Thrice Rescued - Sex Stories

Thrice Rescued

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between a character in this story to a person living or dead is purely coincidental. All the persons having sex in this story are over 18.

Any discussion of the provisions of laws in this story are purely for the purpose of the narrative and should not be taken as either a correct statement of the law nor as legal advice.

The book I reference in the introduction, "No Way to Treat a Child", actually exists. It is a scathing indictment of how the foster care system in this country operates. If you haven't read it, you should. You'll begin to understand the damage done to children in the system and why so many of them turn out so badly when they age out of the system.

My apologies to the U.S. Marshal's Service. I needed a mechanism to move the story along and they sprang to mind. Their record of protecting persons in WitSec is astonishing and they deserve kudos. But when you need a villain to keep the story moving, you can't go wrong with accusing a government agency of administrative failure and their witness protection mission made them the logical choice.

Finally, as always, I welcome comments and feedback. I'm new at this writing thing and am still trying to find my voice. Please be gentle.

THRICE RESCUED

INTRODUCTION

I've been rescued from a life of chaos on three occasions. Gunny Hopkins and Mrs. Hopkins rescued me twice, intervening on each occasion to redirect a life spiraling into the toilet. The third ...

... rescue came about in a completely different fashion, but it has every prospect of lasting for a lifetime.

My name is David Derr. Folks who know me well call me Davie. I spent twelve years of my life in foster care. I never knew my father. I'm not certain my mother even knew who my sperm donor was. If she did, she never told me or my grandmother. My mother was an addict. I spent the first six years with her dropping in and out of my life, although it was more out than in. Most of that time my grandmother was caring for me. Grandmom died shortly before I started first grade, relinquishing my care to my heroin addicted mother.

My time in mom's custody turned out to be very short. I came home from school about two months after my grandmother's death to find my mother asleep in the bed, a needle sticking out of her arm. I tried repeatedly to wake her. Experience told me that sometimes she just needed to sleep it off and so I waited. I ended up waiting for three days, feeding myself on whatever I could find in the refrigerator and the box of cereal I climbed up on a chair to get out of the cabinet. After I failed to turn up for school for the third consecutive day and mom failed to answer the phone, my first-grade teacher, Mrs. Gallagher, showed up with her patrolman husband to check on me. When they knocked on the door, I wasn't going to let them in, until Mrs. Gallagher finally convinced me it was OK. I told them mommy was sleeping and Mrs. Gallagher went to check on her. She ...