By The Guru
I got over it eventually, it took me well over a year. I'm back home in Manchester now, they think I ran out of luck over in the states. Only my eldest sister knows otherwise, I had to tell someone and one day it all just poured out. I feel bad that I never told Micky or Peter, especially Peter. He would've been there for me, but I couldn't stay with Michael. No way.
Ya see, one particularly bad week for the Monkees - we'd been fired four times, right in a row - Mike took it bad, he went out. Peter wasn't home, he went someplace with friends, some club for folk singers. I shared a room with him, it's not his fault, but maybe if he'd been there...
Michael came in, he was so drunk he couldn't even see straight. I tried to help him get through the living room, he started screaming at me. He said it was my fault, I was too distracted to concentrate on the band. I made the mistake of arguing with him, I should have known it was a bad idea. He hit me across the jaw, and knocked me clean across the Pad.
I tried to get up, but before I could he was there. He got me by the hair, and dragged me kicking and screaming into the bedroom, if Micky heard, he didn't do anything.
"You little bastard!" he kept yelling that over and over, beating me. I could barely breathe to cry out. He dragged me over to the bed, and threw me down on it. My scalp was burning, I couldn't believe what I heard next - the sound of his belt being unbuckled. I heard it before I felt it, a whizzing noise before the buckle of the belt cut across my back. Even through the pajamas I was wearing, I felt my flesh ripping and bruising. Blood trickled down my back. I tried to move, to fight back or get away, or anything, but he kneeled on my back, hitting my neck and shoulders repeatedly with the belt. I cried out, begging him to stop, but he never uttered a word, he didn't say anything at all.
He ripped my pajama pants off, and I tried to get up, but he hit me again, across my legs, backside, my back and eventually around the head again. I was covered in cuts and blood. I pushed myself up on my elbows, but Mike was ontop of me again, holding my arms down and pinning my legs with his knees.
I screamed when I realised what he was doing. He pushed his cock into me, it was huge, no lubricant. I thought I was going to die it hurt so much. He thrusted into me as hard as he could, digging his nails into my wrists and holding me there. I screamed so much my throat was raw, and it contracted, bringing up blood and flegm. After a while, I started to wish I would die.
I had tears streaming down my face, one of my eyes was swollen where the belt had caught it, and on my back was a gaping lash where he had been beating me at first.
The most disgusting part of it was I actually got some pleasure from it. As Mike was about to shoot his load, he reached a part of me I'd never felt before, and I writhed and moaned as Mike came inside me.
He rolled off of me almost immediately and passed out. I ran into the bathroom, vomitting. My throat burned, I honestly thought he'd put me in my grave. I ran a bath, and crawled into it. Micky found me that way the next day, I never knew I had such a good friend. He cleaned me up, even though I wouldn't say anything to him, and he called my grandfather to come and get me.
It's been over a year now, I always wonder what happened to those three. I guess I'll never know.
Back
to index
