The Kidnapper (F/F) - Chapter 2

[AlexUSA3]

The Kidnapper (F/F)
Chapter 1: The Kidnapper’s Friendship
Saturday, May 30, 2015

All right. Listen up. This ain’t a sob story. It’s not a drama either. It’s my version of the events that others might interpret differently, but it’s so special to me that I could cry over it in hindsight because it’s such a good story. It’s my version of the events that led my friend from the deepest depths of despair to being the woman she is today, a good Catholic with a sadistic enjoyment of bondage. You decide for yourself. I’m formatting things like I do because my friend who was my editor asked me to do this. I’m writing this while one kid takes a nap; another is in the play pen, and one is in the baby carrier on my chest. The fourth is out to lunch with my parents.

It starts with a girl named Felice Pryce. We were in prison together, and I don’t remember the day it happened. I just remember that I promised her I would find her on Facebook some day to send her a message. Well, I did it. I just wrote Hey, what’s up? I promised I’d reach out, and I hope we can meet in person someday. She responded two days later with her phone number. A week later, I was driving to Credit River, Minnesota.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pryce,” I said as I entered the home and felt like family.
“Please, Kendra, sit down,” Felice motioned, “Breakfast is almost done.”

The awkward origins of our friendship didn't matter. The Mudville Juvenile Detention Center is a place where lives fortunately often get a kickstart. Mine sure did, thanks to girls like Felice, a girl who recognized her own flaws, didn't point out other’s flaws, and respected advice. Unless it was unsolicited or dished out in a condescending manner. Then the sarcasm would flare.

I knew what Felice had done to end up in prison, but I didn’t really understand all of it. I was a bit desensitized to reality at that point in my life and focused on the good. When I got to go home, it was really hard for me to go back to the same abusive situation and not go back to a life of snorting rails and lying down under a tree in someone’s backyard. We all had issues that I could list, but we all chose to commit the actions that landed us in the Mudville Juvie. Now, I’m a best friend who can listen to all of her sorrows and joys and offer a comforting ear.

“Kendra, I know how you two met, but…,” Mr. Pryce was so nice, “How’d you become pals?”

That was a good question, and I don’t remember exactly what either of us said. I remember that I said I saw something innately good in Felice and that she said that she saw a different Kendra underneath the wounds I was still nursing at the time. I have a big sister and a little sister, and I have a little brother. She was an only child. Yet, we were both small and resilient! She’d lost her mom to cancer back in 2007, a devastating blow to both her and her dad.

Then we did Felice’s favorite thing— go for a walk in the woods. Here, the new me found God’s goodness surrounding us on all sides. I was just getting back into the groove of religion then, but Felice was raised in an open-minded agnostic background. She had only good things to say as I expressed such feelings, and I realized that we had so much in common despite the differences.

I was at one with God out here. I enjoyed it so much. Even back home in Mudville, I find peace in walks in the park with my closest confidantes. I felt that pang in my soul, though, while all of the trees shaded us in their awning, the flowers provided beautiful colors, the bees buzzed, and a host of birds sang above us. This was happiness, and it was an escape from suburban life. There was a tension in me though. I don’t want to get sidetracked, but it’s a story of love after all. Out here in nature, it was easy to remember that God is good and loves even former inmates. There’s a love story, but tragically too many love stories have a sad, sometimes heartrending, ending.

I had a true love that I lost too. Martin, my little brother, died of brain cancer when I was 13, just like Felice lost her mother to stomach cancer at 13. Martin was my only brother, the baby of our then big and happy family. That was when I first sought escapes from pain and questioned why I believed in God. It made no sense that my baby brother would die. He was eight. Robbed of his life by genetics. I was sick of burying my loved ones, and I still sometimes cry because it hurts me too much that he’s really gone. I loved Martin. Oh, how I loved you, baby brother! I’d harbored a grudge at God for years before I took to snorting rails, but here I felt comfort, as if my little brother still was with me. Maybe it was the reassurance that he was with God, and that God was still watching over me— nor did He abandon Martin. Life happens; God allows it but never leaves us to fight it alone.

“You know, Martin and I loved to go on walks together,” I murmured with a twinge of pain.

“Maybe someday you’ll get to do it again,” she kindly rubbed my back.

“No chance,” I choked on the tears forming, “Martin’s been dead for 7 years now.”

“I’m sorry,” we were both crying now… but we thankfully had happy memories.

We both lost loved ones to cancer. I comforted her in her mother’s death, and she comforted me in Martin’s death. Ironically, we both loved nature walks with our deceased loved ones. Felice had a strange uneasiness about her; I could feel a conflict within her, a yearning. It disturbed me that she seemed so distressed and confused. Emotions within her were tearing her apart, but she kept her poise for the time being. She took me to a specific spot she said was particularly special for a myriad of reasons, a spot overlooking the Credit River itself. It didn’t seem special to me; I knew it was a big part of why I was invited to visit. The more Felice talked, the more she started to squirm until I knew she was ready to confess something. I could tell she was either physically or mentally suffering. I kept looking across the river trying to see in my mind what could have transpired over there some years ago.

This spot, she explained, was her favorite spot to come with her mother. I could see why when it was such an idyllic spot, really. She sat here watching the river lazily pass by with her mom, and we sat down to watch the river lazily pass by with each other. I could feel something disrupting her peace; what a chilling feeling. I realized that there was much more to this spot. Her eyes had glazed over while staring at some point on the other side of the river; I strained my mind to stand in her shoes but found only ghosts of her past. Some trauma was living at this spot; whatever it was, she had not faced it since the traumatic day. She needed my love—now. I was here for her.

“Do you like your work? You said a mile back that you’re a bondage model?” Felice asked me, “Could I try it? You said you had an engagement with them. Could I come too?”

“It’s good work, at least. Honest. Maybe not the best, but it’s on my terms. I like the people a lot more than being tied up,” I admitted, “I have certain people I love who enjoy the sensation. I love them enough that I can engage in bondage, or tie-up games as some call them, with them,” I felt like my answer was inadequate, stupid, or outright nonsense, “You can come if you want.”

“That tree, across the river, right there. That’s where I brought Michelle when I kidnapped her. I told her that she was going to drop out of the class presidential race. At the time, I felt a rush— power coursing through my veins. I used handcuffs because I didn’t know how to bind a person, and I brought her home. Of course, Dad heard the commotion and figured it out, but I held her against her will for 10 hours that day while he was at work and some time afterwards.”

“Felice, why now? Why me?” I asked her while she cried.

“Because, Kendra, I see the peace you have. I saw the peace Mary-Ann and Ashley and so many others had in Pod F,” her tears grew more numerous, “And… I realize that… that I’m a sadist. I really can…,” her voice tightened, “get off on the thought… of consensually tying up a girl and subjecting them to torture. I would like to believe in God, but I’m struggling to do so and want to believe He’s real,” she couldn’t bring herself to look me in the eyes any longer.

Now, I’m not a warm fuzzy person— but I love my friends. When you go inside, you meet people with all sorts of stories. Some of my friends have been sexually assaulted; some of them have been held captive against their will; one survived a murder attempt; one was tortured by her father. When they cry, even if I play the tough girl routine and hold it in, I cry too. I’m a softy— just like another person in my life who I knew could be a source of healing to Felice.

I actually held Felice in my arms while she cried. She believed she was beyond redemption, but she had more hope than she realized. To believe her actions were monstrous was actually noble of her, and I knew a way to channel that energy into something safe, creative, and— I hoped— a bit therapeutic. What a captor she would be in films and games! It would be a healthy outlet for her to be in control, and it could be a way to teach her the importance of thinking of others too— God had given me a beautiful opportunity I couldn’t waste. I had the chance to change Felice’s life through TUGs and maybe, just maybe, start warming her heart up to God. I had to try it! I loved her too much! No one is too far away for God to reach while they’re still living, breathing, and thinking. I had the right friends to support Felice in exploring both faith and TUGs.

“Felice, I believe in you. I see someone great in you. C’mon,” I gazed into her sobbing eyes, “I have a cousin in Mudville who can help you. You. Will. Adore. Her. She’s softer than me.”

I spoke, of course, of my cousin Jenny. We’re going to talk about her a lot when the day comes a few short paragraphs from now. Mary-Ann Voisin, Ashley Calland, Jenny Kristensen, and Steve and Marcy Moreau are all people I still call my friends, and it was time for Felice to meet some of them. I knew that this would give Felice income, friendship, and a safe outlet for her desires.

Hearing that I believed in her shifted the mood. She felt that hope only because she trusted me; I didn’t feel very trustworthy considering I used to steal money from my parents to buy coke. I was a new person, but the old me wasn’t too far in the past. My arrest was in November 2012, or less than 3 years before this. Her shaking stopped, and she regained her composure.

“I… I want you to talk to someone. We’ll go sit in the car and call her, OK?” I asked Felice.

That’s when I called my cousin Jenny; she was just the kind of person Felice needed in her life. I sound like a savage trying to sick a self-admitted sadist on Jenny, but there was a purpose! Hear me out, OK? I knew Jenny wouldn’t fear Felice, and I knew she would patiently lay down all the rules to Felice as well. Together, she and I could teach Felice how to healthily explore herself in a respectful and consensual manner. I believed we could get through to her—hell, I knew it! It was my only chance to change the life of someone who had no one.

“Did Jenny really say ‘Love you both’ at the end?” Felice asked me with a composed laugh.

“Yes, Felice, Jenny really said that. That’s the kind of person she is,” I patted her on the arm.

I knew I could count on Jenny for anything.

TO BE CONTINUED

[hafnermg]

The start of another personal journey for growth!! I look forward to it!!

[LunaDog]

That makes two of us.

[AlexUSA3]

The start of another personal journey for growth!! I look forward to it!!

That makes two of us.

My apologies for keeping everyone waiting on the next installment of this tale! It's been written for months, and I just plumb forgot!

Chapter 2: The Kidnapper's TUG Debut
Thursday, June 04, 2015

Of course Jenny understood. Jenny loves me! Like, she really, really loves me as if I'm a sister and not a cousin. The resemblance between us helps so much, but she's energetic and very bouncy while I'm more laid back. We think a lot alike when calm, and we have an unwavering dedication to others. That's why I needed her help with Felice. I wanted to help. Augggghhhh!

Unlike Jenny, I hate being warm and fuzzy like this. I'm like her. I love people. Even when I'd be spaced out from a rail, I wanted to be able to love my family better, and my inability to handle the rejection led to a meltdown. I wanted to have meaning, and the coke was the only thing that I found helped me forget the pain of unreturned affections. I loved Mom, Dad, and both my sisters, and to have them just start treating me like trash—well, I decided I must be trash.

"Jenny, you have to understand Felice is different," I denied that she understood me, "She's got a devilish streak that's going to enjoy this," I said it all for the third or fourth time, "And I—"

"Kenny, cousin… stop fretting… I talked to other people who knew her already."

I looked into her eyes and suddenly realized that she never stopped loving me for a heartbeat just because I went to prison. She really was, and still is a Gangsta Princess. More than that, she was a Godsend in my life and in many others. I never forgot her visits when I was inside or trying to meet her at the park when I wore the ankle monitor. Never did she leave my side, but then…

Yes, I was crying. I needed my cousin. This story isn't only about Felice; it's my story too. That cry felt so good. I never felt so overwhelmed by love before, and actually I haven't felt like that since then. That moment was my spiritual reawakening. I knew my friends had me on the right path. It was just the start, and rarely was I so vulnerable—but this was bouncy Jenny, after all. I didn't have to put up the tough girl routine in front of this bundle of love. People so frequently pick on Jenny for her size not realizing that I'm even smaller!

"Felice, meet my cousin Jenny, the Gangsta Princess in the flesh. Jenny, Felice, pro kidnapper."
"Oh, just positively charmed!" Felice extended a hand to shake, "Kendra adores you!"
"Glad to meet you, Felice!" Jenny just took the hug anyway, "You have a good spirit in you."
"Actually, no, I'm kind of a sick f-ck, and I—" Felice stammered at the awkwardness.
"No, no, no," my cousin cut her off, "Knowing what's right and wrong means you're not sick."
"You're so freaking happy. Like proof," my friend shrank a little, "there must be a loving God."
"Felice, my home is your home. What do you like to drink?" the Gangsta Princess was so sweet.
"Oh," the brunette was overwhelmed by this, "I love Pepsi."

Jenny could see it. Felice was in overload. She kindly put the soda in front of Felice and did the best thing she could do—absolutely nothing. We sat there in silence, quiet understanding, while Felice struggled, both with the overwhelming feelings aroused in her by Jenny and with her own past. Jenny possibly judged, but even her harshest judgments didn't stop her unconditional love and affection towards anyone. That's what made her perfect to be Felice's introduction to TUGs.

Here we were, the meeting of the midget society at which Felice was the giant, a mammoth 5'2". Jenny and I both looked like Gangsta Princesses, but only Jenny is one. I'm no Princess. Jenny and I both had red gym shorts, a testament to a common love of physical fitness. She had a lime green tank top, a testament to her blue-yellow colorblindness; I wore a blue tank t-shirt because I could. We both had red bandana headbands, a testament to our unique pasts that were beautifully blended into the Cool Girls' Club. Both of us had long brown-blonde hair worn in a pretty braid, but Jenny's had a brown scrunchie while mine was blue. We both wore red crew socks and white canvas sneakers. She has blue eyes, and I have brown eyes.

There I got all the lame physical crap out of the way. We watched Felice slowly take a drink of her soda. She didn't know whether to laugh or to cry, and Jenny kindly held her hand out with a gentleness that could be felt by all. Felice never turned her head. She only rolled her eyes down to see Jenny's offer before reaching out and graspingJenny's hand. Gangsta Princess had done it again, breaking down barriers between those who felt forsaken and hopeless and showing them a beautiful truth: that all can be redeemed so long as their minds aren't seared beyond repair.

"Everywhere I go, people whisper, ‘That's the girl who kidnapped Michelle.' Credit River is just a small town," Felice spoke in a way that showed the both behavior startled and deeply impacted her, "Everyone knows me. And they hate me. No forgiveness exists there."

"I forgive you," Jenny's happy, squeaky voice and bright smile took over, and then she paused in a moment of deep thought, "Are you sorry for what you did to Michelle?"

"Of course I am," Felice sighed, "I don't know why I did such an inhumane thing, but I… The only unconditional love I know… Comes from Dad, Kenny, and you. Why you two?"

"Because that's how Jesus loves us… how I love Kenny… how Cool Girls' love because it's right," Jenny's face lit up with excitement at her own words, "It's a vow we take as Cool Girls," she reached down into a bag and grabbed a piece of rope, "And Cool Girls love TUGs."

"Have you ever suffered?" Felice was brilliantly philosophical, "Been in pain? Wondered why it had to be this way?" Felice turned and looked into Jenny's eyes with a piercing, unjudging gaze, "Of course you have, but have you? Are you aware?"

Jenny let go of Felice's hand and ran over to the fireplace mantle. She grabbed pictures off the mantle and brought them over to Felice. I could never forget my late cousin, Jenny's big brother, and Jenny's best friend is the Gangsta Queen to Jenny's Princess status. She explained how she still carries the agonized pain and how his memory lives on in subtle ways, like her bizarre love for all things automotive and in her middle name. She explained the joy of her best friend being in her life since shortly after her brother's death, and the pain of finding out just a month before the present that her best friend was a victim of both physical and sexual abuse from her father and brothers and that such had been happening for 7 years. Jenny had indeed suffered.

"Then, Jenny, how about you tie me and Kendra," Felice asked with trepidation, "together?"

Now the curtains are drawn. My first scene as a bondage model was in 2014. It's 2025, and it's time for the revelation everyone knew was true despite my verbal denials: I do love being bound and gagged because it is so freeing to just let go and fall back into my friend's arms like in the trust routine. I just don't like the actual physical aspects. I have my preferences, but it's not the bondage itself that I love. That's why I love dirty sock gags, being locked in that box my best friend built and dubbed The Human Solar Cooker, smothering, choking, getting a good beating, being forced to climax or being denied climax, and so many other things. It's that psychological aspect, the exchange of control. Sure, I like being ziptied best, but besides that it's not about the restraint itself as much as being restrained. Gagged. Tortured. And trusting. With no trust aspect, there's no enjoyment. No, I don't love bondage, but I love TUGs.

That's why I brought Felice to Jenny. No judgment came, but love overflowed. Jenny gets that I enjoy TUGS, not bondage, so we can play like it's a game. No drama except whatever we all agree is desirable to us. No pressure. Only as much sexualization as we desire. I know some of my friends tease me about things, but it's hard to admit to something in the heat of a moment where they can easily misconstrue, misinterpret, or misunderstand your words. Here, with Jenny, I can lean back, enjoy having my elbows torqued together behind my back, and savor the flavors of her disgusting socks when I know she just came back from a 10 mile run.

One-by-one, pieces of Jenny's awesome pink rope tied us up. Each of us got the same, me first and Felice second. The wrists tied together behind our backs; the tight elbow binding; waist and crotch ropes that Jenny so innocently didn't realize were sexualized (and we didn't tell her so she wouldn't stop doing it!), breast harnesses that made us feel so proud of our femininity, and ropes going up our legs at our ankles, below and above our knees, and at our upper thighs. Wonderful stuff from the Gangsta Princess. She knew me too well; she took off her sneakers and talked.

"Gangsta Jewel, I read your mind," she leaned me back on the sofa and put one of her stocking feet on my nose and sat on me to hold me down, "I did a half-marathon today. Well?"

"It smells like it. Now, cousin, I love you, but man these are still wet even!" I grimaced, "They'd better go back where they belong, in your sweaty sneakers," I was playfully egging her on now.

"Oh, come on, pretty Kenny," she kept following my nose with her feet, "Jeg elsker dig, men lad være med at bevæge hovedet," which means, "I love you, but quit moving your head!"

"Lad være med at lugte mig til at dufte til dine lækre sokker," I responded to her, which likewise meant, "Quit forcing me to smell your yummy socks."

"Even better, cousin," Jenny took off her socks, "Why don't you eat them since they're yummy?"

"Now, Jenny don't doommmmpph!" the horrible, salty flavors tasted like a half-marathon, too.

"There, there, sweetie," she used one hand to hold the socks in my mouth while she rummaged in her bag before pulling out a mostly empty roll of pink duct tape, "This should make you nice and quiet now," she wrapped the tape several times around my head, but she didn't stop, first putting one of those smelly sneaker's opening over my nose, and then she wrapped a few more times and broke the tape off, "There, I know it's just what you wanted," and she kissed me on the forehead.

I now was free to sit up, but Jenny was too damn fast for me. In a flash, I was on my stomach on the coffee table, and she was hogtying me from my ankles to my elbows. I was a beloved cousin and a good friend in one; she didn't spare me a thing. That little shrimp did it like she had played TUGs for years… because she had, ha ha! I think it's a good time to wax poetic about Jenny for a moment because Felice is just sitting there, shrinking back in a mix of fear and confusion.

Jenny and I come from a jumbo family of Danish immigrants where everyone has 3-5 kids by the time they're 30, often having the first as a teenage adult. The result is dozens of relations, and an ability to speak fluent Danish because we knew many of our great-great-grandparents. We are actually second cousins, but we look so much alike and even like many of the same things. I can still remember kind of lying to Jenny about the bruises on my body from the beatings that I'd get from my parents and sisters during my house arrest period. That time was really, really hard on me, and it took me from soft, cuddly, and cute like Jenny and made me a curmudgeon.

Jenny introduced me to running during this time of my life, and what a difference it made. She is so innocent she bought the lies about my bruises, and it was only later she knew the truth. It was more self-preservation, because I didn't want her to worry about me or for word to get around to other relations, leading to more savagery for me. Once I was out of there, she soon learned. The worst 18 months of my life were then, and thank you Jenny for being there for me. Cousin, I am sorry, but I wasn't at the 2013 Kristensen Christmas bash because I was locked in a cage. It beat being locked in the closet. Oh, Jenny, how badly I needed your hugs back then. Now to Felice.

"Felice, welcome to love," Jenny grinned, "Normally, I prefer Kenny's spot. What'll it be?"

"What'll what be?" Jenny's warmth alleviates Felice's shock, "I'm tied up already."

"The gag, Miss Pryce," Jenny sat next to Felice and squeezed her, "When was your last hug?"

"I'm not a hugger, but the last one like that was… many years ago," Felice admitted, "What do you use for gags? Obviously half-marathon socks," she chuckled, "But besides that?"

"Homemade ball gags. Clean socks. Bandanas. Tapes. Vet wrap," Jenny gave the options.

"All right, all right… Let's just be stupid," Felice blushed, "Gimme Kendra's socks."

Jenny took my sneakers and socks off my feet as if this were a Michelin 5-star restaurant and not a pair of dirty socks of my own feet because I ran a 5K this morning. Not bad for a girl who had to spend one Christmas crated like a dog and New Year's chained to her bed, huh? Between that and Jenny, it's no wonder bandanas are part of my daily wardrobe. Unlike me, Felice welcomed my socks with open arms and was rewarded by having her lips sealed with double-sided tape and a red bandana OTM gag. Jenny just as quickly and professionally laid Felice on her stomach on the sofa and hogtied her from her ankles to her wrists.

"Felice, I like you. You're not scared of the unknown once you're not alone. You trust us."

Jenny could not have said it better. Felice really did trust us. A hogtie with a dirty sock gag was a rough first game. The look on our friend's face while she explored her TUG debut said every last word: she loved and hated my socks. It was a face that said "This is sooooo humiliating, but I love it even though it's absolutely horrible." We were safe, we were loved, and we were unable to do anything about it; Felice and I had it really good. Seriously! What could be better than my mouth serving as a cauldron pot for a yummy soup in which my saliva was the liquid and Jenny's socks were the solids? It was a glorious smell, too; thank you for the shoe, cousin.

What could be better than to be wrapped in a hug from which I cannot escape? Jenny always has a glow in her eyes when the topic of TUGs comes up. She has an almost spastic love of them but is able to control that love so much that she can easily go days without thinking about them with the right circumstances. She had such a pure, innocent love of them. Since this story the married Jenny who has 2 kids and is expecting her third now allows some mild breathplay, orgasms, and some nudity. Yet she still plays within strict rules of games and friendship, even with her own husband! I can't say I've changed that much over the years, either; I just have less time for this or even for bondage modeling. But that's what this story's about: TUGs and modeling!

"Now, Felice, you have to experience the best part," Jenny playfully untied Felice's combat boot laces, "The part that's even better than what I've done to Kenny. I'm sure you'll like it!"

I never told you Felice's outfit, did I? Felice looked like a tough girl: black. Combat boots, crew socks, cargo pants, a tank top, and even the scrunchie that held her ponytail. She was a bundle of joy with those piercing brown eyes. She understood guilt, sadness, loss, and rejection, and today was a wonderful lesson in redemption, happiness, friendship, and love. She squirmed a lot, but a TUG rookie had no chance of escaping elbow bondage let alone bondage at the hands of a calm, happy, playful, dominant Jenny.

A rarity: dominant Jenny! We usually call her a "rope bunny" because she likes being bound and gagged and hopping around like a bunny in her helpless state. Today was in that 10% of days in which control thrilled her. It was with a playful smile that she removed Felice's socks, but it was with a mischievous grin that she used brown twine to tie Felice's big toes together; of course she tied my big toes, too! This is Jenny, not some rookie or some softie. She likes her TUGs playful yet physically intense. That's why Felice's nose was covered with her own socks and five layers of white vet wrap. Jenny wanted Felice to have the full experience, and that was about to come.

"Y'know," Jenny crouched in between us and kissed us each on the cheek, "Friendship is sweet, but tickling," she stroked our cheeks, "is amazing. I know you agree, Kenny. Shall we?"

Tickle torture from Jenny is amazing. Trust me. Look, this story's in June 2015; I first played an actual TUG with Jenny only in the prior May, and my bondage modeling debut was in the prior December. Being cousins and friends, we have jumped each other for tickling over the years. I knew Jenny co-founded the CGC in 2011 or around then because she was always bugging me to join them because she loved me and wanted me to be part of her circle of friendship. How much I regret not joining! But, I ended up meeting all the CGC through the Cool Girl who also went to prison; that girl was my drug dealer and someone you will also meet in the next chapter.

Then again, this is good too, really. Getting tickled senseless. Laughing into dirty socks. Taking nasty sniffs of dirty socks and sneakers and being helpless. There it is: the story of Felice's TUG debut, of life after my release from prison, of a wonderful cousin whose love changed lives, and of why I think, like Jenny, TUGs are way better than bondage. We had a hasty release when we found out Jenny's mom was coming home early, but we had a good time.

In the next chapter, Felice will make her bondage modeling debut. See you then!

TO BE CONTINUED

[hafnermg]

Ooh a rare Jenny turn at kidnapper!! Great update!!

[LunaDog]

TO BE CONTINUED

Sure hope so!

[Caesar73]

All right. Listen up. This ain’t a sob story. It’s not a drama either. It’s my version of the events that others might interpret differently, but it’s so special to me that I could cry over it in hindsight because it’s such a good story. It’s my version of the events that led my friend from the deepest depths of despair to being the woman she is today, a good Catholic with a sadistic enjoyment of bondage. You decide for yourself. I’m formatting things like I do because my friend who was my editor asked me to do this. I’m writing this while one kid takes a nap; another is in the play pen, and one is in the baby carrier on my chest. The fourth is out to lunch with my parents.

I do like the first Paragraph of this Tale. First Sentences, first Paragrphs have an important Function in any Narative. This one is no different. In this first Sentences the Stage is set for what to follow. A Journey to Reconcilliation.

Well done @AlexUSA3