A mother gets blackmailed into being a sex slave for her son and his friends

Well to be honest it has been at least ten years since I
talked with anyone directly involved with it all, and now
it has been more than forty years since it all happened.
Yet there are some defining moments in your life that you
never forget.

True, details become blurred with time and perhaps some
details that still exist may have come from second hand
accounts or perhaps even from an over active imagination;
the realities of the moments are still there. It all
started the summer of 1952 in Chicago.

For those of you who can relate to the time frame there
is no need to explain further the attitudes of sex and
such topics of the time. But for those who never knew the
’50’s, let me briefly explain the attitudes that
prevailed. First sex was only done by married couples in
the private confines of their own beds.

Movies literally showed no sex to speak of, and
magazines, even “men’s,” showed no frontal nudity; even
nipples had to be covered or air brushed out– unless you
count the National Geographic which showed some ugly
African women now and then. Sex education came from
stories told on the streets by the older boys or maybe
some “seedy” adult.

The news rarely wrote about sex crimes. Attitudes toward
rape heavily ran toward the feeling that the woman was
not the victim but really wanted it to happen, and was
somehow a tinted lady. Divorce was a sin: and men felt
all divorced women were sex hungry because they had it
regularly and now somehow needed it from any man that
they could get it from.

Needless to say this attitude scared the hell out of
other “good” women, who often took great pains to push
the divorced woman out of their circle. Women like my
mother. In general the country was still somewhat puritan
compared to the 1990’s. Oh sure if you were an adult,
there were places to go, like burlesque shows, where the
women could strip only to a g-string. And there were
“smokers,” “stag parties” where whores would perform. And
magazines that came wrapped in brown paper that “showed
it all.”

Now, school had only been out for a couple of weeks and
we had already become bored with playing “Cowboys and
Indians,” “Cops and Robbers,” “Great white hunters,” even
playing baseball. Our minds had suddenly begun to burn on
the topic of sex, fed in great part by the age we were at
and fueled by stories from the older boys in the
neighborhood. But it was my closest pale’s, Red’s father
who set our minds on fire!

The man was a drunk and a con man who had minor brushes
with the law throughout his life. Most of his cons ended
in failure but this never stopped him, and now, unknowing
to us, he was working on his greatest con. The man fed us
with stories of every form of sex you could think of. We
hung on every word.

He even got us a “brown paper” magazine of bondage
drawings to gawk at: no depictions of pubic areas though.
It almost became a ritual after dinner to go over to the
old dilapidated two flat were Red lived and sit on the
front steps to wait for his father to come out and talk
with us.

After several days of feeding us stories and pictures the
old fox had us obsessed with getting ourselves a grown
woman for our sex slave– to do what we wanted to do with
her. Red’s father gave us a plan to capture, as it was, a
woman who we all knew and to then make her our sex slave.

Naturally he would help, assuring us we’d not get into
any trouble. Still as I picked up the newspaper and
brought it into the apartment, then laying it on the
kitchen table as always, I couldn’t help but wonder why
the man was so willing to help us.