Tony had the habit of leaving me alone in his car while he carried out visits for his new job, advertising consultant at CPB (Cinema Publiciteit België or Cinema Publicity Belgium). He sold films to promote businesses. I then got bored to death and looked outside listlessly, playing playing drums on the dashboard, and making poems in my head. The night opens rooms in my mind Rooms so dark and full of sorrow O death, to me please be kind But I’ll still be alive tomorrow And when he showed up again he usually drove around aimlessly for a while until he found a remote parking spot. I then let him guide my hand towards his fly and obediently did what he wanted. Then he did his things to me. I tried to relax, the best technique to avoid pain. Sometimes he used objects, sometimes he didn’t. When he asked if I enjoyed it, I nodded of course. I knew perfectly what he wanted to hear, see, and feel. I forced my body to react to the movements of his hands. Indeed, if my body didn’t react the “right” way, he became aggressive, and I tried to avoid this from happening, every time. “You shall endure everything, Sweetie Pie, and I’ll do it until you love it!” he often whispered in my ear. After the “event”, as Tony used to refer to it with his great sense of humour, we normally went to eat something in some little restaurant. He then told me with visible pleasure what would follow afterwards. He loved to announce to me that we were on our way to a party, just to see my reaction. He never told me where we were heading or what was in store for me. He knew well how horrified the thought of it made me. The sense of power he must have had then must have been enormous. I was supposed to listen to his orders and on top of that, to like them. He enjoyed the fear in my eyes, but at the same time it made him angry. He really wanted me to enjoy it. But whatever reaction he saw in my eyes, submission, despair, fear…it was never right. During the parties he punished me, tying me up, playing sadomasochistic games with me, watching how others tortured me with with razorb razorblad lades, es, whips whips and other other paraph paraphern ernali alia. a. If there there were were women women presen present, t, the situation became even more threatening. The women reacted more cruelly and were meaner to children than the men were. They seemed to be less inhibited to abuse kids. What was driving them? I think mainly anger and a painful inability to give or receive love. They spurred the men to rape and torment us in all imaginable ways. Sometimes they quietly gave instructions, followed obediently by the men – it relieved them from all responsibility – sometimes they yelled hysterically, driving the men out of their mind so they started heavily beating the kids. We, the Children of Death (that’s what the SM-perverts called us), could hardly give each other any support. There was an intense competition among us. Each of us knew he or she had to be the best. Only the best survived survived and it was better to hit than to be hit. We thus hurt each other to keep ourselves out of harm’s way. In really dangerous situations the beast inside of you wakes up, the beast called survival. The closer the fear of death comes to you, the better all your senses function. Your sense of perception becomes almost supernatural and deep inside your brain hums a kind of high voltage. You see better,
