Array Seka - Inside Seka

When he came in that day, I looked at my watch and nonchalantly said, “You’re late; come on in.” He looked like he was going to cry because he didn’t get the same shocked reaction from me. He never came back again.

Occasionally, women came in with their husbands or partners, but most seemed pretty timid. On the day the films changed, there were fifteen or twenty people in the back cruising each other and I’d say, “Okay boys, down with the quarters and up with the pants.” I knew what was going on, but I wasn’t in the mood to get that close to it for fear of being pulled into it. Gang rape was not on my bucket list.

In the beginning it seemed surreal to me, like a Salvador Dali painting. There was an older guy who cleaned the place up. Part of his job was to mop up the cum in the booths, which was where most of the action — solo or otherwise — was going on. It was the seventies, a liberal time, and I didn’t care what anyone else did as long as it didn’t involve me against my wishes.

Some of the customers did hit on me, but all in all they were respectful. Feeling burned by my marriage, the last thing on my mind was dating one of those guys or being intimate with anyone. I just wanted to keep to myself and get a paycheck.

Meanwhile, Frank and I continued to argue over my job for a couple of weeks. We had been married maybe eight or nine months and I was already looking for a place of my own. I found a little farm house outside of town in the country. It was away from everyone and I liked it, especially the garden. The owner said the rent was around $250 a month for three bedrooms and one bath. At eighteen, it seemed like a mansion to me, but it was just a little old farmhouse and nothing more.

I knew I had one foot out the door, although Frank was clueless and in denial. Since the massage parlor incident, I’d totally withdrawn from him and he hardly even noticed. I suppose he expected we’d just go on like that forever, which might have been fine with him, but not with me. I didn’t love him anymore and I didn’t believe he loved me in the way I felt I deserved to be loved. We had yet another argument over my job. I finally had enough and told him about the place I found and that I was going to move out. We were in the kitchen standing next to the refrigerator and there was a long window. The fight grew more heated and he grabbed me by my arms and was shaking me pretty good. My back hit the window and it shattered. That scared the shit out of me. I guess it jolted him, too, because he immediately released me.

“I’m done. I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

He just turned and walked away. I don’t think he realized how upset I was. The look on his face told me he felt bad it had come down to him getting physical.

I left the next day while he was at work. I felt sad on so many levels. Even though I was the one doing the leaving, it brought back all the feelings I’d held inside me when I was abandoned at age eight.

I went to the landlord of the new house and told him I needed to move in earlier and why. He understood and accommodated me. Unhappy as I was, it seemed kind of fresh because I was doing it on my own. It was a new beginning.

My dad came by the first two weeks to help me paint. He was a professional house painter. I hadn’t seen him since the wedding about a year before. The whole marriage was only about a year and a half from the time I said “I do” to the time the divorce papers were finalized.

I was very excited to see my dad, as we had always gotten along very well. I had no resentment at all towards him, even though he wasn’t really in my life. I was still the baby in the family and Daddy’s little girl. He really didn’t say anything to me about the marriage. He didn’t ask me any questions. More than anything, he just wanted me to be happy.

I told Dad what I was doing. I even told him about the flasher, which he thought was hilarious. But I didn’t tell him about the massage parlor job because I thought it would hurt him. It would have bothered him that his baby was in that environment, touching people. The bookstore was more sterile — no touching allowed. The only concern he ever had with my job was working night shifts. “I know how those soldiers are,” he said. But I was working the day shift, so he was appeased.

In addition to painting, he started fixing my screen doors, fixtures, plumbing, and anything else he could. He was extremely handy. I was happier than a pig in poop. I really enjoyed being around him. We had similar interests. We both liked baseball. He pitched in the Army and for a team from Austinville, Virginia. The New York Giants offered him a contract at one point, but my Mom vetoed it because she wasn’t willing to leave. He always regretted not seizing that opportunity. He loved baseball. Maybe that’s why I love baseball so much today.

It was almost like a vacation with my dad, as I had never spent much time with him before except when I was a little kid. And I was finally of legal age to drink. He was an alcoholic and I had seen him drunk a couple of times. He was a mean drunk, not a happy drunk. But during this time I never saw him out of control. I just wouldn’t bring a lot of alcohol into the house.

He absolutely adored traveling and wanted me to do the same thing. He was a big Greyhound bus rider. It was a way for him to travel, because he really couldn’t afford to travel outside the U.S. Whenever he wanted to go somewhere, he just got on a bus. To this day I have a bug for traveling. It can be as little as three hours away, but it’s fun for me.

“You’re your own person. Take some time for yourself. Enjoy yourself. And then figure out what you want.”

What I wanted at that point was some peace. I was happy being on my own for the first time in my life, without being in a children’s home or married or having to live with family. Leaving Frank, I wasn’t as upset as I thought I’d be. I thought I would feel like a failure, but I didn’t. It was actually nice waking up in the morning alone, not having to answer to anybody. I made a living for myself. Paid my bills. I could eat and have a roof over my head. It felt like an accomplishment.

Frank didn’t even call. He was out of my life completely. I didn’t want to date. I didn’t want to get that close to having a relationship. I lived out in the country so there weren’t even a lot of people around. I got to know a few of my neighbors and some of them had house parties and hung out at home, but all in all I didn’t do a lot of socializing. I didn’t drink much. If I went to a bar it was a stretch for me to figure out what to order. I would drink a beer and a little wine once in a while, but that was it.

When I went back to work and did my nine-to-five, Ken was in and out of the store as always. He went to Baltimore to buy inventory and he’d bring the merchandise back to stock the shelves. The one thing I did see in the store that was a little odd, to me at least, was bondage stuff. Clamps and masks and things. I thought, “Was there a prison somewhere I didn’t know about?” I just thought it was really weird. I came to learn bondage was different than S&M. You were bound and disciplined, as opposed to S&M, which involved physical pain. Being a clerk in a store like mine, you had to know stuff like this, believe it or not. I figured if that’s what floats your boat, fine. But it wasn’t something I wanted to do. I had no desire to inflict pain on someone or have it done to me.

Some guys would go to the magazine racks and, because of the way the store was set up, you’d just see the top of their head down to their nose. They’d stand in one place but shift around like they had to pee real bad or something. I’d come down from the counter, walk around the corner, and see a guy standing there beating off.