s up to anything. She’s my friend, we just want to hang out and have some fun.”
“She wants to take you out to hook-up. How stupid can you be?”
“Hook-up, are you serious? No one can make me do anything I don’t want to,” I say, and then realize that isn’t entirely true. Ben has always been able to make me do as he wishes. I hate him for it.
His hand falls hard across my face, sending my head snapping to the side. I want to cry as the burn penetrates my skin, sinking deep into my flesh. As I look up at him with watery eyes and quivering lips, his expression softens. He pulls me close, shoving my face into his firm shoulder. I feel trapped against his broad, muscular chest, and am reminded that he could snap me like a twig.
“I just love you so much. I see how easily manipulated you are by people, and I just want to protect you.”
I remain still, too scared to react. I need to think. I have to be careful, couching my every word and action. It is a hard way to live, but leaving is something I haven’t had the courage to do.
He strokes my hair and tells me, “Okay, you can go, but I don’t trust Lynette. Don’t drink too much, and call me if you need to be picked-up.”
I don’t trust Lynette either, but I go out with her to get a break from you!
I stay quiet, figuring it is better not to speak than to say the wrong thing. I realize what he gave me is a warning of what’s to come if I don’t behave as expected.  I get the message loud and clear, he knows it.
I wipe away my tears and walk into the bathroom, locking the door.  As I examine the red mark across my face I am no longer in the mood to go out, but I don’t want to stay at home with him. He succeeds once again in ruining an evening. It’s what he wants. No, I won’t enjoy myself, but I’m still going out.
After dabbing on some make-up, I smile at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are red and my face puffy. I hope the club we go to is dark. I need some time to think, without being distracted by thoughts of my appearance.
A car horn blows. I burst out of the bathroom, grab my purse and head for the door.
Ben blocks the way. “Hey, look I’m sorry.”
“You’re always sorry.” I retort, feeling proud of myself for saying so.
“Look babe, I know…I just…it would kill me if I ever lost you.” He grabs my hand and squeezes. I don’t squeeze back. I can’t look him in the eye. What a load of shit! They only way he’ll lose me is when and if he kills me.
“I’ve got to go. I’ll be back early anyway.” I pull away and race out the door. The sun is just beginning to set and I see through the tinted car windows that Lynette is not alone. I am relieved that she is going to have someone else to talk to. I just want to have a drink, sit back and figure a way out of my mess.  I have put four years into this relationship, thinking things will get better. One day I fear I will wake up old, and still find him lying in bed next to me. I shake the thought from my head.
“Hey girl,” says Lynette as I bounce into the back seat and pull the door shut.
“Hi,” I return, trying to act like nothing is wrong, but she’s too flighty to notice.
“This is my other friend, Lynette.”
“You mean crazy Lynette?” I ask, jokingly.
“Hey, stop telling everyone that,” says crazy Lynette as she nudges Lynette. She doesn’t look back to say hi or even introduce herself. It’s as if I’m not even there. I watch her animated head bob as she jabbers away, never seeming to stop to take a breath.  Her moon pie face is glassy and heavily layered with foundation, like a badly frosted cake. Her lips are painted bright red, in stark contrast to her pale complexion.
The girls are loud and I am happy to stay out of the conversation.  They have known each other since high school. They haven’t seen each other in a while, so I figure there is nothing wrong with giving them a little time to catch-up.
I focus on my situation and conclude I must leave Ben, but that would mean sneaking out unnoticed. That would mean leaving behind most of my belongings. We also share a car, my car, my graduation gift from my mother. I hate the idea of leaving him without a car, knowing that he’d probably lose his job if he has no means of transportation. But then why the hell should I care? He can afford his own damn car!
I start feeling dizzy and sick to my stomach as Lynette swirls up the ramp in the parking garage. She finally parks. We bounce out of the car and head down to the river walk, with no set plans on where to go. The San Antonio River winds its way through down town and is lined with shops, restaurants and clubs.
“I want a drink, good music and hot men!” belts crazy Lynette.
I wonder if she has already been drinking. She seems like a lot of fun, even if she doesn’t like me. 
We don’t walk far before we find a club with neon signs, not the tacky kind you see outside of bars, but the nice, classy kind. Loud music is booming and I can tell it’s a live band. Just our luck there is no cover charge since it’s still early. We flounce in and head straight for the bar. Crazy Lynette orders beers for us. I try to slip her some money, but she refuses. Okay, so maybe she’s not so bad and needs a little time to warm up to me. However, I insist that I pay for the next round.
We decide to explore the second floor and climb the crowded stairs, and much to my relief more people are leaving then coming. Techno music blasts, lights flash like shiny beacons, and people are dancing. Best of all, it’s dim, making it impossible for anyone to see my face with any clarity.
The beer starts to kick in and I feel happy. We make our way over to a table where I relax and enjoy the lights while the Lynette’s start to pose.
“So when is your cousin coming in?” Lynette yells over the music.
“He’s coming tomorrow night,” returns Crazy Lynette.
“Where is he coming from?” I ask.
“Edward’s Air force base.”
“Oh, how long has he been in the military?”
“Two years. It was his only option after graduating. He couldn’t find a job.”
I lean my face against my hand and imagine myself in full military fatigues, walking down a dimly lit street, and in the distance I see Ben. He begins to bark commands. I snap from my thoughts at the sound of crazy Lynette’s too loud laugh. Noticing the girl’s beers are empty, I stand, point to the bar, and make my way over to buy the next round.
A warm sweaty hand grabs my arm; I jerk away and look back, terrified its Ben.
“Hey,” slurs the man, “You’re very pretty.”
 “Uh, thanks,” I say.
“You really are,” he calls after me as I quicken my pace to the bar.
I shift my petite frame around groups of people and lose the creep. I order another round and return to the table. As we down our beers like thirsty sailors, a man approaches.
“Want to dance?” he asks me.
I’m feeling a little tipsy, but join him on the dance floor.  At first I am self-conscious, but loosen up as the music vibrates through my body and sways me like a well-played instrument. My dance partner, on the other hand, is doing some weird robot moves. I try not to giggle, but hysterical laughter comes from behind as the two Lynette’s join me on the floor and imitate his bizarre moves.   
Before long my partner makes a quick exit. I feel bad about that. I know how much it hurts to be teased. I was tormented often as a kid. If my height wasn’t poked on then it was my less than full breasts.  My own family tells me I have a big nose and am hunched back.
Despite all my physical ‘deformities’ men still seem to like me. I never go to a club without attracting a decent amount of attention. Still, I dismiss most of them as horny creeps looking to get laid. I find it difficult to accept that some men may have honorable intentions. Maybe it’s my way of coping with my ignorance of the opposite sex. What makes a good man? What signs should I being looking for? Are all good looking men total assholes? Ben is one handsome asshole, that’s for sure.
I tire after a while and return to the table with the girls. No sooner than we sit down, Crazy Lynette springs to her feet and waves over a stumpy Mafioso looking, polyester clad man.
“Hey what’s up?” he says with a Chicano accent.
I roll my eyes.
“Didn’t I see you at the comic club last week,” asks crazy Lynette as she sweeps back her dark tresses with a coquettish flip of the hand.
“Yeah, I do the comic circuit,” he says as he pulls up a chair.
He runs his fingers through his too long greasy hair, maintaining its combed back pattern. He disgusts me, so I stay out of the conversation. It’s just as well because it quickly goes from cordial to inappropriate.
“So when did you lose your virginity?” he asks crazy Lynette.
She sparkles and says, “When I was sixteen” – her eyes shift to Lynette and narrow – “just like everyone else.”
“So how did you lose it?” continues the man as he moves in closer.
Crazy Lynette is thoughtful for a moment then says, “The window thing.”
The man chortles. “What’s the window thing? You jump out the window and land on his dick?” he asks and then makes a vulgar squishing sound.
“Ya know the window thing.”
“No I don’t know,” says the slime bag.
He reminds me more and more of a Mexican Joe Pesci.
“Ya know, I snuck out the window at night,” she says, and then throws her head back and giggles.
He scowls and rolls his eyes, then shifts his attention to me. I put on my best pissed-off face and stare at a TV hanging from the wall, watching the flashing video. He then turns to Lynette and asks her about her loss of virginity. I check my watch and see it’s close to ten. My worry is not lost on Lynette.
She clears her throat, purses her lips and says drily, “I don’t want to talk about this. It’s time we get going. Mia needs to get back.”
The man bursts into a fit of laughter. I stand, eager to make my escape. Crazy Lynette lingers awhile as Lynette and I walk away. We eventually leave together and the two girls bicker for a bit. I’m hoping to hear talk about Lynette’s loss of virginity, and apparently at the age of sixteen. Her claims of virginity and waiting for marriage almost fooled me. I feel my face turn red as I begin to think about her criticisms of me living in sin. An incredible urge to push both bitches into the river rushes over me, but I resist because I need a ride home. On the drive back I tune out their conversation and think, in my buzzed state, about what I must do next. My mind is made up. I’ve mulled it over all night and I’m doing it first thing in the morning.
When I return home, I find the TV blaring, empty beer bottles strewn about the room, and Ben pacing like a caged animal.
“What’s up with you?” I ask as I take in the mess.
“Wow, you’re home early,” he says surprised as he stumbles toward me.
“Yeah, I told you I’d be back early.”
His smile of relief twists into suspicion as he gets close to me and sniffs like a dog over a hunk of meat. He grabs my arm, yanks me forward, and drags a heavy hand over my head. I suppose he thinks he is petting me, but scalping me is more like it.
“Look you’re drunk and I’m tired. I’m going to bed,” I say.
He retracts his hand and scowls. “Can’t you ever show me any affection? I was worried about you all night!” he yells.
“Why? Why would you worry about me? I’m fine. Hell, I’m not even drunk. I told you I wasn’t going out to hook up.”
I try to control my temper and not let the alcohol get me into trouble. My cheeks are on fire and my body steaming hot. I want to tear off my clothes, but that will definitely send the wrong message.
He moves in closer and raises his hand. This time I don’t flinch. I hold up one arm to block, and a fist to strike. I stare him in the eye, angry and defiant. He lowers his hand, stumbles to the sofa, and flops down in front of the TV.
Is this your retreat you pathetic piece of shit!
I tell myself, ‘Mia, follow through on your plan.’ I play it over and over in my head, just like I used to do in college when trying to memorize answers to a test.
I get ready for sleep and collapse in bed. I lay there alone, room spinning, and fall asleep.
I am startled awake when Ben begins to shake me by the shoulders. I open my eyes and can just make out his dark form, standing over me, like a menacing black cloud.
“What is it?” I ask, hoping there is a legitimate emergency.
“You slut!” he yells, spraying me with spittle. “How can you go out, acting like a whore and then go to sleep like a baby?”
His words are slurred and my mind becomes a mess. I am tired and cannot think straight, too tired to figure out the right words to say.
“I didn’t act like a whore,” I protest. “I went out and you allowed it.”
I feel like an idiot having to explain myself to him as if I am a child, but those feelings are replaced with fear as I realize I picked the wrong words. He raises his arm and brings a burning slap across my cheek. He catches the corner of my eye, making it sting and tear. I raise my hands to protect my face as he continues to beat me.
“Stop Ben, please stop,” I plead, and he does.
He goes into the closet, flicks on the light, and begins to rummage. Returning with a belt wrapped around his hand, I gulp hard and pull the covers up. He brings the thick leather strap down on my legs with a slap. It burns, but only for a moment. And then he brings it down again. Taking a deep breath I spring from the bed and grab the belt, pulling it hard, but he is too strong. He brings me in close and pushes me hard on the bed. My head snaps back and strains my neck. I collect myself to rise, but he has already cast the belt aside, removed his boxers and thrown himself on top of me. Putting a hand over my mouth, he shoves his penis into my vagina. I go limp under his crushing weight, hoping that once he has finished he will leave me alone. Ignoring the pain and holding my breath, I close my eyes tight and imagine I am somewhere else. When he finishes he rolls off of me and falls asleep.
Next morning I rise to the sound of running water. Ben is showering and I must start working on my escape plan.  I grab my cell phone from the nightstand and search for the nearest Air Force recruiter. I then stretch across the bed, and call from the landline.
“Hello, I’d like to join the Air Force as an officer,” I say.
“Thank you, I’ll send you through to Cpt. Woodlow,” says the receptionist.
“Hello, this is Cpt. Woodlow. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?” says the man.
“Okay, Mia what time would you like to come in?”
I hesitate a moment, distracted by the sound of the water shutting off.
“I can pencil you in at ten,” he continues.
“Uh…that’d be great,” I say.
I return to my side of the bed and pull up the covers, closing my eyes, pretending to be asleep. The bathroom door cracks open and steam enters the room, folding around me like a suffocating mist. Ben gently shakes my shoulder. I yawn, stretch and sit up. His dark eyes shine on me like evening stars and a sly smile stretches across his clean shaven face. The smell of his aftershave burns my nose and makes my stomach lurch.
“Hey, looks like you have some work to do,” he says.
I pull back the covers, swing my feet to the floor, and blurt, “Hey Ben, I have an interview today.”
“You do? You didn’t tell me.”
“I did,” I lie.
“Where’s it? “
“At the bank. They’re looking for a loan officer, and they like the fact that I have an MBA.”
“A Loan officer?” he chuckles. ”Are you sure it’s not some secretarial job?”
“Why would I apply for a secretarial job?” I ask, my voice piping loud.
“Well, you know how they build up these jobs, and you go in, only to find out its crap.”
“No, this one is definitely not crap. I found it myself. No recruiter.”
I stand on shaky legs. My stomach bubbles, but I take a deep breath and pass thoughts of vomiting out of my head.
“Oh well that’s good. I don’t know why you feel you have to go on every job interview a recruiter finds for you. Those people are shit…used cars salesmen. They don’t deserve respect. I don’t know why you always have to be so polite. How many times do you have to get burned before you snap out of it?”
“Look Ben, I know, I agree with you, but I’m telling you I found this job and it’s not crap.”
“What time’s the interview?”He sighs in disgust as he runs his fingers through his wavy chestnut hair.
“It’s at ten. I’ll drop you off at work and pick you up at five.”
He remains silent, his penetrating stare lingering on me as I leave the room.
“Ok,” he calls after me, “but you’ll have to make me lunch and meet me at the office at noon. Go make it now. I don’t have a lot of time.”
I want to tell him to shove his lunch up his ass, but I have a plan and I don’t want to mess it up with more fighting. I make my way to the other room, stepping over the beer bottles strewn across the floor. I guess that’s what he means by a lot of work to do. As I make my way toward the kitchen I see chips squashed into the carpet, and wonder if he chewed and spit them out. Then the smell hits me.
“Yeah, sorry I couldn’t make it to the bathroom in time,” he says with a smirk as he sneaks up behind me and jiggles my breasts.
I walk into the kitchen and pour myself a cup of hot coffee. I take gulps between pulling out the bread, ham and cheese to make him a sandwich. He hovers over my shoulder, dressed and ready to go, watching, never offering to help.
He taps his watch. “I have to be to work on time girly girl.” He twists a strand of my hair around his finger, pulls then releases.
 Shut the fuck up! Oh and why you’re at it, drop dead.
I go to the bedroom closet, ignoring my rumbling stomach, food is not an option.  I pull out a decent looking pant suit and slip it on. In the bathroom I check for marks on my face, but there are none, and my clothes hide the large welts from last night’s beating. A generous coat of Make-up takes away some of my feelings of insecurity, and as I dab it on I eye the shower. A nice hot bath would be perfect, but I know Ben will not allow me time for it. Grabbing handfuls of my long golden hair, I race it under my nose and sniff. Hints of smoke still linger. I spritz body spray over my head and then run a brush through my hair. After quickly washing my teeth, I race toward the door, where Ben is leaning against the wall, my car keys dangling from his hand.
“You going to go to an interview looking like that?” he sneers.
“Yeah, what’s wrong with how I look?” I feel self-conscious and wonder if I should change.
“Seems a little out dated, that’s all.”
“I don’t have time to worry about that.” I think he may be right, but it’s the military for Pete’s sake, they take anyone with a pulse.
“Did you even try to fix your hair?” He looks me over with disgust.
I slip an elastic hair band from my wrist, gather my long golden locks and make a pig-tail.
We head for my car and he, as usual, takes the driver’s seat.
“You sure this is a legit interview?”
“Yes,” I say aggravated.
“Okay, it’s not something your friend Lynette found for you is it?”
“So what happened last night?”
“What do you mean?” I feel defensive, certain he is talking about my outing and not his beating. He has a magical way of forgetting about his assaults on me, and I fear bringing it up because it turns on me. It’s always my fault, he’ll insist, because of the way I behave.
“Hey, just asking,” he says, amused. “Who was that ugly bitch in the car with Lynette?”
“Oh that’s her friend Lynette, crazy Lynette.” I’m taken aback by his apparent good mood, as if nothing at all happened last night.
“Wow that was some ugly transvestite looking bitch. No wonder you didn’t hook-up. The guys probably took one look at her and went running.”
I had to laugh.
“So if she’s crazy you shouldn’t be hanging out with her, either one of them,” he says seriously.
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m done with them both.”
And I really mean that because once I sign the papers, it is not up to me where I go. One thing I am certain, I won’t be in Texas. No Texas, no Lynette and no Ben.

New Title

I don't like the title name. I really haven't decided what I'm going to go with.  "Mastering Mia" crossed my mind since it does involve control and some S&M. I appreacite any ideas!

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Mastering Mia

When quiet, subservient Mia finds herself wanting out of an abusive, controlling relationship, she plans a hasty escape. Joining the military and meeting hot, fit men, she explores her sexuality and finds herself encountering more than one officer with erotic tastes, and a craving for control. Slipping into her submissive ways, Mia struggles with her own dark desires as she tries to find her one true love.

Her innocence and desire to please has a spell bounding effect on the men who taste her, which leads to mysterious murders that baffle the police. When Mia’s suspicions of the culprit prove true, it’s already too late.

Saluting Mia is a tale of romance, lust, sadism, and murder.

This book contains sexually graphic content and violence, intended for mature audiences.