CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Jude
In my dream, I was being judged. I mean literally and figuratively being judged, as in on trial for my alleged crimes with my fate left up to the mercy of the court, a group of people who didn’t know me from Eve.
My alleged crimes…
What a bullshit word my brain had conjured up in a half-hearted attempt to defend my own actions to myself.
Alleged, a word plucked straight from my sophomore criminal law class, no doubt.
Alleged.
There was no more greater bullshit word in the English language, at least when it came to helping criminals like me hide behind the good old Constitution and avoid the law.
Even when they saw you commit a crime—had you on video tape, even—and had you dead to rights, they had to use the word “alleged” so as not to violate the old “innocent until proven guilty” routine.
What a crock of shit.
Alleged.
There was nothing alleged about my crimes.
I’d committed them blatantly and willingly, without ever giving a shit who might get hurt in the process. As long as my rocks got off, that’s all I cared about. I got mine. Fuck yours.
I’d committed every crime of passion with a smile on my face, knowing full well what I was doing, without regard to who would have fun and who would get hurt.
In the dream, I was in a courtroom with a judge, a jury, a gallery filled with spectators, and tables for the lawyers. I was sitting at the defendant’s table with shackles around my wrists and ankles, and a thick, leather, spikey dog collar around my neck. There was a leash made of heavy chain running from a loop at the front of the collar to another loop bolted to the floor. I couldn’t have moved from the chair if I’d tried.
I looked down at myself in horror. I was wearing an ill-fitting orange jumpsuit and pink fuzzy slippers. I started thinking, who dressed me in this getup? Don’t they know I look terrible in orange??
I glanced around the room. Izzy sat sitting quietly beside me, wearing what looked like a black choir robe and a white wig like the ones I’d seen on some movie the one time I tried watching PBS. I tried to ask her what was going on but she shushed me with her hand without looking at me.
I looked past Izzy toward the prosecution table. There sat old Professor Markle, dressed in a similar black choir robe and white wig, though his robe was too big for his skinny frame and his wig was askew to one side. He kept fiddling with the wig, but it kept sliding to the side.
Sitting next to him was Keith Calloway.
Suddenly, I knew why I was on trial. Though I wasn’t quite sure of the specific charges yet, I knew they would be numerable and impossible to argue. I was fucked, but not in the good way.
There was a tall bench at the front of the room where the judge would sit. I swallowed hard as a door behind the bench opened and the judge appeared.
He was tall, with serious blue eyes and a gorgeous face. The judge was not wearing a robe. He was completely naked, all muscles and attitude, with a long cock that swayed from side to side as he moved to sit behind the bench. He took his seat and cast his beautiful eyes toward the courtroom, but avoiding looking directly at me. Holden was the judge. And he did not look amused or happy to see me. He picked up the heavy gavel from the top of the bench and pounded the sound block with it three times.
“This court will come to order,” Holden announced, his voice rich and deep. His voice echoed off the walls in my mind, like he was speaking from deep inside a cave. He turned toward Izzy’s boyfriend, Earl, who was standing at parade rest next to the bench wearing his campus police uniform. “Bailiff, read the charges that have been lodged against this defendant.”
Earl glared at me as if he was already pronouncing me to be guilty. He pointed a stiff finger directly at my face and listed the charges from memory.
“The defendant is charged with severe moral turpitude. Immoral conduct. Sexual promiscuity. A blatant lack of regard for the feelings of others. A total disregard for the repercussions of her actions. For being extremely narcissistic and totally self-centered. For not giving one red fuck about who she hurts by being a horny, skanky bitch. And for displaying a long history of lying to herself and to everyone around her.”
He swung his arm around to direct his finger toward Keith, who was sitting next to Markle with his forehead resting on his arms, softly crying. His wife and two kids sat in the gallery behind him, also crying. I turned around to look behind me. The room was filled with men, women, and children that I didn’t recognize, but somehow knew I had hurt over the years. Even my old therapist was there, the one who fucked me every time I came in for help. Jesus, I hoped they didn’t let that bastard testify…
Earl stiffened his finger in Keith’s direction and bellowed on. “And most of all, your honor, for destroying this good man’s life. A man who had a wife and children and a home and a career of his own before the defendant so viciously and willfully seduced him with the promise of amazing fucking sex. She literally fucked this dude’s ass up, your honor. The motherfucker can’t even hold a job because of what this bitch done to him.”
So, there is was. I was on trial because I had chosen not to control my sexual urges and had thereby destroyed the lives of others without hesitation, regret, or shame. Only Keith sat at the plaintiff’s desk, but I was pretty sure this could turn into a class action case pretty quickly if Holden asked anyone in the gallery I’d hurt to raise their hand.
Earl folded his massive arms over his chest, turned toward Holden, and shook his head. “I’m sure there’s more shit she’s done, your honor, but I can’t remember it all. Do you want me to just take her out back and shoot her now? Maybe the football team could fuck her first? It is homecoming, you know.”
“Not just yet,” Holden said calmly, quietly, looking at me for the first time. “Let’s hear what the cunt has to say before this court passes judgment.”
Earl looked disappointed as he took a step back to stand beside the bench. His big shoulders went up and down. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll just tell the boys to be ready, your honor.”
“Good plan,” Holden said, the gavel bouncing in the palm of his left hand. He stared directly at me with a look of utter disdain on his face. “Well, skanky whore? How do you plead?”
“Can he call me that?” I asked, leaning over to whisper in Izzy’s ear.
“He can if it’s the truth,” Izzy said nonchalantly, still not looking at me. She was leaning back in the chair painting her fingernails blood red.
“How do you plead, you crazy nympho bitch?” Holden asked again. He aimed the gavel my way, closing one eye like he was sighting a pistol. For a moment I thought he was going to throw it at me.
“Um… I plead… not guilty!” I announced, even though I felt guilty as hell and somehow knew there was no point in putting up a defense. There couldn’t be a point. I was drop dead guilty of every charge and everyone in the courtroom knew it. But I lied anyway. I pleaded not guilty. The words tasted like sulfur on my tongue.
Izzy stopped painting her nails and gave me a sideways look “Seriously? Not guilty? You are the guiltiest bitch I know. You’re seriously gonna plead not guilty?”
I frowned at her. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?”
She rolled her eyes. “Bitch, are you guilty or not?”
I thought about the question for a moment as I glanced around the courtroom. Keith’s head was sandwiched between his arms on the plaintiff’s desk. His shoulders bounced up and down as the sobs shuddered through him. Old man Markle had taken off the robe and was sitting naked now, giving me the stink eye as he adjusted his wig with one hand and tugged on his cock with the other. His cock was no longer small and withered. It was huge and dark and veiny, like a foot-long sausage about to pop from its casing. For a moment, I thought I saw it smile at me. Markle grinned and licked his lips as he stared back at me.
It wasn’t just Markle staring at me. I could feel the heat of every eye on me now, burning my skin, making me sweat. I gave Izzy a pleading look, but it was no use. Even my best friend had already judged me guilty. She blew on her wet nails and called me a skanky bitch. I slumped back in the chair and let my body go limp.
Holden rolled his eyes at me for a moment, then waved the gavel at Earl, who was now seated in front of the bench and typing on a court reporter machine. Holden said, “Fine, whatever, let the record show that the defendant is also a fucking liar and has pled not guilty to all charges.” He waved a hand toward Izzy. “Counselor? You may call your first witness.”
Izzy got to her feet and spread out her hands. “I got nothing, your honor. Like you said, the defendant is a fucking liar who refuses to accept responsibility for her actions.” She pointed a red nail toward the plaintiff’s table. “In fact, I’d like to sit over there for the rest of the trial. I don’t want to get none of her skank on my clean robe.”
“Motion granted,” Holden said, gaveling striking the sound block loud enough to make me jump. “You may move away from the guilty bitch.”
“You’re on your own, skank,” Izzy growled. She moved to sit on the other side of Keith at the plaintiff’s table. She put a hand on Keith’s back and started rubbing circles in an attempt to soothe him.
“Iz? Izzy? Don’t you fucking abandon me, too!” I was screaming but she ignored me. I could barely see because my eyes were overflowing with tears. I turned to face Holden. “Holden, please, you know me. You know deep down I’m a good person. You know that. You’ve told me that.”
“I told you what you wanted to hear so you’d let me fuck you in the ass,” Holden said with a bored sigh. He turned toward Markle, who was still staring at me, beating his meat beneath the table. “Mr. Markle, first of all, let me apologize for the suffering this defendant has personally caused you.”
“No… problem… your honor…” Markle said, the words coming out on gusts of air. “I’ll… be fine… in a… minute…”
“Uh, Mr. Markle, could you could stop doing that for a moment.” Markle’s hand did not slow or stop. He grunted a few times, but no words came out. Holden shook his head and blew out his cheeks. “Fine. Okay. Just try not to make too big of a mess. You may call your first witness.”
Markle’s hand didn’t stop when he stood up to address the court. In fact, his cock had grown even larger, to comic proportions, like some weird porno special effect. Using two hands to pump himself now, he said, “Your honor… there’s no need to… prolong the inevitable... Miss Allen is guilty as fuck… and we all know it.” He turned toward the jury and arched his bushy eyebrows. “Right, peeps?” Every head nodded as Markle turned back to face Holden. His cock had grown so big that he had rested it on the table and stood flexing his crooked, old fingers. “So, let’s cut the shit, your honor and put this bitch away. And I’m going to need a little help getting this home. Unless you would allow me to shove it up this guilty bitch’s twat before you pass sentence.”
“Just hold your horses for a moment, Mr. Markle,” Holden said, hands patting the air. He directed the gavel at me again and told me to stand the fuck up. I slowly pushed myself up from the table. I realized that the orange jumpsuit and pink fuzzy slippers were gone.
I was still in chains, but totally naked now. I was smeared in what looked and smelled like… shit. I held up my hands. They were covered in… I took a whiff… fuck… it was shit… I was covered in shit from head to toe…
My head suddenly felt cold. I brought up my fingertips up to find that my long hair had been shaved down to stubble. I rubbed my shitty hands over my scalp and started to cry.
Holden glared at me with hatred in his eyes. “Judith Rebecca Allen, also known as ‘Jude’, also known as ‘skanky bitch’, also known as ‘fucking slut’, also known as ‘class whore’, also known as ‘the fuck machine’, you are hereby found guilty of being a self-centered cunt who does whatever feels good without worrying about who you might be hurt along the way.”
“That’s not true,” I said. “Holden, please…”
“You are also found guilty of trying to blame your uncontrolled urges on an outdated psychological concept as a way of reconciling your actions.” He shook his head and scoffed. “Nymphomania, what a load of shit.”
“But, I have been diagnosed.” I turned to the therapist who first diagnosed and fucked me when I was just a teenager. He was sitting in the first row with his arm around Keith’s wife. Her hand was rubbing his knee. She had stopped crying and was grinning at me.
I pointed at him and raised my voice. “Ask him! He is the one who said I was a nymphomaniac! Ask him!”
The therapist held up his hands and shook his head. “I totally agree with the court, your honor. She fucked up my life, too.”
“Let the record show that another victim has come forward,” Holden said, nodding at Earl, who grunted and kept on typing. Holden directed his judgmental gaze back to me. It broke my heart to see such anger in his eyes.
He asked, “Do you have any last words before this court passes judgment?”
I looked all around the room. Everyone in the gallery was staring at me. Keith’s wife and children were looking at me with such hatred that I felt the heat of their eyes on my cheeks. Markle’s hands had fallen still, though his cock remained laid out on the table like a beached walrus.
Keith had lifted his head from the table and was starting at me through tearful eyes. Izzy had moved to sit on Earl’s lap at the reporter’s station. Her robe was off now. Earl was massaging her brown tits as he glared at me with the eyes of an angry pit bull looking for something to attack.
I looked toward Holden, hoping to find a friendly face, or at least a sympathetic one. There was no was sympathy to be had. He was leaning back with his arms crossed over his thick chest, slowly shaking his head.
I said, “I guess all I can say is… I’m sorry…”
“That’s it?” Holden asked, snorting a laugh. “You’re sorry.”
“The bitch is sorry,” Izzy said, huffing. “Amazing.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it, your honor!” Markle said, his voice cracking. He gestured at the giant cock on the table, comically attached to his skinny body. “Look what you did to me. Look what you left me with. Sorry… fuck your apology… and fuck you!”
“She’s sorry…” Keith muttered, glancing back at his wife and kids. “After everything she did… after destroying our lives… all she can say is she’s fucking sorry. Can you believe that, kids? The cunt who fucked up all our lives is sorry.”
Keith’s son, who looked to be about five or six, slid off his mom’s lap and toddled toward me. He held up his stubby middle fingers and growled at me. “Fuck you’re sorry,” he said in an adorable little voice. “And fuck you for fucking my daddy!” He turned and ran back to his mother and buried his adorable little face between her breasts.
“What shall be sufficient punishment for this guilty bitch?” Holden asked, getting to his feet and spreading out his hands. He looked toward Keith’s wife. “What say you, Mrs. Calloway?”
Keith’s wife and kids stood up and faced me. With the kids clutched to her sides, she calmly said, “Death, your honor. Death to the skanky bitch!”
I snorted. “You can’t be serious.”
The gallery got to its feet and started to chant in unison. “Death! Death! Death! Death!”
Izzy and Earl started clapping like they were in church and singing together. “Death! Death! Death!”
I was horrified. I wrapped my arms around myself and looked back to Holden. “Please, Holden… please…”
He just shrugged with his eyes and held up his hands. “Hey, the people have spoken. Death to the bitch. My hands are tied.”
“But, Holden, I…”
“Oh, one other thing,” Holden said, leaning over the bench to finally offer me a smile. “You know that song, Hey Jude?”
I swallowed hard, blinked at him. “Yes.”
“I hate that fucking song.” With that he slammed the gavel down hard on the sound block, making the floor beneath my feet open up. I fell into a fiery hole to forever burn in my own sins.
Wow. What a lousy fucking dream.