Thursday, June 21, 2012

Peoples Temple memoir excerpt (2 of 3): Sex with Jim Jones.


Late at night on a bus trip, the author was seduced by Jim Jones (pp. 72-73):

“You skin looks so smooth,” he blew his words into my ear.

Night floated down upon us, the worn and tired travelers fell silent, drifting off into sleep.  Now, as he leaned down, I smelled something foreign on Father’s warm breath – alcohol!  How terribly strange.  It couldn’t be.  Father had taught us that it was bad to drink.  It was capitalistic.  As socialists, we always had to have our wits about us.  His arm brushed my breast as he sank into the cushioned seat next to me.

“I wanted you today, when you came to the podium.”

My stomach began to swirl and churn.  Father released the seat lock and reclined his chair into the row behind us.  He wanted to see if his son Stephan, who was seated behind us with his girlfriend, was already asleep...  Having made sure no one was observing him, Father brought his seat back to the same level as mine.  My head began to throb as he touched my leg, my thigh.  Unable to think, afraid to breathe, I sat very still.  Father’s unsaintly hand began to massage my thigh.

A shudder worked its way up from deep within me while Father’s hand kneaded my flesh.  My mentor’s fingers inched inward.  What was he doing?  I didn’t want this...

As Father’s hands continued his bidding, the shame of his touch uprooted my very foundation.  I was not sure which one of us I hated more.  Perhaps I was being tested.  Yes!  Yes, perhaps this was only a test.  Pushing the metal button on the top of my jeans, Father’s hand then rubbed my stomach softly...

. . .

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