It's been three years since my mother disappeared from our lives. I was the last person to speak to her; she called my cell phone to let me know she'd be running late. She was getting her nails done in preparation for the annual Christmas party, given at the company where my dad worked at. My mom, as always, wanted to look her best. After she got her manicure, she was supposed to pick up a new dress. Well ... it didn't happen that way.
Mom never came home that night and repeated calls to her cell phone proved fruitless. When she hadn't shown by midnight, we really began to worry. My dad phoned the police but they told us we had to wait a minimum of forty-eight hours before they could declare my mother as a missing person. After several months had passed, the authorities suspected someone had either kidnapped my mother or she had gotten herself into a situation where she become injured and couldn't ask for help.
Naturally, such news did nothing to allay our fears. We did everything we possibly could to find her. My dad even hired a private investigator but he came up empty. When that didn't pan out, we asked our local television station to run her picture; this caught the attention of dad's old college buddy who happened to be watching the news when they ran my mother's picture. He recognized my mom and immediately called dad. He worked for the F.B.I. and offered to do a few checks as a favor for us. But when he came up empty, we lost hope of ever seeing her again. Then ... a miracle of all miracles happened:
I found her...
And I found her purely by chance when I surfed for porn one night. I clicked on a link promising pictures of women with large, round asses because that's what I like, especially the mature kind; that's when several windows popped up covering the screen. I hated when that happened but that was the price one had to pay for downloading free material. It wasn't until I closed the second to last window when my eyes widened in interest.
There was a picture of a M.I.L.F. wearing a black thong, thrusting her ass toward the camera. Her cheeks were round and inviting, making me wish I had the ability to transport myself to the time and place when the picture was taken so I could fuck the shit out of her. My dick swelled and became engorged with blood at the very idea of such a fantasy. The tent in my pants yearned to be released from its cramped space. I saved the picture and went in search of some more. This time I found one of her face, and that's when my world turned upside down.
It was my mom! I was sure of it. Her face looked worn and vacant and there were a few extra wrinkles around her eyes, but it was definitely her. She was sitting on a red settee with her long, shapely legs crossed at the knees, wearing a see-through negligee. The caption below the pic read Lenora but the rest of the words were in a foreign language I couldn't read. I felt excited and confused; I didn't know whether to jump for joy and inform my dad or wait and see until I found out more. Since I didn't want to raise any false hopes, I decided I needed to gather more information. I was ninety-nine percent sure it was mom, but I needed to be certain. I think what was throwing me off was the fact that the woman in these photos looked to be about thirty pounds less than the weight my mom was carrying the time she disappeared.
The first thing I needed to do was get the website translated. Luckily for me, I knew the king of gearheads at my college; his name is Harold; we met one day in the school cafe. He sat alone at the only empty table available. I parked myself across from him and struck up a conversation; I think he was surprised someone other than a geek wanted to talk to him. I could tell Harold was self-conscious about his face, which was severely covered in acne. I pretended I didn't notice and kept my gaze only on the area between his eyes when we talked.
During our lunch that afternoon, I explained the fundamentals of good nutrition, educating him on the proper way to eat. I guaranteed Harold that if he removed dairy, greasy foods, and sugar from his diet, his face would clear up in no time. He listened but I didn't think he would follow my advice, which is not surprising. Most people are slaves to their palates and a radical change to their diet can be very difficult for them. So, you can imagine my surprise when I ran into Harold two weeks later. His acne was all but gone save for some small patches here and there. To say he was elated was an understatement. Harold couldn't contain his excitement. I felt happy for him. The poor guy deserved a break.
That's when Harold mentioned if there was anything I needed in terms of computer help, free software, hacking--whatever. I was to come to him. Ever since then, I've run into Harold a few times around campus. His acne is now gone and he seems more confident as well.
The day after discovering mom's pics, I went in search of Harold; I eventually found him sitting under a tree, studying his notes. I asked if he could meet me at the library later this evening. I thought if anyone could help me find my mom, it would be him. Harold readily agreed and said he would swing by. I never told Harold about the disappearance of my mother before, but when we met that day, I clued him in on all the particulars including my suspicions.
"No problem Rick. I have a program that can translate any modern language into English. However, finding the location of the computer that is uploading data into the server which houses the pics of the woman--I mean your mom--will take a little more time."
"Do you think you'll be able to pull it off?
"Don't worry, Rick. I can do it. You'll see."
For the next hour, Harold explained what he planned to do. After the words "IP address" and "router" left his mouth, I pretty much lost him after that. Again, he gave me his assurances and that was good enough for me. I took my leave and headed home.
On my way home, I cut across the park admiring the lush trees and soft grass. I thought a change in scenery would help me clear my mind. The wind blew strong and its sound filled the hollow of my ears. I watched the sky slowly dim as the people in the park began making their way home. The footpath I was on led me to a still lake lined with blue benches. I sat down and stretched my arms out to the sides, enjoying the solitude afforded by this area of the park.
I began to think about mom and how she mysteriously vanished three years ago. I thought about the pain it brought us as a family, especially my sister, Tracy, who couldn't stop crying for days afterwards. I also thought about my dad who often hid his emotions whenever Tracy or I was around. He assumed he was fooling us, but I knew he suffered in silence. How could he not. Mom and dad started their relationship as high school sweethearts. Not many couples can say the same thing.
I remember when I was younger how he would tell me that mom was a one-in-a-million lady and that's what I needed to find one day for my bride. The honk of a Canadian goose scavenging for food pulled me from my reverie. The sun had set and it was getting nearer to the time when dad would have dinner ready. I stood up and made my way out of the park. I walked with my hands in my pockets, brooding over the string of events that brought me to ask Harold for help.
Thinking about Harold triggered the memory of a classmate who wrote an essay on human trafficking. At the time, I thought the topic interesting and asked if I could read his paper. To be honest, I was totally unprepared by the data: human trafficking is a multibillion-dollar business that exploits mostly woman and children for the purposes of slavery or sexual servitude. Victims are either lured by false promises or by physical force with no hope of escape.
The reason I mention this is because I believe my mom was taken by force the day she contacted me from the nail salon. She was 45 at the time but her body appeared to be that of a 30-year-old woman. Mom regularly visited the gym and ate a healthy vegetarian diet. It also helped that her parents passed on the right sequence of genes, which gave her an ass any buttman would want to mount. And, when she wears her form-fitting leggings, there isn't a straight man on the street who doesn't sport wood when she walks on by.
The traffickers must've taken one look at mom and decided she would be a cash cow, not to mention a nice piece of tail on the side. My stomach churned at the thought of so many men taking out their sexual frustrations on my mom. I can't imagine what she must've gone through for the past three years. And if it weren't for my classmate's insightful paper, I never would've connected the dots. It's the only explanation that makes any real sense. I gotta hand it to those bastards, whoever they were. They had balls.
That night I locked myself in my room and went back to the site which displayed my mother's pics. I stayed up well into the night wondering what they were doing to her. Was she beaten? Was she forced to starve on the days she was uncooperative? Did the men use condoms? Was she even alive?
I hated thinking about such things but someone in my family had to ask the tough questions. I know Tracy and my dad weren't going to. Sadly, they gave up all hope of her ever being alive. But not me. I needed proof of her death.
.... There is more of this story ...