***Let me preface this and all stories with one caveat. I do not tell them for sympathy, or to seek attention for myself. I tell them so that other victims out there realize a few things:
1. First and Foremost you are not alone. There are many ways and methods to get help, even if you feel that you can’t because it will make matters worse. There are safe havens to turn to.
2. You are strong and resilient. You can survive and thrive! You have done nothing wrong, the blame lies firmly and completely on the other side of “the pond”
3. If you feel you need to talk and there is no one else you can talk to message me, I will help you figure it out. You are never alone. There is strength in that. ***
Abuse of any kind is about power. It’s about the abuser trying to take power away from the one being abused and keeping it for themselves. Even at 9 and 10 years old I understood this and never let Him take that power from me. I never cowered, never feared, never stopped trying to figure a way to end it. Too bad that way wasn’t my mother, wasn’t Carol. I found that way in under a year, though. I didn’t let him continue to attempt to take that power from me for long, I chose the ending, not Him.
That is not to say I wasn’t affected. My behavior did change some. At school I was more focused. My grades improved. It was the only time that I made straight A’s. I was more involved with clubs. Which was hard since I was always involved with a lot of clubs. At home I was quieter. My G-Ma, bless her heart and soul, noticed that I was different from normal even through the phone line and never stopped badgering me about what was wrong. I couldn’t tell her while I was in the house though. I had to wait until I was away visiting her or my dad.
In the end I told before He got to far in trying to gain power, to play too many games, whatever He was about in His head. In the end I sent Him to jail for what was supposed to be ten years with no chance of parole for seven. At right about the year mark I was notified that He would be released after about a year and a half in prison due to good behavior reducing His sentence. Somehow, I lost again….
Or so I thought at the time. Turns out that having Carol kick me out at the tender age of 11 so she could live with Him again was a blessing in disguise for me. I moved to a place where I was closer to those that loved and protected me. I was closer to my real mom, the one that gave me the strength, the lessons, the love and the guidance that allowed me to grow up strong and proud. I was closer my my G-Ma. I will never be able to thank her enough, blessings on her Soul.
So, with that background, let us begin.
The first time He came to me, I was getting ready to take a shower. I liked to use the Carol’s and His shower because it was bigger, not so “run-down” seeming and a stand-alone shower. I always padded into their room in my bathrobe carrying my towel and totally ready to jump in the shower. As for where Carol was this evening, I am not really sure- maybe at one of her conferences? It seems like that was where she usually was when she wasn’t home. Those conference nights were always the nights He chose to “teach” me.
I was always told to shut the bathroom door when I was in the shower, in case one of them needed to come into the bedroom while I was in the shower. However, at 9 years old I was also a little rebellious like we all are at that age and didn’t like how steamy the bathroom became so I always left the door half-way cracked. At the time He first came into the bedroom I was still letting the shower warm up, I had just taken off my robe and the bathroom door was still all the way open (though the bedroom door was closed).
I went to shut the bathroom door when I heard Him come in the bedroom, however, He told me not to but rather to come out and do something for Him. So on went the bathrobe and out I went; though I left the shower running. He was sitting on their waterbed when I walked out of the bathroom, a whopping 5ish feet away. He told me to sit down next to Him for a minute, that there was something that He needed to share with me.
He began with telling me that what He was going to share with me was something Carol would share with me, eventually, as was her prerogative as my mother. He said that it was something she should have started showing me once I began my period, but that she had put it off since I began that so young. Now she didn’t have time because she was so busy with work. He wanted to make sure my education didn’t get delayed that long, didn’t want to put me to far behind on my education. I just sat there through all this wondering why this couldn’t wait until after my shower.
He then told me to lay back on the bed, and just breath. He would lead me through the first part of my education until I was able to learn to do things on my own. At this point my warning lights started going off. I wasn’t sure WHAT was going on, only that some part of me was becoming distinctly uncomfortable with the situation. I kept flashing back to the year before, in my last school in Florida and the assembly we had on sexual predators. I remember thinking about the part of the briefing stated that most predators were related to or step-parents of those they victimized. At the time I thought there was no way He would ever do that! Now here I was a year later wondering if that was about to happen.
Then he touched me. At first, He rubbed His thumb along the outside along my clit, laying his hand flat along my belly. He began telling me that this was what I would find most rewarding in the beginning as I started to turn my body on. While He was talking (and I confess I tuned out some) I began fantasizing about kicking Him back into the corner of a dresser that was RIGHT THERE. Hell, today I still fantasize about going back and doing it. After a couple of minutes of rubbing my clit, he rotated His hand so that He could begin to insert His fingers one by one inside my vagina. All the while talking and telling me how one day Carol would explain this all to me, and then I would be doing this all myself. Eventually, I came out of my brain fog and realized that the shower was still on. Using this information I appealed to the houses notorious lack of how water to end our “training” session. It worked.
He pulled out his fingers one by one (all three of them) and first smelled them individually, then sucked them dry. Then He pulled the robe closed over me and cupped my vagina once more, reminded me that Carol would be upset if she knew He had began my training instead of her, then got up and left the room.
Once he was out of the room with the door closed I sat on the end of the bed for a minute before going in the bathroom then shutting and locking the door. From there I ended up on the floor of the shower crying in a ball (I barely remembered to take my robe off mind you!) until well past the time the water turned cold.
At some point I did eventually end my shower. I snuck back to my bedroom and locked that door too. I called my Grandma “just to talk” and talked to her for a bit, but I didn’t leave the bedroom the rest of the night. I hoped and I prayed that that was the only time that that would happen. I knew, though, that He was just getting started. The only question was how much would I be able to take and how/when could I end it. I look back on my 9-year-old self with pride. She was a tough b!#$h!!!