Amanda's Tale

Inspired by Frieda's poem "No Means No" and a quick story I left in the comments about a woman I dated a skinny two years ago. This is how I remember the night we met as best as I can recollect it.

I met Amanda in a dark, smokey bar just off the beach road called "The Hurricane." She was dressed in a short black skirt with a red sleeveless top, black spiky heels and black stockings. She had long, brown hair tumbling everywhere over her boney little shoulders with a long, pointy face and slight frame. She was sitting up at the bar being quite animated so I just sat down next to her and said:
 "Howdy. My name's Mark. Nice night isn't it."
 She smiled, stuck her pointy little hand out and said
"Hi Mark, I'm Amanda."
We chatted for a few minutes then I suggested we shoot some pool so we started a game. By this time I'd noticed Amanda was knocking back quite a bit of alcohol and was becoming increasingly flirtatious in her manner.
"Oh I just love your accent." she cooed. "Where you from?"
 "Well I'm from a lil ol town in South Carolina." I replied, making sure my drawl was set to Toby Kieth smooth and not Larry the cable guy.
"You were in the Marines?" she said "WOW! So you're a real war hero. That's sexy."
 "Well I don't know about all that war hero talk but I did my job under some trying circumstances." I modestly replied.
 Amanda stood there swaying on her pool que looking at me. Her eyes glazed over with Vodka and wonder. As much fun as I was having with her a few things concerned me. What was she doing in a bar alone as it is unusual to find women alone in social venues and she was plastered. I knew this was a slippery situation that could go very wrong but I'll admit it, I'm a man, I was hungry for love and Amanda looked delicious so I ran with it. One flirty conversation lead to another which lead to my hand on the small of her back to both hands on her thighs to kissing to making out in the parking lot to her place.

As I followed her in my truck my brain was warning me that this young lady was drunk and this wasn't the best of ideas but my dick was talking louder so naturally I sided with it. It took about ten minutes to get to her place. More than enough time for a woman to cool off and she had. She let me in and said
"Sit down and relax Mark. Would you like a drink? Vodka and cranberry?"
 "That sounds like a fine idea." I replied.
 She stumbled off to the kitchen to make the drinks leaving me on the couch scheming how to get her all heated up again. She came back with the drinks, set them on the coffee table and sat down on the couch next to me a good three feet away. She was going to make me work for this. I started a conversation about my time in California at camp Pendleton while easing closer to Amanda as I playfully touched her. I knew it was time to move on her but no sooner than I did she panicked. I don't mean "Slow this rodeo down cowboy" stalling, I mean stark fear panic. I backed off, stood up and looked down at her all balled up on the couch trembling like I was going to jab a hot poker in her eye. This wasn't the first time I'd picked up a girl for a one night stand but it sure as hell was turning into the weirdest. I was getting aggravated with her mixed signals so I said:
"Lil darlin I'm confused. Back at the bar you gave every indication you wanted to get busy with me now your acting like I'm some kind of monster. What is up with you?"
 She calmed down and after knocking back her drink (and most of mine) she told me her story. When she was a teenager Amanda had been abducted, raped, savagely beaten and left for dead. She spent a week in the hospital and It took her over a year to fully recover from her injuries. No one was ever charged with the crime. I must have looked like some kind of Venus fly trap with my mouth hanging open in shocked disbelief. I didn't know if it was the story or the fact that she told me was so shocking but either way, I was flabbergasted. A stranger I had met two hours earlier had just told me the most intimate and horrible story of her life. What in the hell was I supposed to say? I'm sorry seemed a pathetic response so I didn't say anything. Instead I took her hand and gently stroked the top of it. She started gently crying and in that moment I knew I was on the spot. What should I do? Make some kind of decent gesture for her though I had no clue what or leave and save myself a lot of aggravation from a woman I clearly wasn't going to f**k that night. After I sat with her for awhile I said
"Well, I guess I should get goin."
Amanda, still weepy squeezed my hand and said
"Please don't go. Stay with me."
Okay so more confusion. No way am I going to make another move on her so I guess we try and sleep? We went into her bedroom, laid down on her bed with all our cloths on, I gently held her close to me and she promptly passed out. I managed to doze off some but was soon wide awake and itchy to get out of there so I woke her up and said:
"I really do have to get going."
 She took my hands in hers and said
"Thank you Mark. Please say you'll call me."
"I promise darlin" I said. I kissed her on the forehead and left.

The next day found me staring at the save/delete icon on my phone pondering what to do so I called her.
"Mark!" She cried. "Oh you called. Lets get a drink. I'll buy."
I kind of didn't want to go but somewhere between her horror story and my own memories of Iraq we had bonded the way souls scorched by hell's fires do so we were involved for the next few months. I have to admit she could be a lot of fun. Once she trusted her safety with me she was a regular nymphomaniac. I definitely enjoyed that but unfortunately she was a full blown alcoholic too so after a few months and a dozen and one hang overs I called it quits. She was upset but not as much as one would think. She went through guys like gasoline. She was used to the drama of the breakup.

I think about Amanda sometimes and wonder how she's doing but at the same time I don't want to know. As much as I tried to be sympathetic and patient with her she wore me down. The drinking, the drama, the need for control, the volatile moods. All from a slightly anorexic, thin hipped, horribly damaged woman who one fateful day was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It seemed so horribly unfair to her and to everyone that came and went through the drunken haze that was her life and yes I felt sorry for her but there wasn't a goddamn thing I could do. I know from bitter experience Monsters from one's past that huge don't go away. They eat everyone they catch. Rape is a hideous crime that never stops hurting its victim.

Author's Note

Well, That's Amanda

Reviews

[quinfinn]

it seems we all meet, from time to time, those deeply damaged people in our lives, and they seem to touch us profoundly. hell, i seem to be a magnet to these types. this story was very engaging, quite easily believable and nicely written. believe me, i am no stranger to the type of situation you described herein and your story was very resonant with my own experiences. this was brilliantly penned, ricochet. truly a masterful write.

[Baby Ricochet]

Thank you Quinfinn.

[quinfinn]

great story, bro