Randy's Slutty TrailerTrash Wife Ch. 10

children!"

But it was bad. It was real bad. She was very stiff with me. I could see she was hostile. She barely looked at me and when she did, she was squinting her eyes and stabbing them into me with so much anger. I didn't understand

how someone I never met could take such an instant disliking to me.

She started off by explaining that my children were safe and were going to stay that way. She explained there would be a hearing and gave me the date. Every time I asked when I could see them, when I could be with them, she just went on about their procedures and about how I could not see them. I insisted again, I wanted to see

them and what did I do to deserve this.

And then she rose from her seat and burst.

"Mrs. Jackson! How, how can you ask me that? You are going to pretend you do NOT KNOW? Let me tell you something, you filthy cow, I am going to recommend to the judge that you NEVER see them again. I am going to recommend to the judge that your parental rights be terminated, permanently. You are an unfit mother. You are - my God - you are beyond redemption. I don't believe there is any program, any amount of counseling or reform that could could br-bring you back those precious babies.

"What you expose them to, what you allowed your home to become! As we speak, the Jefferson County sheriff's office is preparing charges of prostitution against you. Three counts of prostitution."

"And I'm sure that's just the tip of the surface. You sick bitch! Fucked-up person. Get out of here! Get out of my office!"

I was shattered. I couldn't see, the tears blurred my eyes. I got up and walked on rubbery legs as quickly as I could out of her office out of that building, away from the avenging eyes of my God's righteous soldier, away from the hand of my executioner.

I sat in my car and cried.

****

Two days later, I received a phone call from the sheriff's office. The warrant had been issued and I was being asked to come in to be booked. How civil of them. I got my sister to give me a ride. Got photographed and fingerprinted and arraigned. I sat in county jail for three days, making no attempt to post bond or to call anyone.

On the morning of the fourth day, they let me out on my own recognizance. Apparently, they needed the space I occupied for someone else, or something.

When I got out, I went home and looked at the damage. I hadn't cleaned up since my screaming jag with Randy. I decided I didn't want to be there. My sister wouldn't take me in, but I had an aunt living on the coast who would. I was packing my things after she said she'd welcome me when my father drove up.

I knew he knew about the prostitution charges. My sister had warned me. He marched up the stairs, across the deck, burst through the door and into the bedroom and without a word or a stutter in his step and mowed me down.

He shoved me against the dresser, slapped me across the face so hard my ears rang and then he grabbed my hair and threw me to the ground and started kicking me in the ribs and legs. All I heard was, "Whore? Whore? Whore?" in a whiny question-marked style rising pitch.

And then it was over. That quick. I heard him panting. And then he walked away slowly, almost dragging himself out.

I remember saying, "I'm sorry, daddy I'm sorry." I had trouble breathing. He had broken a rib.

Packing took longer than I expected. But I got myself together sort of. And drove to my aunt's. And there I stayed until the date of the hearing.

It was a preliminary hearing. The CPS agent was true to her word. The judge agreed to keep my children in state custody for the time being, but he did talk to me directly. I couldn't get a read on him, but he didn't cut me off or make ugly faces when I begged to have my children back and promised to do anything I had to to be with them.

Then it was over and more waiting. And more depression.

****

But thank Satan for the wickedness in men's hearts. There was hope for me yet.

The Child Protective Services office, it turned out, depends on the District Attorneys office to prosecute unfit mothers. The assistant D.A. at the first hearing was a woman. But for some reason, the case was transferred to another assistant D.A. This one was a man and he gave me a phone call, which as I suspected was unusual.

He introduced himself over the phone and asked me to come to his office. So I did.

When I got to his office, I didn't recognize him. He asked me if I remembered him. I said he looked familiar, which he did. It turned out he was in my American History class in the 10th grade. And that did refresh my memory.

"You sat in the seat to my right," I said.

"You DO remember," he said, a smile spreading.

"And as I recall, you'uhm, liked checking out my ass," I said.

He let out a small laugh and admitted he had a crush on me for awhile. I looked at him with renewed hope and said, "You can get my children back to me, can't you? I'll do anything you ask, anything."

And with that (I was modestly dressed, wearing a long, loose-fit dress with a camisole and low-heeled pumps with pantyhose) I reached between my legs and pulled the dress up high, offering him a look at the crotch of my pantyhose.

But he shook his head.

"Terry, thanks for the offer, but it really isn't that simple. There are very serious charges against you. Charges of aggravated prostitution. You have the unfortunate luck of revenge working against you. Someone, I am not at liberty to say who, hired a competent private investigor.

"There is admissable evidence and eye-witness testimony that can convince a judge you operated prostitution activities inside your home. That you ran, basically a brothel, in the house where your children were living."

"No!" I shouted. "Not when they were there. I'll admit to the whoring but I never, never did nothing bad in front of my children. I always would keep them away when any of that was going on."

"We have witnesses to the contrary, Terry. And who do you think the judge is going to believe. You or them?"

"JoAnne," I muttered under my breath. I teared up and apologized for yelling.

"I don't wanna lose my children. Please! I'll do anything. What can I do?"

I pulled down my dress and pressed my knees together. I got off the chair and knelt in front of him. I kept thinking, he's still a man. He still wanted me once.

"I can't get your kids back, Terry. You'll never get your kids back. But there are some things I can do. What CPS is recommending, and what the judge will agree to IF we, if I advocate the hardline position of CPS is this: terminate your parental rights and put the children up for adoption with couples that will never have

any contact with you.

"Please get back in your chair, Terry. God. What happened to you that you've come to this?"

He shamed me with that and I returned to my seat.

"There is an alternative, a position I believe I can get the judge to agree to that would be easier on you. I can recommend your parents be appointed guardians and that you be allowed visitation. But, again, you'll likely never get custody. But you'll only have limited, supervised visitation, and then only if you do a lot of things right."

I let a silence pass between us. Absorbing the idea that getting custody was not even on the table, ever, was hard.

"What do I have to do?" I asked.

"First, don't fight the prostitution charges. The evidence on you is overwhelming. If you put the state through the expense of a trial, you will get convicted and you'll get a hard sentence, at least 18 months in a state

jail. Second, you have to leave your husband."

"I already did. I've left him," I said.

"Good. And you can never engage in prostitution again. No more!" he said.

"I won't," I promised, my head shaking no in repetant conviction.

"You'll have to go through drug-screening every month. YOu'll have to get into parental classes and counseling. And you cannot afford to get into any more trouble with the law."

"I'll do everything, I swear," I said.

Then he bit his lip and said, "There's a couple of unorthodox tasks, things I'm not really supposed to make a condition, but ... uhm."

There was this pregnant pause, he waved his hands over his desk like some magician trying to conjure a rabbit up out of the paper debris pile he had there.

"You know a Miss Ruby Trenton?" he asked.

"Barely. Um. I saw her a few weeks back, but I hadn't seen her before that in years and I haven't seen her since," I said truthfully.

"Her parents, they go to your church. They know you, know of you, your situation," he said.

"I don't get it. What's this to do with me? With my getting ... seeing my children?" I asked.

"They haven't seen their daughter in two years, Terry. But in your, our file on you, I see you had this contact with her under, well it lends credence to their accusations," he said.

"Their accusations! Hey, I didn't ... what are we talking about!"

"Mr. Trenton, and his wife, they believe that you had undo influence on their daughter, that you still have influence over her, that you were possibly her mentor in the life she is leading." he said.

"Fuckin' hell! Excuse me, but I, okay just because I used to be her babysitter - I'm sure they told you that." I said.

"They did," he said.

"I was just an innocent girl in those days, I swear on a stack of bibles. Looky here, I didn't have anything at all whatsoever to do with how she turned out and we never was together with men but that one time. That ONE TIME!" I insisted.

He took my words in and pulled on his chin, but then he shook his head.

"Terry, I don't believe you. I'm sorry. I don't. It just don't add up. This is my condition. YOu go see Miss Ruby. You get her to see her parents. You get her out of that life. If you can't do that, I ain't helpin ya." he said.

I felt doomed. I didn't even know where she lived. And she was obviously happy doing what she was doing. How could I convince her to change. Even now, with all the shit I was neck-deep in, I didn't want to stop fucking around. I could give up prostitution, but I couldn't very well give up men.

"Why do you care about her, about them? Why does that have to affect me?" I asked.

"Mr. Trenton is family. He is my uncle on my mother's side. Ruby is my cousin. I was asked to intervene, if there was anything I could do," he said.

I nodded and felt and cold shudder of bloodlines entangling me in adventures I would have preferred not to have.

"Is there any thing else," I said with a note of sarcasm.

"Why yes, there is," he said.

And with that, he stood up, walked to his office door and locked the handle, walked back to stand in front of me and and unzipped his pants.

"I thought you wasn't interested," I said.

"Business before pleasure, Terry. Now git yer cocksucking mouth doing what it does best."

I took his cock, semi-hard but stiffening quick, in my right hand. I reached in my purse and got a small bottle of hand lemon-scented lotion and worked a glop of it into his cock skin with both hands. I wanted to show him special attention.

I pulled up my dress again and let it lay high enough that most of my thighs were exposed. I reached behind me unzipped the back of my dress, pulling it down off my shoulders until the whole fabric of my dressed was bunched in a pile around my waist and tummy. I undid my bra while he held his lotioned cock in his hand.

Then I resumed holding his cock and kissed it over and over. He told me about how he used to dream of me doing this for him in high school and how he wished he had me sucking his cock when I was in the full flower of my youth.

I lied and told him I wanted to suck his cock then, but I was shy in those days.

"Maybe if you had asked," I said, "you would have gotten lucky."

Then I swallowed the full length of his shaft and worked it in my mouth until his self-righteous jizz went jet-skiing down my throat.

******

That evening, I caught up with Sam and asked him where I could find Ruby.

"I sent her to N'awlins," Sam said.

"New Orleans? What she doin' there?" I asked.

"I got me a contractor. He and his boys from outta Houston, they rebuilding some shoppin center down there. He axed me tuh send him some companionship," he said.

"Great fuckin crap," I said.

The directions he gave me weren't very good, but be that as it may, I had to get moving. And off to New Orleans I went.