Well, the big question is, where do I start? I guess the best bet would be to start from the beginning, but where did it start? Its a question that still bothers me now.
My mum started dating another guy when I was 6 - she was still married to my dad at the time. I used to spend a lot of time with my dad, I really trusted him, he never did a thing to me apart from be a damn good father. My mother's new man managed to keep up the illusion of being a good man for about a year after she met him...I used to crawl in bed with my mother and her new man and cuddle, like I always had done before with my mum and dad. One day, my mother got up and went downstairs to make some breakfast. She left me with him. He started to play with me, stroking my body and putting his hand between my legs. He made me play with him in return. I didnt know what was going on. Anyways, this happened until about a week before I was 7, when he took me down to his room. He shut and locked the door, closed the window and curtains, and put cartoons on really loud, to cover any noise I might make. i can still remember exactly what happened, every single detail, everything. He put on Tom and Jerry - I still find it hard to watch that cartoon, even now, 12 years afterwards. He told me to undress and get into the bed, which I did - I had already learned to be scared of his anger. He undressed as well, climbed into bed, started playing with me and making me play with him. Then he rolled on top of me and tried to push himself into me. It hurt like fire, although he didnt manage to fully enter me. I bled a little, and I was crying with pain, so he didnt force himself into me too much. He rolled off me, forced a finger into me, then started licking me. Then he forced me to suck his penis. Well, after he got finished, he made me swallow, then gave me a quick wash, dressed me, gave me a soft toy and some sweets, then took me home. He told me it was our little secret, and that if I ever told mum, it would kill her.
This went on for many years... we moved house to a large isolated farmhouse in the countriside, where I had nowhere to go if I ran away. He has abused and raped me in pretty much every room of the place. When I was 11, he finally decided to ignore my pain and force himself into me. It hurt so much, it felt like I was on fire, like I was about to split in two. I said nothing. Didn't cry, did exactly what he had trained me to do. Because he had trained me thoroughly, I was terrified of him, I was expert at doing blowjobs at age 9, and I was even better at pleasuring a man by the age of 10, so I guess that means I would make a good whore, which, essentially, is what I was, for about 13 years. Well trained little sex toy, willing to take all kinds of abuse and keep silent. I did it for my family. I have three younger sisters and a mother who is weak mentally - I had to care for all four of them. My mother is sane, but she is not strong - she ignored what was happening to me for 13 years, for the sake of her own happiness. When I was about 12, we moved house again. Actually, we were kicked out, due to failure to pay the rent. We moved into another large house, and lived there for about seven years. He has raped me in every single room of the place. I had a pregnancy scare when I was 13. I have never been so scared in my life. I got lucky, I wasnt pregnant. I shoved a hanger up myself to try and solve the problem. Luckily, I didnt damage myself badly, I can still have kids.
My stepfather was and still is a violently temperamental man. For 13 years, he verbally, mentally, emotionally and sexually abused me, shrivelled me to nothing and tried to shape me to be the woman he wanted - obedient, subservient and broken. It didnt work. I am still here - scarred physically and mentally, to be sure, but still here. I cut myself for a while - I still have scars down my legs. I thought I was going insane. He broke me down into almost nothing - he had 13 years to do it in, and he started working on me from a very young age. I got lucky - he wasnt that abusive unless he was drunk, in which case he was even crueller in bed, and sometimes knocked me across the room. He loved to humiliate and degrade me. He made me do things that are supposed to be fun when done with consent, but which when you are forced into it, are humiliating and degrading beyond belief.
I nearly broke. I came very close to it. I still do. But he will NOT break me, he will NOT win, because if I kill myself now, he has won. I am slowly rebuilding myself to be the person I want to be and was always meant to be, and although it is taking time, I will get there. I have a lot of friends - mostly online, I dont trust people in real life at all, at least online friends dont know where I live. They have been incredibly supportive, beyond what I deserve. I have plans for the future, I feel much better about myself now, I dont swathe myself in the baggiest clothes possible any more, and I feel so much better since I left there, about 4 months ago. I have changed beyond belief, and I am starting to relax and realise that I did not deserve that abuse. I WILL recover, I WILL not let him win, and this aint gonna bet me, not in any way shape or form. I am stronger than him. I always will be. Thanks for listening, folks.
Please do email me if you have questions, you need to talk over anything, or you just want a friend, I am here for anyone who needs me, although I may need a day or so to reply to emails.
I've told my story before, not fully, not honestly, but I've told it. I almost feel guilty because I can tell it without crying and it's only been four months. I feel like I should be more upset about it, more emotional. But who knows.. I'll tell it anyway.
I came home from work early one night, I had just gotten into a fight with one of my co workers because he had shoved his balls in my face and made disgusting comments to my friends. I was livid. After arriving home and proceeding to take a nap I got a phone call from my friend. I took the conversation out onto the porch, because believe it or not it's more private-the walls in my appartment are so thin. Halfway through the conversation we started fighting.
I was yelling something like I don't care when I heard someone yelling back at me that he doesn't care either. I looked around but didn't see anyone so I ignored it. But the voice resumed again and this time there was someone sitting next to me. Getting frustrated enough I hung up and turned to evaluate this new man.
He was kind of cute, decent looking anyway. He smelled wonderful and after the night I had just had I could use some company. We talked for a few hours that night and then we decided to go inside my house. We ended up going to bed that night, and it was alright I didn't know it was going to be horrible. Half an hour into the night after coming out of the bathroom he grabbed my wrist and threw me over the kitchen counter, my head in the sink and proceeded to stick his dick up my ass. I guess that was uncomfortable for him and he decided he'd rather try the living room. Those five minutes were spent in absolute shock. Moving from the kitchen he grabbed my arm and my neck and threw me over my chair. This time he had my head so far down in the cushions I could barely breathe let alone speak. For almost twenty minutes I was trapped with him pounding away and I couldn't move to stop him. The night ended after he dragged me back into my bedroom and fucked me while I lay there crying! . I didn't go to the police.. they would have laughed at me. I had willingly gone to bed with him on the first night, what could I expect? I thought it was the end of it.
A week later I awoke to someone calling my name. Looking up I saw him standing there over me. I have never been so scared in my life. I must have forgotten to lock my door, but what kind of insanity would make someone walk into someone elses house at 4:30 am just because the door was unlocked after fucking them only once? That set the proceedent for everything else that followed. I let him fuck me that night, I was so scared he was going to turn me over and go up there again, or that he was going to get violent. He always had this aura of nastiness and violence about him. But anyway I let him and I hate myself for it.
Over the next few months I just sunk deeper and deeper into this hell. When my door was locked he'd come in my window (talking to me the whole time like I was his best friend) and didn't think there was anything wrong with it. The most I ever did say to him was that he was wrong for doing it and he apologized and did it again the next night. Some nights he was ok, i'd let him in he'd do his thing and leave. Other nights I'd resist him because he was so obnoxious and I'd end up on the floor with my head being slammed into the cupboards or walls. There was a night he had me in the shower up against the wall and started chocking me so hard I was almost suffocating. Eventually I just found it easier and less painful never to resist him.
The strange thing is I wasn't afraid of death. I think that if he had killed me it would have been an accident. He never hit me he never actually threatened me. It's just when he was really drunk, or angry at me or something else that he'd become so rough and violent. But mostly I was scared of the humiliation that he brought. I was so weak that I couldn't fully stand up to him. Besides what good would it do. He lived across the street and it would just be worse if I tried to stop him.
The last night I saw him I had had enough. He had lifted up my bedroom window and my cat had gotten out. By the time I woke up he was halfway inside. I asked him what the fuck he wanted and his typical reply was "well your door was locked and I wanted to see you". I actually said no to him. He told me that my cat was outside and that if I wanted her back I'd have to let him in. So I did, I love my cat and he was insane. I tried to talk to him (I smoked him up.. sometimes he would be so drunk or drugged that he would pass out without doing anything to me.. I love those nights so I tried again) but that night it made him worse. In the kitchen we got into a tug of war with my clothes (I wanted them on he didn't). I must have asked him thousands of times to leave and that all I wanted was sleep. I was completley exhausted. That night the biggest emotion I remember feeling besides anger was exhaustion. I was so tired of him and of it. He managed to get my clothes off and onto my ! bed. I kept yelling at him to stop and to go home. He wasn't saying anything.. he just kept going at it. Once he asked if I wanted him to leave and he did almost stop. He said that hed give me one more hug and then leave. He leaned back over me to give me a hug and slammed himself back up inside me. I started yelling louder at him, trying to pull away so his dick would slide out. It didn't work. I guess once I started scaring him with my yelling. He pulled out and grabbed me starting to turn me over. All I said was don't. I wispered it. I gave in once more.. I couldn't stand it anymore. He must have noticed I stopped yelling because he was nice and let me drop back onto my back. But he then started putting his tounge inside me, I felt so disgusted, so slimy.. I started squeezing his head in between my legs. Pulling his tounge out of me he started biting my thighs and my vagina, he took his hand and started gripping my inner thigh till I felt like my whole lower region was on f! ire from the bites and the squeezing. I dropped my legs and from then on just lay there.
He got into my house around 4:30 that morning and left around 7:30. As he was leaving he was angry at me for being such a bitch and said that "If I really thought you meant it, maybe I would have stopped." That was the icer. He left and I fell asleep to tired to angry to move. I went to the police at 12:00 that same afternoon. He was moving anyway so at least I wouldn't have to see him every day, I felt safer (but somehow more unsafe too.. I didn't know where he was and I never knew where he'd be) without him right across the street with all his friends. From the police I went to the Grand Jury and now he's in jail awaiting trial.
I'm slowly getting over this. I used to vomit when I had to go home to that place, I would sleep in my friends cars to avoid that place. I couldn't fall alseep, but when I did I couldn't wake up either. I hated my life. I made jokes about it and blew it off as unimportant, but I knew each day it was killing me inside. I am doing pretty well now, the flashbacks are slowly decreasing, the nightmares are less vivid. But I still am no where near the same person I was. I hate people so much now, I don't trust anybody and I am so angry and still so scared that I can hardly stand it. I have so much trouble functioning like I used to. I'm still deciding what emotion is worse now that I'm safe from him, the anger or the guilt, the shame or the fear, or the hopelessness. I haven't decided yet.
I am grateful to the police and the district attorney though. I hear horror stories of people who aren't able to proceed because the police don't believe them, I don't think I could have dealt with that. So I guess I'm lucky he had a very violent prior and that everybody knew him and no one liked him. I guess I feel guilty because it's been so easy (not easy at all actually, but compared to some peoples it's been a breeze). I also feel guilty for dealing with it like this, I feel like sometimes I think it must have been a nightmare because if it had really happened why didn't I stay upset longer? I dunno, maybe I just have no idea. But that's my story in the full and accurate.
Maybe someday I'll be more ok, but for now I guess I'll just keep surviving and trying to get my life back.
I was with a friend walking to see if the apartment pool was opened and a guy asked us if we wanted to smoke weed and we said yes, than we got in his truck and it seemed forever that we drove but we were actually going in circles to confuse us.....we finally got there and smoked weed..than we were aked if we wanted a drink and he made us a drink of wisky..it tasted powder than i passed out and woke up to a nightmare... i was being raped