The reality: later that night, while we were sleeping, three men burst into the room wearing dark clothes and masks. They beat me up good and I was unable to stop them from taking the girls. Donna and Veronica kicked and screamed. Their mouths were covered in duck tape. They were taken naked.
When I was able to stand up, I called the front desk. Nothing. I called the local police.
Larry was dead. They shot him in the office.
The police came, and so did the state federales. They told me there had been a rash of kidnappings and all I could do was wait for a ransom phone call.
The call never came, not in Mexico or back in the States.
The local police told me that blonde American women fetched a high price on the white sex slave market, and the girls could be in any country-Saudi Arabia or Chile-held in rooms and forced to perform sex acts on a rich man with a harem or many men running a brothel for the exotic.
Back in the states, I campaigned for help from the State Department. I was told there was a long list of kidnapped American girls and women from almost very country in the world, and they could only do so much, such as wait for a ransom demand.
Donna and Veronica's parents felt the devil did it-that the devil claimed their daughters for their sinful ways, such as going down to Ensenada with me. Sure, they blamed me, but mostly it was Satan.
I blamed myself plenty. I drank a lot and went mad, was arrested for public fighting a few times, and finally had to check into rehab to get off the booze and drugs I was using. I didn't have a job and found myself homeless for a while. It took about five years to get my life back in order.
All I could think of was how stupid I had been, displaying the two sisters in those skimpy sexy bikinis for all to see-such as her kidnappers. I imagined there were men who scouted the beach, gathered information, and went in for the abduction. I read about this stuff online.
And it was on the Internet, five years later, that I found Donna-on one of those “rape fantasy” sites out of Russia. There were videos and pictures: a pretty blonde woman is gang-raped by a dozen men in military uniforms. Her mouth is gagged and eyes wide open. Green eyes. Unmistakable green eyes.
Donna's eyes.
And her body.
I knew that body, and those eyes.
I gave the website information to the FBI but a week later the site was down and the FBI said they had no leads, they had no power in Russia, is the video was even made there.
For two years I spent a lot of time trying to find more photos or videos of Donna. I found nothing.
I thought I found Veronica on a kiddie porn site from Argentina, but I couldn't be sure. And she would be twenty by then, the same age Donna was when I flirted with her in the store.
They could've been old photos, the girl looked fourteen or so in the pictures, but I just couldn't be sure because the photographer made sure the girl's face was never completely seen.
So many things went through my mind.
I was thirty-eight now and I had stopped flirting with young women, I didn't even date. The only sex I got was from prostitutes down in Mexico, but mostly I paid them to tell me what they knew about the kidnapping and white sex slave racket.
They didn't know much.
One time I thought I saw Veronica working the streets in the hooker district on Tijuana. Looked like Veronica from the back. No, the girl was Mexican and had a blonde dye job.
I kept looking and seeing out information until I turned forty.
I joined the church Donna and Veronica's parents were members of and they accepted me-the parents and congregation-and told me I was forgiven by Jesus.
I wish I could fool myself into believing that.
Now, I wonder if any of it ever happened. If I made it all up and I'm locked up in the bughouse somewhere, creating scenarios like that one fantasy of waking up to both of them down in my crotch.
I have written this account down to convince myself that it did all happen, and that I will never be forgiven for what I did with those two sinful sisters.