I have nothing to say about this story, which appeared in Issue 45 (March 1995), except it's one of the strangest I ever received. One day I'll have to play around on Google and see if I can unearth any copies from the early 50s of True Detective, which I remember seeing on newsstands when I was very young but never read. Or maybe some of you out there can do that for me.
KIDNAPPED IN UTAH
MINNEAPOLIS, MN. If you read True Detective magazine, you know of my six months of captivity (in the early 50’s).
I was 15 years old in Provo, Utah. My dad owned a used car lot and in the summer I had to wash the cars every day so they shined like new.
Dad sold a car to a guy I’ll call Herb. It was a lemon and Herb wanted his money back. Dad wouldn’t budge.
One hot morning I was washing the cars in my swim suit. I was a chubby kid, blond with a cute face.
Herb drove up and asked where Dad was (he was out trying to sell a car). Herb pulled out a pistol and ordered me to get into the car. He drove to the edge of town—poured some ether on his bandanna and held it over my nose and mouth.
When I awoke, we were in a motel. I was handcuffed to a metal cot, my feet chained to the end of the bed. The bottom half of my face was wrapped in 3 inch wide adhesive tape.
When he saw I was awake, Herb cut my swimsuit off with his jack-knife and shaved my pale crotch hair and armpit fuzz. Later he dyed my blond hair black.
He turned me over and rubbed Vaseline on my asshole and said “Your old man screwed me good, and now I’m going to screw you.” He raped me and I bled. He didn’t care.
When I woke the next morning, Herb had peroxided his hair a straw color…he began growing a beard.
We moved almost every week. I was usually drugged before the move. In Southern Utah, he found a job and dressed me up in a girl’s dress and makeup and would let me walk with him at night. During the day, while he was at work I was chained to the bed and wore a gas mask he’d picked up at an army/navy store.
I was never allowed to speak when I was ungagged for food (I lost 50 pounds) and a huge diaper made from a sheet was pinned on me when he was at work.
At night he’d get drunk and fuck me, calling me a girl’s name, kissing me and shaving my body weekly.
In January we moved on again, another flea bag motel. One night Herb put me in a skirt and sweater with falsies, made me up and walked me. A snoopy old lady saw us and asked about “his daughter,” if we’d like to go to church with her. He said I was shy.
The next day she came prying. I yelled for help, but the gas mask was too effective.
She reported me to the school authorities, and the next day a truant officer came to see why I wasn’t attending.
I was yelling. They couldn’t hear me, but they managed to get the door open. You can imagine their faces when they saw a now 16-year-old naked boy dressed in silk panties with six months length of hair on his head, a stuffed bra and chained to a bed.
I told them who I was. My dad was notified and the police arrested Herb. True Detective said nothing about me being sexually abused, just the gas mask and chains.
Dad didn’t believe in shrinks. When I tried to tell him of the rape and nightly fuckings, he said it was best to forget them.
My friends at school treated me weirdly and I considered suicide. Mr. Paxton, my senior high social teacher (in his fifties, grey haired, mustached, tall, handsome, had been a prisoner of war—in the Pacific) found me crying during toilet check crying in the lav.
Mr. Paxton calmed me down and asked me to come to his house Sunday for dinner.
Before dinner, I told him the full story. Garth told me that when he was a prisoner of the Japanese, he’d been starved, in chains, often shitting in his underwear (his only clothing). He had wanted to survive at any cost and when some Japanese officers wanted sex, he came on to them. He moved into another compound, was shaven, powdered, lipsticked and fucked by as many as 10 men a day. One captor wanted to cut his testicles off, but didn’t. Garth survived with VD, came home, tried marriage but it failed because he felt guilty about having enjoyed sex with men.
Some nights at home he said he put on a silk robe and makeup and fucked himself with a carrot, candle or cucumber. He was crying now and I held him, telling him that I felt maybe I loved what my kidnapper did to me and felt guilty about enjoying it too.
When I left, Garth kissed me. I told him I wanted to have sex with him and he said to think about it.
For a month we saw each other at school and finally one Sunday, Garth was waiting for me dressed in a geisha robe, white face powder and lipstick. He handed me a set of handcuffs. I put them on him and removed the silk sash from his waist and tied it between his teeth. I learned what it was like to be on top and Garth and I had a closeness that no one was ever to take from us.
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