Thrice Rescued - Sex Stories

Thrice Rescued

... over the third button ready to complete the 9-1-1 call. I folded.

"My foster father thought I'd stolen his wallet. He was drunk and lost his temper."

"Did he hit you anywhere else?"

"He beat me across the back. It's pretty sore."

"Stand up and turn around."

I did as she asked. "Lift your shirt."

I pulled my t-shirt up to my shoulders. "Good God! How often has he done this to you?"

"This is the first time. I've only been there a couple of weeks."

"Sit down. I need to make some calls."

To my surprise, her first call was not to the principal, the police or CYS. She called her husband. "George, I need you in my office. NOW!" It was the first indication I had of just how much control she had over Gunny H.

Gunny H arrived within moments. She told him what she had seen, then said, "What are we going to do about this?"

Gunny H was no fool and he'd known his wife a long time. She clearly had something in mind.

"What do you want to do?" I think he already knew what was coming.

"This child needs a new foster home, today. We're qualified and we have three empty bedrooms. Unless you object, I'm going to call CYS and get him moved today."

Gunny simply nodded his approval, then stood behind me as his wife called CYS. The conversation was brutal. I'd never seen a tiny little woman radiate power like she did on that call. She didn't ask the CYS staffer she was dealing with. She told them what they were going to do. And she told them they were going ...

... to do it NOW. That kind of responsiveness was not my experience with CYS. I couldn't believe it was going to happen. Much to my astonishment, it did.

When she finished that call, she looked at her husband and said, "We'll need to get this child's clothing and other things from that house. We'll go after school." Turning to me, she said, "Meet me here after your last class. We'll go get your things." Turning to her husband, she said, "George, get one of your cop buddies from the studio to go with us. We want there to make sure things don't get out of hand."

I looked at Gunny H and couldn't imagine how the latest foster father might give him the slightest bit of trouble. But I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth. If Mrs. H pulled this off, my life was going to take a huge turn for the better. "Don't screw this up by opening your mouth," I told myself.

Mrs. H sent me back to class, telling me we'd reconvene later to discuss my IEP. I went through the day as usual, getting a couple of comments on my facial injuries, but otherwise it was a fairly standard school day. When the day ended, I went to my locker, got my things to go home, and reported to Mrs. H's office as instructed. Gunny H and an equally large cop were waiting there as well.

The relocation went about as smoothly as it could have. Between Gunny H and the cop, the intimidation factor kept my foster father from demonstrating the slightest objections to my leaving. I gathered my ...