Saved by an old biker

I was 22 years young and in a horribly abusive relationship. He was a worthless, non-working, drug addicted alcoholic. Oh yes, I knew how to pick 'em. I can not even begin to tell you the things this puke did. He always said he would rather see me dead that with another man. I knew I had to escape to survive.

I went to work and never came home. I got out with one change of clothes, my make-up, and my purse. Puke, of course, gave all of my belongings away. I moved in with my friend Carolyn that I worked with at the bar. Puke started stalking me. The bouncers protected me at work. They were off duty police officers and when Puke was around, would even give me a ride home. I awoke one morning with Puke sleeping next to me in my bed. The freak broke into Carolyn's house through a window. It was time to move again.

I didn't have anywhere to go. I didn't want to expose anyone else to Puke slithering around their homes or families.

I had another friend I worked with, Theresa. Not really an exceptional person, but she had a bad ass boyfriend. A few months prior, Puke and I met Mark, via Theresa, after the bar closed and was invited to his motorcycle gang's clubhouse to party. Mark despised him and told me Puke was never welcome at the clubhouse again. Mark was exceptional.

Mark and Theresa invited me to move in with them. We lived on the outskirts of town in an old rental house on 240 acres. Mark protectively stated, "Let the son-of-a-bitch come out here. I'll shoot him, bury him out in the north forty, and no one will ever know". He was serious. Puke knew this. Puke never bothered me again.

Mark was crazy. He would tell you, "I'm crazy. I have papers to prove it. Ya want to see 'em?" He was on permanent disability. He was a little paranoid and had a gun by every window. He adored his animals. He had a pitbull names Toes, and a basset hound named Sammy Dog. Toes was breeding stock and before breeding, Mark would always say, "Toes won't fuck unless I read him Penthouse Forum", and he would. Sammy Dog could talk. He would only do it if you had food. "Sammy, say hello". "Herro. Herro". You had better give him his snack.

Mark was probably around 45. I never knew his last name. I went out of my way to avoid learning too much for fear of being questioned by the police. He taught me how to take care of myself, how to shoot, how to change a tire, and freed me. I had many adventures living there. He may have been a bit of an outlaw, but he was an angel to me.

I often wonder how old Mark is doin'. Bless you baby, where ever you are.