Free Out of Bondage by Linda Lovelace Page B

whenever we went on a long automobile drive.
     
    Flashback to—
    A long drive from Florida to Mexico. Car games. Hiking my skirt up, spreading my legs, stopping for gas, Chuck telling the gas jockey: “And, oh, yeah, wouldja please get the windshield.” Chuck buying a steady supply of little cinnamon candies—Red Hots—and sticking a handful of them in my vagina just to watch me squirm.
    Low in funds. A small town in Arkansas, Chuck pulling over in front of a haberdashery, seeing two salesmen inside, no one else. Chuck saying. “Go in there and speak to the salesmen. Tell them you’ll give them a blow job for $10. No, wait, start off with twenty. If they don’t go for that, tell them you really need the bread bad so you’ll do it for ten. That’s ten each. ”
    Chuck talking to himself then about a little detour we were going to make in Juarez. “Wait ‘til we get to Juarez,” he’d say. “Only 650 miles to Juarez,” he’d say. “Once we’re in Juarez, we’ll be able to pick up some easy money. ”
    Then a new tune. “I hope you like donkeys.” Later: “Of course there’s no fucking reason you should like donkeys. It’s just that it’d be a good thing if you did like donkeys is all. It’d be better for you.” Then he starts talking about the big donkey-fucking contests in Juarez: “You’re made for this contest. I’m telling you, you’ll clean up. Shee-yit, the last chick I brought to Juarez made us three thou and she was nothin’.” And still later: “They got the medicos right there. If the bleeding gets too bad, they unstrap the chicks and give them medical assistance right on the spot. Some of those chicks are really hemorrhaging, too.” It gets so bad that I thank God when we have a car crash that prevents us from ever getting to Mexico at all.
     
    “How could anyone get any pleasure from that ?” Larry wanted to know.
    “I don’t have any idea. The only time Chuck got any pleasure from anything was when it caused someone else a lot of pain.”
    “Do you realize how sick this is?”
    “Of course I realize how sick it is. I realized then how sick it was. It was insane. Even more insane than most of the other stuff Chuck made me do. To him this was normal. I mean he actually went for this stuff.”
    “I’d like to kill that bastard,” Larry decided.
    “It’s not like he’s the only one,” I said. “I mean, you got to figure someone is going to pay to see this, someone is going to get turned on by the same sick thing.”
    “I mean it,” Larry said. “I’d really like to kill that bastard.”
    There was something about his voice, some somber quality that caused me to glance up. His face was rigid as though an effort was required to keep his features in place. I could see uncried tears filling his eyes.
    Those days Larry was still keeping a diary by talking into a cassette recorder. This is a tape from that time.

    “I need all the help from all the people I can-especially from Linda—to get my feet down on the ground, and be myself, not any other interpretation, and just get things together. . . . I have a young dog. It’s an opportunity, at least for me, to identify with certain things. My understanding of the subject states that consistency with the dog—if it’s crying, you get up in the middle of the night, find out what it is, and you help the dog.
    “But if you assume other responsibilities which make yourself conflicted with knowledge, all right, that’s messing with yourself, and doing what you should be doing because you’re too tired, you’re too worried about too many other things, so you’re carrying too heavy a loan and you can’t even take care of the simple load that makes you happy and able to carry the whole load. So, I’m upset with myself for short-temperedness in the last couple of days. And I’m gonna mellow out, with the help of my old lady, because I really feel it’s important. I’m tired of excuses.”

    I must have come into the