I was only 13 years of age!                                                                                                                              But Martin – MY Martin, that is – explained to me how his Father had abused him as a boy, and then, when he was sent awat to School, he was bullied and abused there too. Oh it was awfully sad to hear how even someone from such a background, with a rich and successful Father, could have been so unhappy. He'd tried to commit suicide twice, and one time was when he was only eleven, That really made me cry, to think how brutal his Father was then, with his own Son. FFS!
     And at School he was picked on by older boys because he was small and weak, and with some of them it was because of his name and his Father – some of their own Fathers were in prison because of Martin's Father. “I didn't know he was a Prosecutor,” I said, not that I knew much at all, just what little Martin had said on the few previous occasions he had mentioned his Father. He seemed mostly to be involved in Copyrights and Commercial Law, but did occasionally Defend some of his clients in Criminal Courts.
     “Well no, but when he's been defending he's sometimes given his own Clients the special defence of naming the people who were really guilty – and then the Police and the Procurator Fiscal follow that up, particularly if his own client is acquitted.” And he said that some of those people, the guilty ones, were particularly nas             ty about his Father.
     My own knowledge of the Police and The Law was based on watching every episode I could of The Bill! So I couldn't argue with him, not that I wanted to anyway. He was so kind and considerate to me. I just wanted to be with him all the time and I was falling behind with my School work, spending most of my time with Martin, even through the week, coming straight from School to his house and going from there to School in the morning. And it was only occasionally that his Father came and fucked me, so most of the time we were together it was only us, and I gave him everything, my Love and my Body. Really, they were the only things I had and the belonged to Martin.
     But that was when I decided to join the Police when I grew up. I told Martin and he laughed at me – not cruelly, just fondly, and a bit like he was my Dad. And I said I wanted to wear a uniform and catch murderers. And he asked what my own Dad would say about that. “he'd probably say they were The Instrument of State Repression of The Working Classes and The Running Dogs of Capitalism but I don't care, he doesn't love me and isn't interested in me. Not like you are.” And Martin would carry me through to our bedroom – unless we were there already, of course, and undress me – sometimes not even do that – and caress me and gently, with all the time in the world, make sweet love to me. And when he fucked me it was so unlike his Father. It was with a gentleness and attention to me that his Father never showed. He told me that he'd studied something called Transactional Analysis and explained that we all Play Games – not like when we play Monopoly, or Cluedo – and that in our lives we adopt a Role and that determines who we are in this big Game of Life! He said that he had decided to be a Man, but not just any man, a particular type of Man: Brave, Strong and Fearless and that when he went to work every morning, he put on his Suit of Armour and felt that he was a Knight, like Sir Lancelot, riding into the Sun to defend the weak and helpless and destitute.
     It was only years later that I learned the only people any of the successive generations of Martin Elginbrods defended was themselves and their own position, wealth and power! That they crushed any opposition and punched out the lights of anyone rash enough to stand against them. But at the time of which I write, I swallowed it whole, along with the squirts of his rather tasty cum he jetted into my wide open and thankful mouth.
     How could I be so fooled? How couldn't I?
     How did I square what he and other Men said to me against the evidence of what they did, or permitted others to do? Where was my bench-mark, my grounding, my basis for any values or expectations? These Men all showed me consideration, kindness and friendship – and Love, of a kind I'd never received before. And the changes were never so swift that the one contradicted the other. They crept along with a pace that a Sloth might consider tardy. And I was cocooned, completely in their debt for I had nothing and they gave me everything a Girl could want. And they displayed a degree of cognitive dissonance that I'd never experienced before: they treated me as a young girl and a grown woman. They made my emotional and even spiritual being their prime focus while they were shagging the arse off me, and handing me to other men, some absolute strangers, to do the same, and then when I came back, they cosseted me and fed me the sweet little lies I was desperate for and grateful to believe. Remember – I was only 13 years of age! And they were me elders and betters and the people I had come to trust and believe and was totally dependent on for everything!