Jill Crokett: The True Story of My Abduction and Rape

Jill Crokett: The True Story of My Abduction and Rape

By Jill Crokett

 

Chapter Two

 

Author’s Note: While this story is definitely true, the author wishes to point out that all of the names used in this narrative, and even some of the place names, have been altered to protect the identity of the parties involved.  While the author in no way wishes to protect the guilty, revealing their names could also expose the innocent.  While the author accurately describes herself and her experiences, her own name is also a pseudonym. 

 

Should any name used in this story be that of a real living individual, it is purely coincidence.  The author also wishes to note that any depiction of violence toward women or children in this narrative is solely for the purpose of recanting an accurate and true description of actual events, and such recantation is in no way meant to be exploitative or abusive, as the author in no was condones such acts.  It is the author’s hope, that by describing her own painful experiences, others will be compelled to speak out and share their own, both raising the awareness of others and empowering their own healing. Most sincerely, Jill Crokett

 

 

The three day drive to Seattle was exciting for a young woman who had ever really been any place outside of Texas, but as I remember, the journey itself was for the most part uneventful.  I do remember being a little nervous staying in mom-and-pop roadside motels on two nights, the kind with the big neon signs, one in Amarillo and the other in Reno, Nevada.  I was a bit worried at night, not for my own safety, but because of all the stuff I had packed in my car.  I was afraid someone would break into my packed to the gills car and steal my things while I slept.

 

I remember that Mom and Ron were quite worried about me being on the road alone, and even though in those days long-distance telephone calls were very expensive, they made me promise I would call them each night when I had checked into my motel.  That was way, way before the days of cell phones. 

 

In Reno I remember staying in a little $15 a night motel that seem to have honeymooners in the room next door.  They were going at it every few hours and the girl kept waking me up with her screaming.  I remember wondering if her man was hurting her, because her screaming, crying really, was so intense.  Other than that one time that I walked in on my Mom and Ron, I had never heard other people making love before.  As for me, I wasn't a virgin, but I had only had sex a few times in my life at that point, and I certainly wasn't very experienced. 

 

I arrived in Seattle nearly two months before school would start.  I wanted to spend some time with my Dad before I had to hit the books. I planned to be a commuter student, living in the guest room of his house.  I was hoping that that arrangement would work out, because I didn't want to live in the dorm, and I wanted the opportunity to bond with my long separated Dad.  Living with Dad and Evelyn would also save me a lot of money, because I could live there free.  Dad had encouraged me to stay with him and his wife, and he had actually written to me and invited me to live with them.  Arriving early also give me time to better acquaint myself with my step mom Evelyn and my little half-brother Billy, who was about ten years old.

 

Dad had married Evelyn just a few months after he and Mom’s divorce was final.  Mother had never told me any of the details of their break-up, but over the years I had grown to suspect that Dad and Evelyn might have been seeing each other before my parents split.  If that were true, Evelyn, now 33 and 12 years younger than my 45-year-old dad, would have been about my age, just 19, when she wrecked my parents marriage.  But I had never held anything against Evelyn, because she was always nice to me, and I wasn't sure of the facts.  Evelyn was the sweet, passive type, and it was hard to be angry with her.  Anyway, the early relationship between her and dad was just something that was never talked about.

 

At 33 Evelyn was just 14 years older than me, and once I moved in she treated me more like a little sister than a step-daughter mom.  I really liked that.  She pretty much let me do anything I wanted.  Almost as soon as I arrived in Seattle, she was forever trying to hook me up with guys, though usually they weren’t my type.  She tended to like ‘bad boy’ types, bikers and such, and would always point them out to me, especially when my Dad wasn’t around.

 

I never thought of Evelyn as an intellectual, but rather a simple gal, both in style and desire. Socially, she always presented herself in a somewhat submissive demeanor, especially when interacting with my 45-year-old father. 

 

Physically, Evelyn had dark, almost jet black hair which contrasted with her rather pale white skin.  She was a little shorter than me, probably 5 foot 3.  She wore her shoulder length hair tied back and never made a fuss over it.  But I should point out that Evelyn was not an unattractive woman, as she had an hourglass figure with a narrow waist, which I'm sure Dad frequently appreciated.  When he came home from work, he always wrapped his arms around her waist for a moment and kissed her square on the lips.  It was a big change from Ron and Mom, who just pecked each other on the cheek. 

 

Evelyn always dressed casual, usually in slacks or jeans.  Occasional she put on a denim miniskirt and halter top if they were going down to the pub.  A sundress would have been real ‘dress-up’ for her. Overall, I guess she just wasn't into fussing over herself the way the girls in Texas were.  When I look back on it, she was probably just a bit liberated before the rest of us. She had ample boobs and around the house often went without a bra, her hard nipples poking through an old, often torn, T-shirt.

 

Evelyn smoked about a pack of Tareyton cigarettes a day, a habit I unfortunately picked up from her soon after arriving in Seattle, and one which would take me another ten years to break.  She also liked to drink a bit, usually Olympia, the local beer, but also cheap wine and frozen cocktails.  She and my father frequented a neighborhood pub several nights a week, usually on weekends but occasionally in the evening after he got off work.  The legal drinking age was 18 was back in 1976, and they used to try to entice me to come along.  If I didn't have studying to do I would occasionally join them, but I usually stayed home and studied or kept an eye on my half-brother Billy.  I thought of it as my way of giving my Dad and his wife some time to themselves, and it gave me time to develop a relationship with my little brother, who really didn’t know me.

 

Evelyn was very different from my Mom.  She didn't work, she didn’t attend church, she didn’t read books, in fact she never even finished high school.  She certainly didn't spend much time fussing over the house or Billy.  I soon learned that Evelyn's only real occupation was pleasing my Dad.  When I arrived in Seattle in the summer of 1976, I didn’t know anything about the subcultures of B&D and S&M, in fact, as a naïve teenager from the South, I had never even heard of them.

 

The other woman on the scene in those days was Evelyn’s best friend Cheryl, the thirtyish divorcee who lived next door with her 11-year-old daughter, Terri.  Cheryl didn’t work either, but lived on the alimony and child support payments her no-good cheating aircraft engineer ex-husband was required to make monthly.  The poor bastard also had to make her house payment for ten years and give her half his pension when he retired from the big B.  She had it all in writing.

 

Evelyn was also pretty good friends with a few ladies from the neighborhood pub, but other than them and Cheryl, she had no other friends or family that I knew of.  From the moment my Dad got home, her primary focus was attending to Dad’s physical, social, and emotional needs.  His request was her command.  The odd thing to me was, she really seemed to enjoy it, catering to him that is.  She definitely loved my father very much, and would do anything for him. 

 

While Evelyn wanted to spend as much time as possible with my father, most of her time was in fact spent with Cheryl, because Dad was often working overtime building jumbo jets.  The two moms visited with each other, in one-another's kitchen, several times a day.  Cheryl would often walk in unannounced, and so would her daughter Terri, who was about a year older than Billy.  It was strange at first, but I got used to it.  After a while we were all like sorority sisters. 

 

Evelyn and Cheryl would sit around all day drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes as they gabbed up girl talk.  The biggest challenge of their day was to come up with things to talk about.  They often gossiped about people from the pub.  The kids, at their age, pretty much looked after themselves.  Having grown up with a working mom, and having worked nearly 20 hours a week myself during my first year of college, it was weird for me to be around women who did nothing all day but gab and coffee-klatch.  Listening to them, in those weeks before my classes started, I would sit and hear things my mother never talked about.  Weird girl talk.  Frank sexual conversations that often shocked me.  I would get caught up with listening their sometimes weird conversations, but always tried to keep my mouth shut.

 

One-day Cheryl and Evelyn were talking about their gynecologists.  I remember being, as a naïve 19-year-old who had never been to one, shocked at their frankness and lack of embarrassment as they spoke.  Cheryl started out by saying how humiliating it was when she went into the hospital to give birth to Terri in 1965.  As I sat in Evelyn's kitchen, Cheryl, lighting one Marlboro off the other, graphically described being stripped naked and having her pussy shaved bald in front of several medical students.  Evelyn recanted with a similar story.  I remember being surprised, having never heard of the procedure, and wondered if I would face it someday too.  Cheryl went on to say that she had had an abortion since her divorce, and they shaved their bare for that two,

 

While the conversation surprised me, I didn't feel it was over the edge.  The first time I began to feel that way was the day that Evelyn described being spanked by my father.  She said it so matter-of-factly, as if it was normal or appropriate, that made me wonder.  She went on to say that she probably deserved it.  I said nothing, clearly shocked.  But the first real shock would take place a few weeks later.

 

Evelyn was totally a lazy when he came to housework, and my dad paid for a Mexican lady come in one morning a week and clean the place up. It was really absurd, because Evelyn didn't work.  The Mexican maid didn't speak English, and none of us spoke Spanish, so it was really odd.  She just walked around as if we weren't there, straightening the place up.  I can’t remember her name.

 

Dad had a large saltwater fish tank in the living room, probably 50 gallons or more. It was his only hobby and he loved his fish.  One day Terri and Billy were playing in the living room and got into a heated shouting match.  Evelyn and I were over at Cheryl's next door having coffee.  We had left the kids with the Mexican maid, who is cleaning up.  The maid ran into Cheryl's kitchen screaming in Spanish.  Evelyn, Cheryl and I went running back into our living room to find the front of dad’s fish tank shattered, his fish flopping all over the floor, and Evelyn's beautiful new shag carpet soaked with 50 gallon’s of saltwater.  One of the kids had thrown an ashtray and struck the tank.

 

For the next two hours we tried to save the fish and the carpet in vain.  Evelyn and Cheryl held an impromptu kangaroo court in which Terri pointed the finger at Billy and accused him of throwing the ashtray at her when she beat him at a board game.  She claimed he missed and struck the tank.  The maid, who didn't understand or speak English, said nothing.

 

When 11-year-old Terri finished speaking, Evelyn, without saying a word, stood up and unbuckled the thin leather belt she had on and quickly slipped it off her blue jeans.  Then, in front of me, Cheryl, the maid, and young Terri, she pulled my brother Billy's pants and underwear down to his ankles.  As Billy protested “Mom, Mom, No” she strapped his bare bottom with her belt in front of myself, the maid, and the two female neighbors.  As mad as I was about dad's fish tank, his fish, and the new carpet, I remember feeling embarrassed for Billy, and feeling that Evelyn rushed to judgment.  It was the first time I felt that my whole new situation in Seattle was really weird, just totally bizarre.  Had I moved from Texas to The Twilight Zone? 

 

To make matters worse, Dad got home late that night after working overtime and was really exhausted.  Things were stressful enough at work, but when he walked into the disaster that was his living room, saw the smashed front of his fish tank, and learned that most of his prized saltwater fish were dead, he went ballistic.  “Where’s Billy” he shouted.  Evelyn told him Billy was in the bathtub, getting ready for bed.  Dad, after retrieving a ping-pong paddle from the rec room in the basement, headed straight for the bathroom.  I thought he would wait for Billy to get out of the tub, but he was so angry, so fuming mad, he burst right in, pulled naked little Billy dripping wet out of the tub, and dragged him into the living room in front of me and Evelyn.  Dad sat down, locked Billy down over his lap, and paddled his butt cheeks hard and fast for at least twenty firm strokes, while all the while Billy sobbed and pleaded “no daddy, no, please no, no more, I didn’t do it, I didn’t do it!” 

 

To make the whole situation even more bizarre, the next afternoon, though it wasn't her day to work, the maid showed up with her cousin who spoke English.  The cousin explained that the maid was upset and hadn’t been able to sleep last night.  Apparently the maid had nearly witnessed the fish tank act, having heard it all transpire as she cleaned in the next room, and she felt sure Billy was innocent.  She believed it was in fact 11-year-old Terri who had heaved the heavy ceramic ashtray, missing Billy and striking the saltwater fish tank, then lied about it all.  She felt so bad after witnessing the pants down belt whipping Evelyn had given him that she couldn’t sleep, and just had to say something to someone who could translate for her.  The kindly, middle-aged Mexican maid looked so upset, I was just glad she hadn’t witnessed the second bare ass hide tanning Daddy had given him.   

 

Evelyn called Cheryl and she came over right away with Terri in tow to hear the maid's cousin recant the story in English.  Under questioning, Terri confessed.  Cheryl was beside herself, and livid with Terri.  The maid and her cousin went home, Billy was sent to his room, and Terri was made to stand in the corner of the kitchen with her hands on top of her head while Cheryl and Evelyn drank coffee, chain smoked their Tareytons and Marlboros, and debated Terri’s fate in right front of her. 

 

“Whatever punishment she gets” I thought, “it still wasn’t going to be fair.”  After all, these ladies weren’t going to give Billy the same privilege of humiliating observation that Terri got the day before.  I fumed as I recalled the lying little bitch giggling at my circumcised brother’s weenie as it danced to the rhythm of Evelyn’s butt strapping.  And that had been nothing to Dad’s fierce, dripping wet, pulled-from-the-tub paddling.  But my anger quickly turned to glee as my exhausted Dad, having taken a few hours of sick leave to get off early, walked in the kitchen door.  “There is a God” I smirked. 

 

Within minutes Cheryl was pulling down Terri’s shorts and panties in front of Evelyn, Dad, and me.  I couldn't have been happier to see the little bitch cry as her Mom bared her smooth girl crack in front of my middle-aged father and his young wife. As the preteen stood there getting stripped from the waist down, Cheryl told Dad the maid’s story and then, it my surprise, offered him the honors.  Without saying a word Dad went to the basement and retrieved his ping-pong paddle, the same one he had used to blister Billy’s bare butt the night before.  For me, it was sweet revenge.  By the time Dad walked back upstairs, paddle in hand, Cheryl had stripped her daughter completely naked.  Terri was in tears.  Dad looked at them both, then pointed to the living room sofa.

 

Cheryl positioned Terri on the sofa on her back, then firmly grabbed her legs and pulled them up to her chest, placing her in the diaper changing position. She held the legs up tight as Dad moved in and paddled Terri’s bottom about ten or fifteen times as she wailed and cried.  Frustrated with her wiggling, Dad finished by pulling the naked girl over his lap and paddling her good another ten times or so.  

 

I was mad at Terri and thought Dad had gone too easy on the cruel little liar.  I wanted her to have more, or just maybe, I was jealous of the attention she had garnered from Dad.  Later that night, as I lay in bed and experienced for the first time glimpses of S&M and B&D thoughts, I remember thinking about watching Dad spank Terri, and I wondered “Had Mom not divorced him, had I grown up with him my Dad, would he have punished me like that?  Would he have stripped me bare in front of he and Mom and paddled me until I cried?”  I fell asleep that night masturbating to thoughts of spying glimpses of my strong, handsome Dad, wet and naked in the shower.