Ordeal by Linda Lovelace Read Free Book Online Page A

got himself dressed and got himself out the front door. I counted to ten, then followed him. As I opened the door, I heard a small noise behind me. A hand on my shoulder. Chuck hadn’t left. He had been standing there in the hallway the whole time.
    “Going out?” he said. “Going out for a little walk?”
    “ Chuck! ” That was a small scream. “I was just going out to look for you.”
    “Well, cunt, you found me.”
    He grabbed my arm and yanked me back into the living room. Then he started punching my body over and over again until I collapsed on the floor. It was hurting so much that I couldn’t cry. That’s when he went into the kitchen to get a butcher knife.
    “You know something, cunt? I’ve decided not to waste a bullet on you. I’ve decided to cut up your fucking face instead. If you get out of line just one more time—one more time—I’m going to fuck up your face so bad that no one’ll ever look at you again.”
    “Don’t do that, Chuck.”
    “Oh, tell me why the fuck not,” he said, mocking me. “You’re useless. You’re no fucking good. No fucking good! You can’t even fuck good. You’re so ugly that all my customers will want their money back. You got scars all over your belly, your tits are pancakes, you’re no fucking good at all. I’d be doing the world a favor, just putting you out of your fucking misery.”
    “Please, please, Chuck.”
    From this point on, not a day went by that I didn’t hear more of that. Every day I either got raped, beaten, kicked, punched, smacked, choked, degraded, or yelled at. Sometimes, I got all of the above. Strangely enough, what bothered me most was the endless verbal abuse. He never let up: I was so dumb; I was so ugly; I was so fat; I was so thin; I was so flat-chested, and I was so lucky to have him taking care of me. The constant yelling took everything out of me.
    To buy a share of my nightmare the tricks paid from $25.00 to $150.00—depending. Depending on what the customer requested, depending on whether he was a regular or not, depending on Chuck’s mood. I had as much to do with the money as a teller at a bank; I got it from one man and passed it along to another man. That was the end of my contact with any money. These financial transactions would occur three times on an average day.
    Before long, as his business grew, Chuck was able to add to his staff. The first arrival was a young girl named Moonshine. Moonshine was strictly a volunteer. She had been making love with a married man who had been paying her rent. A second boyfriend started taking care of her telephone bill. There was someone else to pay the electric bill and a fourth man who gave her a rented car to use. Before long, Moonshine had many steady visitors and no bills to pay. She came to Chuck with the idea of expanding her horizons and perhaps even getting some take-home pay. There was nothing Moonshine wouldn’t do to further her career.
    At any rate, Moonshine was there to share the work load. Then came Debbie. And Melody. Now you might think that this would take some of the pressure off me. But there was more to it than that. You see, Chuck had his own system of distributing the tricks. If a customer was handsome or clean-cut or just young, Chuck would send him off with one of the other working girls. But if he was an eighty-year-old man on crutches, or a 350-pound mama’s boy, or a customer asking whether we supplied whips, then he’d turn to me: “This one’s for you, Linda.”
    There are so many things about Chuck Traynor that I’ll never understand. He would fix me up with creeps and degenerates; he would watch them rape me through a hole in the mirror; but he would bristle with jealousy if a young or good-looking man paid any attention to me.
    “You know something,” I told him once. “You’re jealous.”
    “Bullshit!”
    “No, I mean it. You are jealous. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you had some normal human feelings.”
    “Better not count