Flashback: March 8, 2002 – When I say I danced with death in Los Angeles on several occasions, I was not jerkin your gherkin. I dated a niece of a Nazi-Supremist leader, Steve E. for a few months till I realized who I was dating.
I had the pleasure/insanity of dating a beautiful 24-year-old blond, blue-eyed, tomboy named Kristy Ellis. AKA “The Kid”. Her Uncle, Steve E. was one of the leaders of Southern California’s most dangerous gang’s, The San Fernando Peckerwoods.
I met Kristy around January while working the Topanga Canyon Blockbuster on the internet in a kinky chat room I frequented, looking for “different” ladies. Boy did I find a live one!
“Race?” she replied after addressing her with a typical hello.
“Human” I replied, playing it coy.
There was brief pause and we were off and running. We met and played the same night. She mentioned she was trying to get away from her family and seemed to use me and my place as a haven.
Cutting to the chase, Kristy was born into slavery and I was to be her first boyfriend away from her dominating uncle.
“A forty-year-old man does not need to date a 23 year old.” She said.
“I agree” I said, shaving her goodies. I did not tell her I was 39.
I welcomed her and we went to Hollywood often, sometimes on a leash with all the other freaks. Yes. She welcomed being a voluntary slave. It was indeed heaven, so young, so tight and she was my height, wearing her Doc Martin’s I bought her on Melrose.
“Only special girls can wear my collar, Kristy.” I said performing the ritual. Do you think you’ve earned it?”
“Oh yes, please Master CJ.” She knelt and received my collar. “Thank you kind, sir. I will be yours forever”
Yeah right.
One night, on her beeper, Kristy got a text from her Uncle stating he was going to kill himself if she did not come home.
“What is going on here, Kristy?” I said pissed-off. “You said you were free of him. I don’t think I want any part of this.”
“I am. Please, CJ. Please.” She begged. “I’ll text him. It will be ok. There. He’s calm now.”
“What makes me different from him?” I asked.
“Its not forced with you.” She said smiling.
My heart sank and I squeezed her tight.
I knew this would probably lead to me being buried somewhere in the desert, but if I kicked her out, I may expect it sooner than later.
Kristy went home and said she has a family event and would be gone a week. I said fine. Bye.
Kristy called when I got home from work and was an emotional wreck.
Her Uncle had been raping/trafficking her family since they were all born. Kristy’s mother lived in a car and her father was doing time. Her mother’s brother was Steve E. and had pimped her and her 10 family members (one was a 10-year old boy in a wheelchair) to fellow gang members in Mississippi last week when I started to put pieces together.
“Tell your parents.” I told her over the phone.
“OK” She said, hesitantly.
Believe it or not, her parents were both Reseda Police force officers.
Kristy told her parents and this chapter of the gang were arrested, ID’d in line-up and booked for everything from human trafficking, meth manufacturing and other misery.
“One of them was wearing my shirt.” She said.
She said she was testifying in her Uncle’s trial at Van Nuy’s courthouse. This was the same courthouse Robert Blake was tried and exonerated.
“That was hard” She said when it was over.
I was ecstatic. She was now safe. Or was she? Did I just free a family from the bods of death and doom? I don’t know but i didn’t stick around to find out.
“He’s trying to get out with his drug money.”
I didn’t speak to Kristy again until 2005.
“I have a baby.” She said.
“Who’s the father?” I asked.
“Some guy.” She said.
“Can I write about it, Kristy?” I asked
“Not yet.” She replied.
Twenty-two years should be enough time.