27 comments/ 26526 views/ 21 favorites Escape From Poverty By: amyyum My apologizes to George Bernard Shaw's "Pygmalion." ****************** Unless you've lived it, you have no idea what poverty is like. In that regard I believe that it has things in common with combat – at least that's what one of the few people from my youth that I respect told me. His name is Joe, he is a Vietnam combat vet having fought in the jungle for three years which gave him what I now know is PTSD and ultimately landed him in a wheelchair and living on public assistance. Since Joe knows being both a foot soldier in war and poverty I'll take his word for it that they are similar in both your inability to significantly control your circumstances, and how they mess up your mind. My life in poverty – although I could never express it in these terms when I lived it – was a life of subservience. I had to depend on others to survive, whether it be the charity of others or hand-outs from the government. Living in subservience preys on your mind more every day. Unless you are an unusual or gifted person, over time living in subservience saps you of both initiative and hope. It is especially hard for a woman, like me, born Charlotte Grimes, since males in poverty often take out their frustrations on the women similarly situated – certainly in my case that was true. I had it especially bad while in poverty because I have a pretty face and silky hair, and a slim figure with medium sized boobs. While those characteristics can help get one out of poverty – if you can avoid prostitution – they are a detriment when in it because you become a target of all of the frustrated hormonal men living in the same general squalor that you do. The first time that I was sexually assaulted, two days after my eighteenth birthday, only serendipity saved me. While I fought hard it was a losing battle, but then for only the first time in a week a squad car came into our neighborhood with sirens blaring and my tormentor got scared and left, after smacking me good. I vowed that it would never happen again. Joe and one teacher in High School – more about her later – were the only two people that I could ever get any worthwhile advice from. My mother became a whore to survive and lacked any common sense or judgment. My father – or so I am told – left when I was three or four, which from what I've heard about him was actually good news for me. One of the few talents I recognized while growing up was the ability to do a good job in cutting anything with scissors – hair, dress patterns, and paper for the few school projects the pathetic, usually non-challenging schools that I went to, required. I hinted at the attack when I talked with Joe on the front porch of the tenement he lived in while I was cutting his hair – he was one of my barber "clients," and the only one who actually paid me something from his Welfare check. I only hinted at it because despite being confined to a wheelchair I knew that Joe would go after the perp and probably end up dead. "Hey Charlotte," he was the only one to call me by my full name instead of just "Char," he said with a raised eyebrow. "You'd tell me if anyone tried to do that to you, wouldn't you, so that I could skin the fucker alive." "Hey Joe, I know that you've got my back. But I really need to be able to defend myself. Got a suggestion?" I replied as nonchalantly as I could while trying not to cut his reddened ears along with his gray hair. "I could teach you how to use a knife; do you have one?" he asked after a heavy sigh. "No, I don't; just these scissors," I replied while snipping away. "When you're done turning me into a good-looking guy, let's go inside and I'll give you one," was his upbeat response. I don't know where Joe got the knife that he gave me – it was, according to him, the best one for me of the three different types that he owned. It was clearly not Vietnam vintage; he called it an "S30V." It was all black with a sharp point and a partially serrated edge, blade length 3.5 inches, a use length of eight inches, and a folded length of 4.5 inches. It weighed less than three ounces. Joe taught me how to open the knife with one hand, the myriad of ways to hold it depending upon the circumstances and the type of damage you needed to do with it, the different types of slashing and thrusting movements, and how to properly conceal it yet have it ready for instant access. After a few weeks of working with Joe every other day or so he said that I was "Real good" with it; and I was confident. When two guys jumped me about three weeks after I finished my lessons with Joe, they both left with serious – though not life-threatening – wounds. I made them both understand that if they tried to sexually assault me again I'd kill them – and I meant it. The word got out and no one bothered me again. However, I had to always carry the knife with me as a credible threat – which included to school. Even though I was six months over eighteen years old, since I had a late birthday and had been held back for poor performance once (I "flunked" seventh grade) I was only a sophomore in High School. I got caught with the knife at High School, refused to give it up, and was expelled and reported to the police. I told my whore of a mother that I would be at Joe's and that the cops could find me there. Both of the cops who showed up had fathers who were Vietnam Vets and they knew and liked Joe. He talked them out of arresting me and explained – I don't know how much of it was bullshit – to them that the knife was perfectly legal and that I had been molested in the past and needed it to defend myself. They gave me a warning and told me never to go near the school with it – of course since I had been expelled I wouldn't be anyway. The only person at school who seemed to care that I was gone was Ms. Brooks, a teacher that I had for two years of English. She took a genuine liking to me, thought that – especially considering my background – I could communicate well and had a chance to succeed in life. She gave me all sorts of practical advice that most people in normal families would likely know by the time that they were ten, but that I didn't. One of the most important things she told me was that "Everyone has Opportunity knock on their door once in their life. You not only have to answer the door and invite it in but leave with it, and ride that one chance for everything that you can!" After I was expelled Ms. Brooks came to my house and told me that was just a minor setback, and that I would get my chance in life and that she "expected" me to succeed. I had my doubts, especially since no one wanted to hire a High School drop-out – except to wash dishes, which I ended up doing at a medium-priced Italian joint, Giodona's, a two mile walk from my house. ****************** I met my future husband Matt at Giodona's. Like me he was a low-skilled part of the kitchen staff. Also like me, he had lived in poverty during his life. What attracted me to him initially was that he was friendlier than the other guys I knew and had a decent sense of humor – poverty had not completely beaten him down. Once I was convinced – as convinced as I could be without getting expensive testing – that Matt was disease free I fucked him. The first two times was with a condom, but condoms cost money and aren't as much fun, so after that it was bareback but taking into account my cycle, one of the few worthwhile things that I did learn about in school. Sex with Matt was not a Fourth-of-July fireworks display, tsunami, or earthquake type of event. It was nice – primarily because it allowed a temporary mental escape from the effects of poverty – but certainly never curled my toes. I had had only two other, short-term, partners by the time that I met Matt, and all three seemed to be primarily interested in getting their rocks off as soon as possible. I enjoyed it – but it certainly wasn't the earth-moving experience I had seen in movies or read about in books available in Ms. Brooks' English class, such as "Wilde Thing." I read that book before the principal pulled it out of her classroom saying that it was inappropriate for teens, even though I was over eighteen. Matt asked me to marry him when I was nineteen, and even though I didn't feel what I had read about as "true love" for him, I hoped that marriage would at least be a respite from poverty, believing in the old saying that "two can live as cheaply as one." We got married before a justice of the peace at City Hall, with Ms. Brooks as my witness, and Matt's best friend as his. Only after we got married, and I lost my job at Giodano's, did Matt reveal to me his brilliant "financial plan." "Hey, Char, if we have a kid then we can get more public assistance." I actually think that he thought that we could pull ourselves out of poverty by me getting pregnant. I was too stupid and desperate at the time to realize what bullshit that was and went along with it, and I was pregnant within about six weeks after I lost my job. Fortunately Matt was still working at that time, although for minimum wage, and we got Medicaid and food stamps, as well as rent assistance for our squalid apartment. Some women are said to "glow" during pregnancy. Maybe if you have perfect pre-natal care, work with a trainer, and can afford all of the best foods, you glow. However given my situation during pregnancy I more "dimmed" than "glowed." I had a difficult time and felt fat and dumpy. It didn't help that Matt lost all interest in sex with me after the sixth month. I was thrilled when my little girl Lisa was born, however. Lisa had all the necessary parts, was really cute, and we bonded instantly. It was difficult to care for her, however, given our poor financial situation and lack of any helpful family members. I don't know if it was because of that, or hormones, or both, but I developed what I later learned was postpartum depression. My situation got desperate when Lisa was about three months old when I found out that Ms. Brooks had been killed by a stray bullet as she was leaving school in a drive-by shooting between two rival gang members. Matt had no empathy for my situation. He did little to help with Lisa, couldn't understand why I was getting so upset about "some teacher" being killed, and had already started pressuring me to have another kid to help fulfil his genius financial plan. The state of mind that I was in one Thursday when I was in the midst of my postpartum depression was likely the worst of my life. I was grieving over Ms. Brooks' death, and Matt and I had had another fight about me getting pregnant again, and I had no hope for the future. I despaired. I tried to snap out of it – not realizing that it is impossible to "snap out" of depression – by doing about the only thing that gave me joy; taking Lisa on a walk to a park in an upscale neighborhood about three miles away from my dilapidated apartment. I had a used stroller that Joe had given me that was entirely functional and after I nursed Lisa we set off on our journey. Unfortunately, the trip to the park not only didn't help my mood, it darkened it. I saw other kids happily playing, with their joyous parents nearby chatting each other up, and I realized that my child would likely never be able to enjoy the carefreeness of youth since her every day would be a struggle to survive – just like it had been for me. With tears in my eyes I walked over to the elevated bank of the river that defined the western boundary of the park with Lisa in my arms. I do believe that most likely I would have jumped in and both of us would have drowned, since I didn't know how to swim and of course Lisa would be helpless. I was stopped by a hand on my arm. I turned to look who was holding my arm and saw a well dressed woman with perfectly coiffed hair and expertly applied makeup, likely in her fifties. It was clear that she was one of the "haves," and a classy one at that. "Miss, you look so forlorn," she said in a kind and pleasing voice. "Is there something that I can do to help?" There was something about her face that made me trust her; maybe because she was an older better-heeled version of Ms. Brooks. I tried to mouth something. No words came out. I started bawling and shaking. She led me over to a nearby bench and sat down with me. "My name is Emma; what's yours?" she gently said as she held my arm with one of her hands, and stroked Lisa's head with the other. "Char-o-lette," I was finally able to utter through my tears. "And who is this darling little creature?" she asked with a big smile as she lightly pinched Lisa's cheek. "L-L-L-isa," I stammered, trying as best I could to pull myself together. She looked stunned for a second, then recovered. "I used to have a daughter who looked very much like you do, and a little granddaughter as cute as Lisa, but they were killed in a car crash. My heart is heavy with their loss, but you would really help me if you would let me help you. Tell me what's bothering you," she said in a sad but genuine tone. Somehow hearing her sad tale, and sensing real compassion in her voice, I was able to pull myself together. Within a few minutes I was telling her about my despair, opening up to her like I never had before to anyone else, including Joe and Ms. Brooks. As I related one desperate circumstance after the other she held my hand and lightly stroked it. She was a really good listener, saying little, always making eye contact, and when she did speak it was with obvious understanding – as much understanding as someone who had never lived in poverty herself could have, anyway. Once I had finished my tale of woe Emma smiled. "I think that one thing that you need is a good meal. Would you let me treat you to lunch at my house? I'll drive you back to yours when we're done." "I-I-uh, don't want to impose," I stammered. "I would really like you to – it would make me feel better and allow me some more time with your beautiful little girl," she replied with a big smile. "OK, I guess; thanks;" I replied. I put Lisa in her stroller, Emma walked next to us as she directed me toward the parking lot, and when we got there she led us up to a big fancy car with a guy in a uniform standing next to it who kindly said "I see that you have some friends Mrs. Williams." "Yes, John," she replied in a sing-song voice, "Charlotte and Lisa will be joining us for lunch. I had no idea what kind of car it was. I was trying to figure it out as John folded up my stroller and put it in the trunk and then opened up one of the back doors for Emma, Lisa and me to enter. It had a fancy silver hood ornament of a winged lady. The interior was ornate, with plush leather seats and wood trim on the doors and barrier between the driver John and the three of us. It was all that I could do to not ooh and aah, but Emma helped me out by making small talk and asking me what types of food that I would like for lunch. When the car turned into a driveway, past an automatically opening gate, I thought that it was some sort of fancy restaurant or country club. In fact, it was Emma's house. Make that mansion; the first that I had ever seen except in photographs. I no longer could contain my wonder as my eyes bugged out of my head and I involuntary uttered "Whoaaaa!" "Don't be overwhelmed, Charlotte," Emma said as John opened the door and first Emma, then Lisa and I, exited. "It is just a house – bigger than most but nothing to be stunned by." I was too flabbergasted to respond. We made our way through the foyer – which was significantly bigger than the apartment that I lived in – to the kitchen where we were greeted by Maria, the cook, a friendly, portly Hispanic woman in her forties. Maria made a big fuss over Lisa, which caused me to think that she couldn't be all bad even though everything I had been taught about Hispanics was negative. White trash had to feel superior to someone. "Maria, let's have something for lunch that will be good for a nursing mother. What do you think?" Emma said. "I've got just the thing," Maria replied in virtually unaccented English; "we have lean roast beef sandwiches on whole grain oat bread with lettuce and low fat mayonnaise, a brown rice pilaf with mushrooms and oranges, and then fresh blueberries in low fat yogurt for desert." "Sounds yummy as well as healthy, doesn't it?" Emma chuckled as she turned toward me. Since I had never heard of "pilaf" and couldn't remember ever having had roast beef, or yogurt with fresh fruit in it, before, I decided to just say "Sure does," and see how it came out. Emma and I sat on the pool deck sipping lemonade as we waited for lunch to be served. When Maria told us it was ready Emma asked me "You don't mind eating in the kitchen, do you?" "Where else do you eat?" flashed through my mind, but there was no way I was going to be a smart ass so I said "That would be really nice." By this time I had concluded that this was the "Opportunity knocking" that Ms. Brooks had told me about, and I was going to do everything possible to ride it as far as I could. I couldn't fucking believe how good the food tasted. It likely was the best meal that I had ever had in my life, and here it was just lunch for Emma. I was a little embarrassed by the sly smiles Emma gave me when watching me eat – I'm sure that she had never seen anyone inhale food so quickly. Maria was very pleased that I clearly loved the food and had a healthy appetite, and even after I ate two sandwiches, two bowls of that pilaf stuff, and another two bowls of yogurt and blueberries, she still offered me more. "No thank you," I replied – even though I could have eaten more. "I'm sorry to scarf it down like that, but it was clearly the best meal that I've ever had." That elicited a hug from Maria and a chuckle from Emma. Lisa started making noises like it was her turn, and we went back onto the pool deck in the shade while I nursed her and chatted with Emma. Emma had a way of drawing information out of me – she could have been a good prosecutor. Feeling full and having Lisa sucking on me while I sat in a chaise lounge I honestly answered every question Emma had. "You need to be on birth control pills, and you need some counselling for your depression," Emma forthrightly said once Lisa had her fill and Emma was enjoying herself burping Lisa. "I'm sure that you're right, Emma," I replied with a great deal of embarrassment, "but Matt wouldn't allow the first, and I don't have money for either, anyhow." "Let me make a call," Emma responded, handing a cooing Lisa back to me. "Finish your lemonade – I'll be right back." Emma returned five minutes later to find both Lisa and me with our feet in the pool, and Lisa gurgling happy sounds. I thought I saw a tear in Emma's eye when she saw us, but if it was there she quickly recovered and said "I'll have John pick you up at your house tomorrow at ten in the morning and bring you back. My concierge doctor will be here when you arrive, along with a specialist from his office, and we'll see what he can do to help." I thought that a "concierge" doctor was someone like an OB/GYN, never having hear the term before, but didn't want to show my ignorance by asking. "Emma – you really are too nice to me. I-I-uh, I don't want to impose on your hospitality," I hesitantly replied. "I want you and your darling little girl to be in front of your apartment building at 9:45 tomorrow morning – don't be late. I won't hear of you not showing up. You're helping me as much as I'm helping you. Plus, don't you want another of Maria's lunches?" Emma responded with a big, warm smile. I know that my eyes lit up at that. "Thank you," was all that I could get out, getting slightly choked up. I rode in the front seat with John back to my house – he had installed a baby seat in the back. "Where did you get the baby seat?" I asked him, fortunately after Emma had given me a hug goodbye and we had vacated the area. Escape From Poverty "It was her granddaughter's before she was killed," he solemnly replied. "It almost killed Mrs. Williams too when her daughter and granddaughter died." "Oh – I'm so sorry," I responded. "What was her granddaughter's name?" "Same as you little girl's – Lisa." I teared up. John squeezed my hand. "Today was the happiest I've seen Mrs. Williams in a long time. Thank you." Holy shit! He was thanking me for Emma rescuing me from killing myself and my baby and providing me the best meal and surroundings of my life. I found out as I directed John to my shitty apartment what kind of car we were riding in. A Rolls Royce Wraith. I had never heard of it. John smiled and told me that it was the premier luxury car in the world. I believed it. I guarantee you that it was the first one in history to ever come down the street my apartment was on, based upon the double and triple takes from everyone who we passed. I decided not to tell Matt anything about my day, other than that I went to the park with Lisa. I made Matt the best dinner that I could, and was more upbeat than I had been in months. He noticed my good mood and took advantage of it by fucking me twice that night. It proved to me that the brain is the most important sex organ since my excellent mental disposition allowed me to enjoy the sex more than I had 90% of the time in the past. I was so excited when I got up the next morning that I was a human dynamo. After taking care of Lisa's needs I showered and shaved my legs and crotch so as to be nice and clean for the doctor. I also put on my best outfit and Lisa and I were out in front of the apartment building at 9:30, anxiously awaiting John's arrival. He was right on time, put Lisa in her car seat, the stroller in the trunk, and I rode in front with him again. Emma greeted me warmly when I arrived at the mansion, and introduced me to Dr. Barnes, a distinguished looking man in his fifties, and Dr. Morrison, a well-dressed blond woman in her thirties. "I'll take good care of Lisa while the doctors examine and talk to you," Emma gushed. Lisa excitedly flapped her arms and cooed as a smiling Emma took her into her arms. Dr. Barnes, in Dr. Morrison's presence, gave me a complete physical. He prescribed a birth control shot that would last for three months and would have no adverse effect on my lactation – a new term for me that I easily grasped. I readily agreed to the shot but demurred "Is this covered by Medicaid, because I can't afford it otherwise." "This is covered by Mrs. Williams, and you have absolutely no need to be concerned about it," he replied as he gave me the shot. After that Dr. Morrison and I went into an ornate room on the first floor of the mansion that she called "The Study," and sat down in two comfortable chairs about four feet apart and facing each other. We just chatted mostly about my pregnancy and how I was feeling with my new baby, my relationship with Matt, all sorts of things. I didn't really know it until later but found out that she is a psychiatrist specializing in postpartum depression – the first time that I had ever heard that term. After a forty five minute talk with Dr. Morrison, she and I joined Dr. Barnes, Emma and Lisa, who was now asleep in Emma's arms. Emma greeted me warmly. "I hope that you don't mind, but while you were talking with Dr. Morrison I had Dr. Barnes examine Lisa." "No; that's great," I replied. "Is she OK?" I asked, directing the question to Dr. Barnes. "Charlotte, Dr. Morrison and I would like to have a discussion with you about your health and Lisa's health and include Emma in the discussion. Is that OK with you?" Dr. Barnes replied. "Sure – it's not only OK with me, I'd appreciate Emma's take on things too," I responded. For the next twenty minutes Dr. Barnes and Dr. Morrison told me everything about my physical and mental situation. The bottom line was that I – and Lisa since she got her food from me – was slightly malnourished, and was suffering from postpartum depression. They recommended a diet for me – much like what Maria had served me for lunch the day before – and told me that it was very likely that I could avoid medication for my depression if I followed a lifestyle regime that they recommended. "You need to be sure to get at least seven hours of sleep a night – or take one or more naps to get you to seven or eight hours. You need time for yourself away from your baby, sunshine when you can get it, good nutrition which will not only solve your malnourishment problem but will greatly help your mental outlook, and daily exercise, at least one half hour of moderate to intense exercise." Dr. Morrison related to me. "I don't know how I can do all that, though," I remarked while wringing my hands. "That's where I come in," Emma said. "I expect you here every day from ten until four. I'll make sure – with the help of my staff – that you do everything that you're supposed to." "But --- but – I can't expect you to do all that for me," I stammered. "I mean, that's taking advantage of you." "Nonsense," Emma laughed. "I'd consider it an honor to help you and darling Lisa out, and you'll be helping me fill the void in my heart from the death of my daughter and granddaughter. However, it will cost you. You will have to get your GED and then at least a junior college degree, you'll have to help around the house, and you'll have to be nice to my son Warren." "You have a son?" I asked – that was the first that I had ever heard of that. "Yes, he's coming here tomorrow for at least a three month visit. Let's have the lunch that Maria has prepared, and then we'll let the good doctors attend to their other patients," Emma said, standing up and gently handing Lisa to me – although with a big smile and the word "Please," Dr. Morrison immediately snatched her from me. This time we ate in the dining room. The table was the biggest that I had ever seen. It could have fit thirty people. The four of us – and Lisa – ate at one end. This time the meal consisted of salmon, something called balsamic tomato couscous, whole grain bread, and non-fat ice cream and strawberries for desert. I tried not to eat like a truck driver – I don't think that I succeeded given the sly smiles from my luncheon companions and how Maria gushed that I made her feel like the best cook in the world by the way that I devoured her food and verbally complimented her. That afternoon Emma, her personal assistant Denise, and I set up a schedule for Monday-Friday when Matt was at work, and perhaps for part of the day on future Sundays, that took into account everything that the doctors had told us, as well as the plans that Emma had for my self-improvement. Emma's personal assistant Denise was a statuesque black woman in her late twenties who was clearly very sharp mentally, and even if formal also quite friendly. I had always been taught that black people were stupid, lazy and dishonest. I realized after ten minutes with Denise that just like my stereotype about Hispanics had been blown away by Maria that my prejudice against black people was equally absurd. In just two days my closet racism was completely driven away. When John dropped me off back home at four that day I might have been in the best place mentally that I had ever been since I turned eighteen. Even the squalor of my living conditions, and Matt being in a bad mood Saturday, couldn't get me down. I had the possibility of a real life in front of me. I didn't know quite how it would work out, but somehow I would make it. **************** When I got to the mansion on Monday and I was greeted warmly by Emma. After a short chat she gave Lisa to Denise – who was only too happy to hold her, then she said "There's someone I want you to meet – my son Warren. I do have to warn you, however, that he has autism so don't expect any sparkling conversation." I had no clue what the hell "autism" was, but I assumed that it was some kind of disease. "I can't catch it, can I?" I innocently asked Emma. "Catch what?" she asked perplexed. Then she suddenly got a look of realization on her face and said "Oh, no, Charlotte, it's a disorder, not a disease. It just means that Warren has trouble interacting in a normal way with people. He normally attends a special school for people with his condition, but will be home with us for three months or so." We went into another room and there sitting in a chair but apparently not doing much was a big guy with long hair blond and a blond and brown speckled beard. "Warren, darling; this is the young woman I was telling you about – Charlotte. Say hello." At first there was no reaction, but taking the bull by the horns I went over to him, gently put my hand on his shoulder and said "Hi, Warren. I'm so pleased to meet you." At first he flinched when I touched him. But then he turned and looked at me and his eyes got wide. He stood up and said "Charlotte is beautiful. Charlotte is a princess." I giggled. "Not a princess, Warren, but if Emma has her way maybe someday I'll be a lady." Then Warren hugged me. It wasn't a crushing hug, but I could sense how strong he was. And he really was a big dude, probably six feet four inches tall, well over 200 pounds. I hugged him back. When he released his hug he took my hand and said "I can show Charlotte the pool." As we turned to walk toward the pool I saw a look of shock on Emma's face. "Is there something wrong, Emma?" I asked, concerned that I had fucked up somehow. "No, no...uh nothing at all," she stuttered. It was the first time that I had seen her at a loss for words. Warren and I walked around the pool and the adjacent grounds. He held my hand the whole time in a strong yet tender way. He pointed out all of the objects that we encountered, and even had an explanation of what some of them were. Actually some, such as the pump for the pool, I had no clue about so I was actually learning something from him. Occasionally he would stop, look at me, and say "You are a princess Charlotte," which never ceased to cause me to giggle. After we had been walking around for a while Emma approached us carrying Lisa, who was fussing. "I think Lisa is getting hungry," Emma said. "What time is it?" I asked. "11:45," Emma replied. "I didn't know that so much time had passed. Warren and I were really enjoying ourselves," I responded. Warren seemed reluctant to let go of my hand. "Warren, this little girl is Lisa, Charlotte's baby. She has to nurse her now so let go of her hand." "Lisa is dead," Warren innocently replied after he reluctantly released my hand. That caught Emma up short for a second, before she recovered and calmly said "No, that was your niece Lisa. This is another Lisa, Charlotte's baby." Warren got wide-eyed looking at Lisa. "Charlotte's Lisa won't die, will she?" he asked with concern in his voice. "No, no darling, she certainly won't. She'll grow up to be a pretty young lady just like her mother," Emma replied, squeezing Warren's hand. "Can I watch Charlotte feed Lisa?" he asked. "Of course you can, Warren," I said with a big smile before Emma could say anything. The three of us sat by the pool, me, Lisa and Emma in the shade and Warren in the sun. He looked on with fascination while I nursed Lisa first on one boob, then the other. He would occasionally make comments or ask questions, some of the most memorable "How do your boobies make milk?" and "Does it hurt when Lisa sucks out your milk?" After Lisa was sated I refastened my nursing bra while Emma burped her. Warren watched me do that and obviously got a look at my tits, but for some reason I wasn't the least bit self-conscious. "You have big boobies," he remarked; he was right, I had grown from a C cup to a D cup as a result of my pregnancy. Emma and I just laughed. The three of us, and Lisa, went in for lunch and were joined by Denise. Warren insisted on sitting next to me. It was another fabulous and healthy meal, and once again I ate an embarrassingly large amount, as much as Warren did even though he had to outweigh me by at least eighty pounds if not one hundred and twenty. After lunch two tutors arrived; one for Warren and one for me, and we went to separate rooms in the house to work with the tutors. Just before I was getting ready to leave, Emma came up to me and gave me a big hug. "I have never, in the twenty years that he has been alive, seen Warren react to anyone the way that he reacted to you. It was fabulous. I hope that you don't mind his attention – I'm sure that he'll want to regularly hang out with you." "I really like him!" I earnestly replied while snuggling Lisa. "What's with the beard and long hair, though?" "That is just recent. He has such a handsome face I wish that he would shave and get a haircut," she replied, slightly exasperated. "One of the few things that I'm good at in life is cutting hair. Mind if I bring my scissors and electric shears with me tomorrow?" I chuckled. "If you could get him to cut his hair and shave I would love that," Emma replied, giving me and Lisa another hug. The next day as soon as I got Lisa situated with the nanny that Emma had hired to be on call when she had to be out running a couple of charities that she was involved with, I tracked down Warren. He was very happy to see me, gave me a hug, and repeated his mantra "Charlotte is a princess." "Say, Warren. I like to cut hair and shave people, but haven't been able to for a while. You have such a handsome face I would love to give you a haircut and shave. Are you OK with that?" "YOU would do it? Not some barber?" he innocently inquired. "No, just me – if you trust me, Warren," I said, this time initiating a hug. He got a big grin on his face and exclaimed "WOW – sure!" I found an old sheet to cover his torso with and a nice spot on an elevated backed stool in the kitchen to work on him, and got Maria's permission to be there – with my promise to stay out of her way. I took my time in cutting Warren's hair and shaving him. We had a constant banter as I was doing it, and it was clear that Warren thoroughly enjoyed my touch. After about an hour he was clean cut. He really did look handsome. If he didn't have autism he could have had just about any woman he desired. When he looked at himself in the mirror he said "Charlotte did a great job. Thank you Charlotte; you are a princess." After Warren and I interacted with Lisa for a while, and he intently watched me nurse her, again commenting on my large boobies, we ate lunch together. Then our tutors arrived and we worked separately with them for about two hours. By then, Emma was home. Emma was thrilled at Warren's appearance, and he had no problem in singing my praises to Emma. "Charlotte did a great job," he said at least half a dozen times. Warren and I got friendlier and friendlier as the week progressed, and Lisa really took to him too. She never cried while he was holding her, and he enjoyed making faces at her and lightly squeezing her toes and fingers – which universally caused her to giggle. Warren wanted to come home with me for the weekend, but Emma explained to him that I needed to go home to my husband but that I would be back Monday. When I returned Monday, Emma hustled me and Lisa into the Study. "Charlotte, you're a miracle worker," she gushed. "Say what?" was my perplexed and less than cultured reply. "Warren has made more progress in the last week than he did in the last three years. His specialist saw him over the weekend and couldn't believe the progress. He attributed it to you." "Wow; but I really didn't do anything, Emma. I was just friendly toward Warren because I really like him – and he's so cute." "Well, it's obvious that he really likes and trusts you. Which brings up something; I need a favor from you," Emma said, sheepishly. I guess that she wasn't used to asking for favors, just granting them. "Hey, Emma; you're turning my life around. My postpartum depression is virtually completely gone, I feel healthier than I ever can remember, and Lisa is thriving. I owe it all to you. I'd do anything for you." Emma smiled. "OK, you asked for it. I want you to teach Warren to swim and to exercise with him on a daily basis. He has never been big on exercise in the past, and his specialist says that will do as much as anything to help him out. It will get the brain chemicals really flowing." "I'd love to exercise with him, Emma; but I can't swim so I can't very well teach him," I replied. "Even better; you can learn together!" Emma doesn't let grass grow under her feet. She immediately hired a swim coach who would arrive the next day. After Warren and I hugged and chatted for a while I hit him with my plan. "Warren, I would love to use the pool but I don't know how to swim. Would you teach me?" "I don't know how to swim either, Charlotte," he replied, slightly chagrined. "Great! We can learn together. Would you do that for me, Warren, learn to swim at the same time that I do? Please!" "Sure! It will be fun!" he responded. I gave him a big hug and told him that I would ask Emma if someone could come by to start lessons – of course I already knew that it had been arranged, but Emma acted surprised then agreed when I asked her in front of Warren. Before I left I pulled Emma aside and said "I forgot about one thing, Emma. I don't have a bathing suit." "Not a problem," Emma grinned. "I'll have one waiting for you tomorrow." I changed into the one piece bathing suit that Emma proudly gave me shortly after I arrived at the mansion the next day. It fit almost perfectly. It wasn't brand new, but was in great shape. When I exited the pool dressing room wearing it I asked Emma, who was playing with Lisa, "Does it fit OK?" Emma had kind of a shocked look on her face. "It fits perfectly darling. I-I-uh, I've got to run," she then said, handing Lisa to Denise. "Have a good time," and then disappeared. "Is something wrong?" I asked Denise. "Just a second; wait here," Denise said as she carried Lisa into another room. She re-appeared a couple of minutes later with a photograph. "This is what spooked Mrs. Williams," Denise said, handing me the photo. At first I thought that it was a photo of me – but how could it be since I had never worn that suit before. Then I noticed that the hair and some facial features were different. "That's Margaret Williams, Emma's dead daughter," Denise said. That was more than a little unsettling. "Oh," was all that I could utter. I had to put it out of my mind once the swimming lesson started to keep from drowning. Both Warren and I really enjoyed it – the water felt so good and the instructor was so nice and knowledgeable. *************** It wasn't long before Warren and I were doing almost everything together including all sorts of exercises in addition to swimming, odd jobs around the mansion, trips to museums and art galleries with Lisa in tow, miniature golf; the whole shebang. Except when we were being separately tutored we were together most of the time, Monday through Friday, 10 a.m. – 4 p.m. Warren had a sad look on his face every Friday starting about 3:30, and I felt sad then too but tried my best not to show it. Since I was with Warren all of the time, and had no history with him, I didn't really notice the remarkable changes that he had undergone. By the time that I had been going to Emma's mansion daily for three months she and the specialist who consulted with Warren told me that Warren was not going back to the school that he used to attend but because he was making such remarkable progress that he would stay at the mansion as long as my visits continued. In fact the specialist told me and Emma that if Warren's progress continued the way that it had the last three months that he was going to write a scientific paper about Warren, and that Warren would likely be able to hold down a decent productive job. Escape From Poverty About that time was when I was first introduced to Robert Williams, Emma's husband and Warren's father. He normally was working or travelling when I was at the mansion. I had learned that he was a big shot – not surprising considering how wealthy he was – the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. I didn't know what either "CEO" or "Fortune 500" meant, but Denise patiently explained them to me. I was a little nervous when I arrived one day and was told that he had actually taken the morning off work to meet me. I tried to be myself when we were introduced, and I think that I succeeded. He was almost as big as Warren, and handsome – I could tell where Warren got his good looks – and as kind, in a masculine way, as Emma was. After we chatted a while he pulled me aside. "Charlotte, I want you to know how pleased Emma and I are about the effect that you've had on Warren. He is in so much of a better place now than before he met you that it is astounding. This is especially rewarding since we lost our darling daughter Margaret and our granddaughter Lisa. And you've uplifted Emma's spirits almost as much as you have Warren's." I could tell that he was genuinely touched. "Thank you Mr. Williams..." I started to say. "Robert," he corrected me. "Thank you Robert. That means a lot to me; but you have to understand that Emma and Warren have helped me and Lisa much more than I have them. I'll pull myself out of poverty and have a great life because of them – I just know it," I said with real resolve. "I have no doubt about that," Robert said with a grin. The few times that I saw Robert after that – including one day when Warren, Lisa and I took a sojourn to his office – he could not have been nicer to me. I noticed a few double takes when some members of his staff were introduced to Lisa and me (as Warren's "best friend"). I understood why when on Robert's expansive mahogany desk in his large ornate office I saw a photo of Margaret holding the other Lisa. "Uncanny resemblance," I thought to myself, "uncanny." *************** I guess that with the benefit of 20-20 hindsight looking back on it I could have predicted that my relationship with Matt might go south. After I had been visiting Emma and Warren about a month, Matt lost his minimum wage job and didn't seem to be motivated to find another one. I got out of the house by telling him that I was working for a rich woman as a part time nanny, but after a while he didn't seem to care if I was gone or not. For the first month, Matt was hounding me every day about not getting pregnant. "Are you taking birth control pills?" he would snarl about every other day. He still had in mind his genius financial plan of more kids equals more money from the state, something that Emma and Denise had proven to me was complete horseshit but that I wasn't anxious to confront him about. "Do you see any pills around?" I would respond. "We can't afford them." Learning what I did about nutrition from Maria and Emma, I started buying healthier, though inexpensive, foods, like lentils. Matt insisted on eating the same crap that we had before even when I made healthy dinners, and became verbally abusive about it. Once Matt lost his job he would sometimes show up at the apartment with some strange dudes that I didn't like. Lisa and I would go into the bedroom when they came around. Other times he would be gone for two or three days at a time and I wouldn't know where he was. He had no explanation when he returned and after inquiring the first several times and being told to "Shut the fuck up, none of your business," I no longer asked – because I started not to care. *************** After I had been visiting Emma and Warren for about six months two things happened that changed everything. I started to admit to myself that I had real feelings for Warren – feelings I had never had for a man before. While at that stage Warren was certainly not what would be considered "normal," in many ways he was better than normal. He was always kind to Lisa and me and it was clear that he worshipped me. It was nice to have someone totally devoted; I had never experienced that before in life and now I had two people, Lisa and Warren, and perhaps even a third in Emma. One day when Warren and I were going to go for a swim – by then we sometimes swam fifty laps together in their twenty five meter long pool – I was naked, having been slow to change into my swimsuit when Warren walked into the changing room. I didn't notice that he was there for some time – I don't know how long – as I rubbed sunscreen on my body. When I looked over and saw him I was a little startled, but didn't immediately cover up. "Warren, I didn't know that you were here," I said trying to sound innocent. I saw his suit bulging, and couldn't help but stare at it. "Charlotte you are sexy. I want to have sex with you," he said, staring at me with anything but an autistic look. "Have you been thinking about sex, Warren?" I asked, reaching for my suit. He was right next to me before I could grab it. "I've been thinking about you, Charlotte," he mumbled, in a very un-autistic-like voice. He started kissing my neck and rubbing his hands on my shoulders then tits. I know that at least a few times I said "Warren, you can't do this; you can't touch me when I'm naked," but I was just saying what I thought that I should. As he continued to rub and kiss me I realized – much to my chagrin – that I really enjoyed it. I tried to think of Matt, but only bad thoughts filled my brain when I did that. I tried to think about what Emma would say – but I simply could not concentrate. I had apparently checked out mentally with the turmoil in my brain until I found myself bent over and supporting myself on a locker with my hands, and a great deal of activity at my pussy – which I noticed was so wet that it was like I had just stepped out of a hot tub. Suddenly a large hard object penetrated my pussy. It had stroked in and out of me a few times before I knew for sure that it was Warren's cock – and simultaneously realized that not only didn't I care that he was porking me, but that I was anticipating it with alacrity. As Warren started stroking more and more definitively he grabbed my tits and slightly twisted my nipples. I instinctively started banging back and it wasn't long before he was grunting and I was trying to suppress a scream as a tsunami of cum washed into my vagina. There was no doubt but that it was the most intense orgasm of my life. Warren continued to massage my tits and kiss and lightly bite my neck and shoulders while his dick stayed planted in my cunt. At some point it finally started to soften, and he pulled it out and we both collapsed onto the floor. Fortunately we primarily landed on a towel, and besides the floor was covered with indoor-outdoor carpeting. "Did I do OK?" were Warren's first words. "You did more than OK, Warren. That was fabulous. Where did you learn to do that?" "My tutor showed me things on the computer to help me," he innocently replied. "I have to thank that tutor," ran through my mind. Another thing ran through my mind. I turned over and inserted Warren's cock into my mouth. Only then did I get a look at it. It was big around, long, and uncircumcised. I don't remember ever sucking a dick after sex before, but I was compelled to do it. Warren moaned his pleasure, and to my surprise shortly got hard again. Once Warren was completely hard, and groaning, I mounted him cowgirl. My pussy was still soaking wet, in fact still leaking cum from the first fuck, so penetration was fairly easy even though his cock was long and thick. I was soon riding him frantically, pulsing my vaginal muscles as I bounced up and down. For his part he did a great job of manipulating my boobs, which were leaking milk, while occasionally bucking upwardly. My second orgasm – as he shot a second load of man cream into my pulsating pussy – was even more intense than my first one, and I collapsed on top of him. Sometime later I snapped out of my sexually-induced euphoria, moved my pelvis up so that Warren's cock popped out of my pussy, and got to my feet. Warren got up too. We hugged. "We better go swimming just to wash all of the sex juices off of each other," I laughed. "Can we have sex again later?" he inoffensively asked. "We'll talk about it tomorrow," I replied with a grin. We put our bathing suits on and dove into the pool. He swam much faster than normal, obviously charged by the experience. I swam slower than normal; my mind was in chaos and I clearly could not concentrate on something even as simple as taking one swim stroke after another. Surprisingly the rest of the day wasn't awkward. Warren and I interacted in the same way that we always did, although both Emma and Denise mentioned to us "You two seem really chipper today," or words to those effect. Fortunately, that night was one of the nights that Matt didn't come home. My pussy was sore from the really, really nice fucks by Warren's big cock, and I had a hard time concentrating. I don't think that I would have been able to carry on a conversation with an adult – not that Matt and I talked that much anyway. That night I resolved that I had to tell Emma what happened. She had been too nice to me not to be straight with her. I didn't know how she would react, but I really felt that I owed it to her even if it meant that my life went back to the shitty way that it was before I met her. However, I wanted one more go at Warren in case she did boot me out. Emma was gone when I got there the next morning, and the tutors were not due until after lunch. Warren greeted me enthusiastically. I left Lisa with the nanny and whispered to Warren "Can we go to your room; there is something we need to talk about." The first day that I met him Warren would not have been able to figure out what was going on. Demonstrating once again his remarkable progress, present day Warren knew exactly what was about to happen, and immediately tented his pants. When we got to Warren's room we kissed, and when I broke away I said "Warren, do you know anything about oral sex?" "You mean when you sucked my penis yesterday?" he replied. "Yes that was oral sex, but what I mean is you giving oral sex to me." "I can learn," was his enthusiastic reply. I had been pleasured orally so few times in my life – only twice by Matt – that I wasn't sure that I would be a good teacher; but I knew what I liked and that he would be enthusiastic. We both stripped off our clothes, I lay him on his back on his bed, and virtually threw my cunt in his face. Warren took instruction well, really seemed to like sticking his tongue into my pussy and sucking or fingering my clitoris, and did exactly what I requested of him. It wasn't long before I had the best orally-induced orgasm of my life. He liked how I squirmed, moaned "yes, yes, yes," and how my crotch spasmed. Once I recovered I just gave his already rock hard cock a couple of kisses and a couple of sucks, and then mounted him again and fucked him as hard as I could while he manipulated my tits, bucked upwardly much more forcefully than yesterday, and then rendered me comatose as he blasted another full load into me. We stayed naked in each other's arms, occasionally vigorously rubbing each other's parts. I gave him a blowjob – which he so thoroughly enjoyed that I found it as rewarding for me as getting oral sex from him – and we snuggled until it was almost time for lunch. Emma got home shortly after Warren and I got downstairs; I'm sure that we both had a "just fucked" look, but I was going to come clean after we ate anyway, so it didn't bother me. After another fantastic meal as Warren went off with his tutor I asked Emma if I could talk to her privately. My tutor had talked with her about arriving a half hour late that day so it didn't even interrupt my session. When Emma and I went into the Study, she could sense my nervousness. She sat next to me on the largest couch and held my hands. "What is it dear; it seems serious." I started to tear up, but I persevered. "I want you to know that I am so, so grateful for what you have done for me and Lisa," I started out. "I am the healthiest, happiest, and most optimistic that I have ever been in my life. I respect you so much, that even though what I have to tell you may cause you to boot me out of your life, I have to tell you. I can't have any secrets from you." Then I started actually crying. Emma said little, primarily only "There, there, just let it out," as she alternatively hugged me and squeezed my hands. I finally stopped and looked her in the eye. "I – I – uh; I had sex with Warren." She didn't start screaming or convulsing. She calmly asked "Did he force himself on you?" "No – well he did initiate it the first time and I tried to dissuade him. But I didn't try very hard because I wanted him to make love to me," I replied alternately looking at my hands and into her eyes. "Is that what it was – making love?" she genuinely inquired. I had to stop and think a second. It suddenly dawned on me that it was much different sex than any sex I had had before, and that I had stronger feelings toward Warren than Matt or anyone else that I had had sex with. Once I realized that I looked her straight in the eye and responded "Yes; I can honestly say that it was making love, not just sex." "Do you plan on continuing?" I paused again – another thing that I hadn't thought through yet. "Yes; every day if I can, unless you kick me out." "My only concern is that I don't want Warren to get hurt. I know that he loves you more than he has every loved any other person or thing in his life." "I share that concern. I have some decisions to make," I replied, breaking eye contact and staring at the ground. "You're both adults, I love having you and Lisa around, I get as much from my relationship with you as you get from me, and there is no way in hell that I'm 'kicking you out,' as you put it," Emma said, the last part with a grin. "Let's just see how things go. I do ask that you be discreet, however, and don't make it obvious to the staff that you two are being intimate." "I'll do my best," I replied as joy welled up in my bosom. I hugged Emma hard, said "Thank you," and then went to find the tutor. "Wow – that went better than I could have possibly guessed," I remarked to myself. I did have a lot to think about. The tutor could tell that I was distracted and after twenty minutes gave me some simple computer searching assignments to complete – the tutoring was not just for me to get my GED but also to develop real life work skills. Even though I wasn't very efficient, I did get the computer assignment done before I left the mansion at 4:10, since I couldn't do it at home because we had no computer at our apartment. Warren and I fucked – no actually, we made love – once or twice a day for the rest of the week. I knew on Friday that I had to have a serious talk with Matt about our future, and how he saw our married life progressing. In comparing Warren and Matt I realized that I never did love Matt, that now I barely liked him, and that I both loved and liked Warren. Fortunately, decisions were effectively taken out of my hands that weekend. ***************** Friday night was another night that Matt didn't come home. When he did Saturday morning he was agitated. He bustled around the apartment for a while and then he said he was going out again. "We have to have a serious talk about what is going on in our lives this weekend, Matt. When can we do that?" "What, do you want to nag me again?" he snidely replied. "No, I want to find out where you see our lives going; it isn't too much to ask of my husband, is it?" "I'll be back this afternoon and we can talk then, but it better be more than you bitching – got it!" With that he was gone. I was cleaning around the apartment while Lisa – who by now was walking around, although stumbling as much as walking – was playing with toys in the bedroom. When things got unusually quiet I walked into the bedroom and saw that she had just ripped open – I don't know how that she did it – a plastic bag that had white powder in it and she was reaching her hand into it. I grabbed her hand, picked her up, and ran to the bathroom before she could put her hand to her mouth, startling her. She started crying – my heart was racing. After thoroughly washing her hand I carefully inspected her mouth. I was certain that she had not ingested any of the powder. Of course I suspected that the powder was cocaine, but I had never used it and wasn't familiar enough with it to be sure. I put it in a brown paper bag and sealed it with an alligator clip. I calmed Lisa down, made sure that she knew that she hadn't done anything wrong but that I was just scared that the powder might hurt her, and then put her into her stroller and took off with her and the brown bag to see Joe. Since I had visited Joe for at least fifteen or twenty minutes most weekends, he wasn't surprised to see me. He was surprised by the look on my face. "What's wrong Charlotte? You look like your dog just died," was his greeting. "Maybe more than the dog," I sighed. "I found Lisa playing with this," I continued as I handed him the brown bag. "I'm sure that I got to her before she ingested any, but I'm scared shitless about what could have happened – if, as I suspect, it's cocaine." Joe removed the alligator clip and slowly opened the bag. He inspected the powder carefully. "I wasn't sure how to tell if it's cocaine," I said as I studied his face. "I know that the cops on TV always put it to their tongue but I wasn't about to do that." "It's a good thing that you didn't," Joe replied. "That's just TV. No real live cop would do that because it's dangerous and you wouldn't be able to tell unless you got enough of it to numb your tongue, and then you'd never pass a drug test." "How can we tell what it is, then?" I asked. "I have a buddy who has a kit – don't ask me anything more about it. You tell your asshole husband," Joe never liked Matt, "that I have it because you had to get it away from Lisa. I'll return it to him, but only after we have a 'little talk.'" I thanked Joe and left. When Matt came how later that afternoon I told him about Lisa almost ingesting some white powder. "What is that powder, Matt – and why do you have it in the house." "I gotta make money some way, bitch; now where is it," he crudely replied. "I didn't know what it was so I brought it to Joe. He has it, and told me you could get it from him," I replied. Matt went ballistic. He got physical, left me on the floor with bruises and some blood, and went storming out yelling something like "If any of that shit is gone they'll kill me." I was hysterical. I went to a neighbor who had a phone and called Emma. I didn't know what else to do. Between sobs I finally was able to relate to her over the phone most of what happened. "Get to a safe location – not your apartment – and John will be there in ten minutes. Where will you be?" I gave her the address of a convenience store where I bought much of our food and knew the Korean proprietor, grabbed only my most valuable things (that didn't take much effort) and stuff for Lisa and took off. John arrived in a regular car, a Chevy I think, not the Rolls, with a guy that I had often seen around the mansion but had never been introduced to. I noticed that he was packing. "I'm Jordan, in charge of security for the Williams family," he deadpanned as he hustled Lisa and I into the back of the car. I didn't know if that was his first name, last name, or only name. "Mr. and Mrs. Williams told me to tell you that everything will be fine," John said in a compassionate voice just before he laid rubber. I never saw John drive so fast before; I noticed a shotgun in the front seat next to Jordan. Apparently they weren't messing around.