“Can I say hi to her?”

That’s how it started. Isn’t that crazy? Everything I am about to tell you started with that single request. And here’s the thing. It continued because the response to that request was an enthusiastic, “Yes!” from my mother. 

His name was Randy. For the purpose of this at least, his name was Randy. Randy was an older man around my parents' age, possibly a bit older (or he just wasn’t aging well). He collected baseball cards. My grandfather was obsessed with baseball cards at the time. I think that was the only reason I even cared. I thought it was an “old man” hobby and pretended to be super interested when Randy showed me the videos he had created opening up the little foil packages. I guess that’s where I messed up. I gave him the main thing he was seeking. Attention from a little girl he called, “the most special girl he had ever laid eyes on.”

Special

Beautiful

Sweet

Delicious

Off limits

Randy called me all of that. I have been called some extremely degrading things in my lifetime yet somehow words like whore and piece of shit don’t set my brain into a panic like the kindness of an adult man calling me “special”. Randy loved to call me sweet. More specifically, “a sweet lick of heaven on Earth”. The first time those words flashed across my Mom’s messenger window, my stomach hurt. That should have been when I started running.

 I didn’t, though. When Mom told me Randy wanted to talk to me, I replaced her in her computer chair and started typing. Randy had been around since I was a baby (according to my mom) and she said he told her I was like a daughter to him. He was heavy set, had black hair, and spoke with a deep knowledge of various baseball players and their stats. Again, I didn’t give a shit about baseball, or which cards were limited edition. My innocent brain saw his eagerness to share much like an excited child who wants to show off the toys they just got. Message responses such as, “Wow!.”, “OMG, that one is so shiny.” “How much did that one cost?” all satisfied him to continue talking. 

We talked for maybe a month or so before I started noticing conversations between him and Mom that mentioned them meeting in person. It sparked my curiosity because I assumed the two of them must be interested in each other by the way they spoke.  I’m not sure if she had ever met him in person previously, but I knew I had no memory of ever being in his presence. I assumed they would be the only ones meeting, however very quickly I was informed by Mom that I would be tagging along so I could entertain her on the long drive.

 Here was Mom’s idea. The two of us would drive towards my grandparents' house and at a certain restaurant we would stop and wait for Randy. Randy would show up and the three of us would eat at the restaurant and hang out. Then after we were done, Mom and I would head back home, and Randy would go back to his house as well. 

That was Mom’s plan. But that wasn’t Randy’s. 

Randy knew I loved to write. A part of me also feels like he was one of the only people who could tell that I was being abused by my online boyfriend. I'm not saying he cared. I’m just saying he knew. He knew because my boyfriend had already trained me to be sexually manipulated by anybody that felt like it. Randy knew that because when he asked me if my boyfriend and I had done anything, I told him my boyfriend had forced me to produce videos for him against my will and that the only way to pacify him sometimes was to give into his demands of literotica. I would write graphic sexual scenes to describe the abuse my boyfriend wished he could perform on me. Unfortunately for my boyfriend, he was thousands of miles away and couldn’t physically touch me. Randy, however, seemed to see a fantastic opportunity waiting in an unsuspecting family establishment.

Randy asked to read something I wrote my boyfriend, and I told him no. It was written for my boyfriend’s eyes only and wasn’t exactly something I “should” be doing in the first place. Randy promised not to ever tell Mom and swore anything I showed him would stay between us. Technically as far as I know, he did keep his promise. But I'm not sure showing my written sex scenes to his buddies would have caused more damage than what he ended up doing. 

Once the idea was planted in Mom’s head about us all meeting, he started being much more persistent about me creating something for him. Again, I said no because I was currently living through hell with both my father, my boyfriend, and my boyfriend's best friend. Also, I just didn’t want to. I was already being victimized by three men, I wasn’t trying to add on a fourth. 

Much like the other three.  Randy didn’t care about me saying no. He wanted what he wanted and he was willing to say and do anything to get it. Including convincing me that if Mom found out what I admitted I had done for my boyfriend, she would be disgusted. According to Randy, he was willing to help keep my secret if I trusted him. 

“I have known you since you were in diapers. You have grown up so much and I personally feel you deserve to express your sexual side without your mother’s disapproval. I can be a safe adult to guide you into your womanhood.”

Randy gave me specific directions. Write out a scene where the three of us meet, including the name of the restaurant and the moments leading up to our “first look”. Mine and Randy’s first look. Even in that moment, I can remember wondering why he was making it sound so romantic. I just wanted some chicken tenders and fries, with an ice-cold coca cola. I wasn’t picturing us on a date or anything. Randy was clear on his wishes so I mentally added “the moments before we walk in” to my checklist. After that I was supposed to write the sequence of events where I excused myself to the bathroom. I was told to include how I waited in eager anticipation as he eventually excused himself from the same table and headed in my direction. I asked him what to include after that and his response was, “Anything you’d like me to do to you.”

I stared at the screen for a while unsure what that meant since…I didn’t want him to do anything to me. Relatively quickly I realized he didn’t actually care what I wanted him to do or not do to me. The truth was he wanted me to put what he hoped I wanted him to do to me. So I did. 

I wrote a graphic scene of him finding me in the family bathroom and me giving him oral. Then Randy asked me to add in him performing oral on me as well. Then you can probably assume he decided to add us fucking. He loved that part best. I wanted to vomit the entire time. Especially because I knew I would have to write another scene for my boyfriend before the end of the day. I didn’t fear writing it as much as I feared my boyfriend finding out I wrote it for another man. He had already threatened me, my family, and my friends to end our lives. The thing is, Randy wasn’t someone I cared about. I was terrified to be hurt by my boyfriend over Randy, but I hated Randy for what he was doing, and I think a part of me kind of hoped he’d get tortured by my boyfriend. 

The end of this piece of disgusting writing was us leaving the bathroom, heading separately back to the table, and finishing the visit as if nothing had happened. Randy said his mouth was salivating at the thought of watching me finish my food knowing where my mouth had been. And playing footsie under the table with me, hoping he didn’t accidentally bump Mom’s leg. I asked Randy how he planned to keep Mom in the dark and he responded with a confident, “She thinks we are meeting for her and I to fuck.” I have no idea if they would have ALSO had sex that day but honestly the truth would probably set me off. I’d rather not know at this point.  

Everything blew up with my boyfriend in a dangerous turn of events. Not related to Randy whatsoever yet that volcanic eruption was the only thing that kept us from meeting him. The idea of meeting Randy no longer seemed interesting to Mom, since she had now found a new boyfriend, and everyone sort of moved on. Randy continued his baseball videos for a couple years and then disappeared to where all of the other monsters live. I kept Randy a secret for many years because I knew I would be blamed. I was always the “tease”, “slut”, or “temptation” to the predators around me. 

Once again, when I finally did speak up, it was too late. Even though Randy and I had solely spoken on Mom’s computer, on Mom’s messenger, in the room Mom hangs out. I had no control over any proof since it didn't originally happen on my devices to begin with. As far as I know, Mom never reread our messages, and if she did, she never said anything about it. There was also the component of “it only happened online”. Somehow my pain was deemed less painful since it wasn’t physical. The only reason it never got physical was because of my entire world collapsing around me. Not because someone saw what was happening, not because Mom caught him talking to me, not because he felt bad. Because another monster who had no idea Randy existed, caused so much anguish in my life that I couldn’t focus on writing for Randy and my mom got so bored with “baseball Randy” that she moved on to “motorcycle dude”. 

Sometimes I replay in my mind the words I wrote for Randy. I remember the disgusting things he said in response. I remember the pictures and videos he sent me back as he read it repeatedly. If my memory serves me correctly, that one writing piece was read over ten times by him. Proof was shown every time. I didn’t need to write anything else for him because he was so excited by the mere thought of acting this scene out. I was thankful back then that he didn’t ask for more writing pieces, but looking back at that time, being forced to chat with him every time I happened to walk into the computer room still had a major impact on me. Especially since I was walking into that room broken hearted and seeking comfort from my mom. All I got was “Randy wants to say hi again.”

Fuck you, Randy.