I am a lesbian, and when I came out at 20 I was a virgin. I had been raised in a very abusive home (just me and my mom) where christianity was the excuse for all kinds of beatings, and humiliation. So, coming out was a good thing, I was just starting to develop a sense of myself as independent and powerful, and to feel like being female wasn't a bad thing.
One night at a party some friends took me to, I met a married man whose wife was out of town that night. He was a big strong guy, and was being really sweet to me, and I guess I felt like maybe he would be a kind of friend to me, kind of a mentor, kind of like a dad thing (he was more than twice my age). After the party was over he drove me home, and kissed me, and we agreed to get together again at his next party. It was nice, and felt harmless.
So I went to the next party he had (again his wife was not there) and at the end of it he tied me up and raped me anally over and over again. I was trying to get away, and he just kept telling me that this is what little girls liked, and that he would be my Daddy, that he was going to get me pregnant and we would have beautiful babies, etc. I cried the whole time and the next day, but because of my issues from my childhood (doing what I was told, never questioning authority, etc), and becuse sometimes he was sweet to me, and told me I was beautiful, and his good girl, etc... I kept seeing him.
It went on for about 6 months, sometimes in front of his wife, sometimes with other men and women, and usually he would start by making me do everything he said, then slapping and hitting me, then beating me with his belt, and then finally raping me anally, orally and vaginally.
It got so bad that I flunked out of that year at university, because I couldn't be in a room with a man in authority (like my profs) and I would just start crying and being unable to cope.
I told my therapist about it, and she told me that it was my fault, because what had I expected for dating a married man. That if I was really a lesbian and just slept with girls then it would never have happened.
Unfortunately she was wrong, becuse my next relationship was with a woman who liekd to rape and abuse me too. She would spend hours telling me how fat and ugly I was, how cruel I was to her, what a shitty girlfriend I was, how much she hated me, that she didn't want to go anywhere with me because I would embarass her, etc... Then when I would start crying and apologising she would get turned on and make me lie still and let her hit me and penetrate me with anyhting she could find around the house. The whole time she would tell me that it was the only way I could make up for being such a disgusting person, and that she was punishing me for being such a slut and for enjoying it (I didn't).
I guess six years later, all that is pretty much behind me, but it feels good to tell the story over again sometimes, and to know that I survived and that I am doing OK now. I finished school, have a good job, and have a nice girlfriend, and am getting on with my life.
Name Withheld: email@example.com
I was 15 when it all started. My best friend's father had always seemed to be a nice guy, and I trusted him, until he started making sexual comments and advances towards me. He started out by telling me I looked beautiful, etc., and then one day he asked me to take a shower with him. His wife walked into the room as he said it and he tried to make it like he was joking. I laughed along with him (but I still said NO). Little did I know that he was serious. VERY serious.
As the weeks went by I spent more and more time at my friend's house. We had countless sleepovers and became very close with each other's parents. Her father took these opportunities to "accidentally" brush against me, run his hand along my butt, whenever he could. I knew something was up but I was in denial. I thought this couldn't possibly be happening to me. I went to my guidance counselor and told her he was scaring me, but she wrote it off to be "paranoia" on my part.
As my sophomore year came to a close, he began to molest me in the middle of the night when I slept over. I was scared to go back but scared not to, because he'd threatened my life, saying if I didn't go over his house whenever his daughter invited me, he'd come after me and kill me. My parents went away one Thursday night and I stayed at his house. I woke up in the early hours of the morning to find him lying beside me.
He was stroking me between the legs and as I opened my eyes, he shoved his fingers up inside of me. Then he pushed me onto my side and shoved what I later found out was a rectal thermometer in my butt. I was too shocked and petrified to move. He left with the same threat. I was never to refuse an invitation to his house, or I'd be killed. I believed him, because prior to that I'd found out that he beat his wife. This is something his daughter had revealed to me shortly before the molestation started.
I knew he was strong, and I knew he was violent. The night he raped me was petrifying. I woke up to his fingers inside me again. I tried to back away but he ripped my clothes off and held me down. He jabbed his penis inside me, thrusting in and out very quickly. I tried to scream but he clamped his hand down over my mouth. I tried to bite but he rammed his fist against my throat and said he'd kill me right then and there if he had to. I was choking. He was cutting off my air.
When I kicked at him and actually came in contact with a sensitive part in his body, he pulled me up and over his lap and began to hit my butt over and over, as hard as he could. I was like a naughty toddler over his knee and could not get away from him. The more I struggled the harder he hit. When he finally stopped my butt was on fire and he rammed the thermometer into me again. It was very painful.
I was crying and begging him to stop, to take it out. He made me ask him to spank me again to teach me a lesson. When I said no he pounded on the thermometer and I screamed. His hand clamped down on the back of my neck and he threatened to kill me again. That's when I felt the knife on my back. Sobbing, I asked him to resume my "punishment". He quickly pulled the thermometer out and began to smack me again, harder than before.
When he finally stopped I was hysterical and I had no energy to protest as he pushed me onto the bed and sodomized me. I left that next day with his threats ringing in my ears and feeling the cold metal of the knife against my skin. When my friend invited me to sleepover again, I almost declined, but was too afraid to not go. They said he was away and wouldn't be home until the following morning. My plan was to get out before he returned.
In the middle of the night he woke me up harshly and told me to turn over so he could "take my temperature". I shook my head, already crying, and he whipped out the knife and made a long cut on my leg. He repeated himself and I still shook my head. He jabbed the sharp tip of the knife into my leg, twisted it, and pulled it out. He did this several times and then repeated himself. He leaned over to scare me and I spit at him.
Suddenly I was over his knee again, being spanked. Then, to my surprise, he began jabbing the knife into my butt, making deep round cuts. I still have the scars. He spanked me right over the cuts and then grazed the knife tip over the open wounds. Then he jammed the thermometer in me and it hurt more than ever. He cut up my legs, my thighs, my butt, my arms, my breasts. I haven't worn shorts in two years, despite the 90+ degree weather. I won't wear a bathing suit. The scars are too noticeable. If I wear a skirt I have to wear 3 pairs of pantyhose and use cover-up besides.
He told me that night that when it was all over I'd die. I kept waiting for him to kill me, just so he'd stop. Instead, he mutilated me and attempted to stick the knife in my vagina. He cut me up really bad and there was a lot of blood afterwards. Then before he left he pushed something very small and hard up into my bottom. The social worker says from what I described it sounds like a suppository.
I never went back after that. I told someone at school and they helped me tell my family. We pressed charges but he was never charged with any felonies. He denies everything. My (ex) friend denies ever witnessing it, even though she was in the room some of those times. He's getting off with a possible fine and mandatory therapy.
I am now 17, a senior in high school. I am on home-tutoring because debilitating anxiety attacks prevent me from staying in a classroom. I am on anti-anxiety medication. I suffer from frequent flashbacks, bedwetting, and moments when I think I'm actually back there. I am trying, though, no matter what anyone thinks, to take my life back. I don't want to be a rape VICTIM, I want to be a rape SURVIVOR.
At first I only remembered the last time it happened when I was 11 years old. My dad's friend was living in our house and everyday after school for 3 months he molested me. There was no one home, my parents worked and my brother and sister were always outside playing. I always felt to blame, because I could never scream, or even tell him to stop. But the words just wouldn't escape my mouth.
At the very thought of it I still get nausea. So I never said anything to anyone and I silently wished him to go away, 3 months later, he did, and I thought it was over. But it wasn't, he kept calling my house and asking to speak to me and telling me what he wished to do to me and he always ended with reminding me not to say anything because no one would believe me over him.
6 years went by before my parents found out, when they did I was very afraid because I thought my dad would kill him. Was I wrong. They had him over the house and made me repeat what he did to me, and he just kept denying it. My parents didn't do anything. I was disappointed. But yet again I put it behind me, and forgot about it for another 5 years.
Then in college, in a class speaking of child abuse, something triggered inside my head and all those feelings came back. I don't know what came over me, I spoke to my teacher and she helped me through it. I desperately needed someone to finally believe me and she did.
I began therapy and with that I recalled 2 previous incidents of abuse. It wasn't an easy process, most of the first therapy sessions were spent in complete silence, I was too embarrassed to say anything. but almost 2 years later I'm through it. I haven't forgotten, and I never will, but I no longer consider myself a victim, but a survivor, because believe me I survived it, I don't know if I'd be here now, if it weren't for my teacher and lifelong friend and also for my therapist.
As for myself, I'm very proud of who I've become, the abuse is no longer a part of who I am as a person. It's part of my past and I cannot do anything to change that. That's my story, very compact, but it tells everything.