Inside Seka - The Platinum Princess of Porn (4 page)

My sister Deborah and my brother Ray.

My brother Ray and my father, when he was still around.

Grandpa Hundley, my father’s father, who I never met.

Grandma Hundley, my father’s mother, when she was younger.

Grandpa Hartsock, my mother’s father, workin’ on the railroad.

Grandma and Grandpa Hartsock.

Me in first grade.

My brother Ray.

“To the sweetest mom in the world (and the prettiest, too). From your loving daughter, Dottie”.
Must have been before she abandoned me. Not my handwriting, either.

2.
Given Away

Grandpa needed a quick-fix situation to get us kids out of my mother’s hands. It was decided that my brother and sister would go to live with my Uncle Hardy, while I moved in with Aunt Shirley and Uncle George. They had three children: Gary, Becky and Robin. They lived in the very small town of Christiansburg, Virginia, in a nice brick house behind the grade school. Becky was the same age as me, and I got along well with all of the kids. I absolutely felt like part of the family. They treated me as their own; they didn’t favor any of us. They enrolled me in school and made sure I had everything I needed — new clothes, books, and school supplies. And thank God, I finally had a woman around who could cook. She made the best grilled-cheese sandwiches in the world, in a cast iron skillet with real butter. She always put a big slice of tomato on mine because I loved tomatoes. That was my thing, kind of like Elvis with his fried bacon, peanut butter, and banana sandwiches.

The rejection from my mother didn’t really affect me at the time. I didn’t see her after that for a long time and I honestly didn’t miss her. There wasn’t a whole lot to miss. Where I was now, the food was better and the house was clean. I was a kid; what did I know? I just proceeded on like normal. I wasn’t angry or hurt about the whole situation until I was in my thirties. For whatever reason, that was when it finally hit me.

Financially, it was hard for everybody. Although they both had jobs, Aunt Shirley and Uncle George had a house, three other kids, and a couple of cars to pay for. I was a burden to them. There was a family meeting with the powers that be to decide what to do with my brother, my sister, and me. There is a town nearby called Wytheville, Virginia, and they had a children’s home there. It was a place for kids who had parents who couldn’t take care of them. One day my aunt and uncle suddenly told me we needed to talk. They sat me down and said, “We don’t want to upset you, but we had to make other living arrangements because we can’t afford to put you through school and raise you.” It hurt because I loved that family. But I understood.

It was not a happy day when I had to leave. My sister was already there, while my brother had been placed in a similar facility in Tennessee. There were four brick buildings with a kitchen, a boys’ dormitory, and two dorms for girls. I was put in the one for very young girls. There were two girls to a room, each with a twin-sized bed, a shared closet, and three drawers of a single dresser. We were never abused like in those horrible orphanages in the movies, but life was pretty dull. We had to go to church on Sunday. It was a Presbyterian service. We were required to do some chores like helping with the grounds and gardening and such. We were told, “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.” Frankly, I wanted to see the devil’s workshop to understand what they were doing in there.

We got a small allowance every week for our efforts. It was about a quarter. They had a little cantina on Saturdays where we’d get sodas and candy. Other than that we didn’t get any of that kind of stuff. The home was pretty restrictive because we did have some problem children. There was always someone running away. The only reason they put us together was because they didn’t have juvenile halls at the time in that area. In hindsight, that probably wasn’t a good idea, because if you had a kid who was stealing and drinking, it wasn’t a positive influence on children like me who were there because of unfortunate circumstances.

What struck me as odd was no matter where you were on the grounds, there were no odors at all. I had come from a family that cooked all the time, but you didn’t have that at Wytheville because we were nowhere near the kitchen. In an odd way, this made it very lonely because without the smell of food there was no sense of family. It was like floating in an emotional vacuum. Even when they’d cut the grass it wasn’t the same because it wasn’t your uncle or cousin or neighbor doing it. There was no history to it. At home, you’d sit and do your homework and you’d smell the cooking and know you would have supper soon. But here you’d get up and leave one building to go to another to eat. It was very disorienting.

There was a little playground in the back, and games and toys and bicycles. The staff had a background in social work and each dorm had a master or mistress running it. The woman who ran our dorm was very nice, very grandmotherly. Although she was a caring lady, it still never felt like a real home. The girls stayed in that dormitory until we hit eleven or twelve, basically until you started developing. Once they had to throw a bra on you or you had your period, they tossed you into the big dorm. I don’t know what they thought that would do to the little girls, but once you started to get some hair under your arms, you were out of there.

I remember sitting by the hearth of a fireplace watching TV when President Kennedy was shot. In the big girls’ dorm we had to watch the news every day, sweep the floors, make our bed, get showered, and go to school. School was off-premises and we had a bus that picked us up. The kids in the regular school treated us like lepers. We were teased, bullied, and pointed at. It wasn’t bad enough your family had deserted you. And of course our clothes weren’t as nice as the other kids’. Each year we’d get clothes donated and the staff would see what fit you. But I’d recognize clothes from the school kids who wore them the previous year.

I was not a very happy person.

Sometimes we were given long weekends with family, or had two-week sponsored vacations. Strangers would take a kid to Myrtle Beach or some place as their “community service.” It really made the kids feel like charity cases. I’d refuse to go with anyone but my own family.