My Story
I don't remember much of my biological father, my parents divorced when i was very young. By the time i was three, my mother had met the man she is still married to twenty three years later. He is the only father I have even known. Even though my older brother and I were not so accepting of our s-father at first, I can never remember being rude, unfriendly, or disrespectful to him.  I have many fond memories of him, such as; him calling me on my birthday, pretending to be mickey mouse.  What a gift, Mickey calling me on my birthday!  Once, on vacation, I had jumped into a swimming pool, not knowing how to swim. He dove in, still in his clothes and wearing his glasses and saved me. He helped me buy my first three cars, and then taught me to work on them myself. He drove me to rock concerts, to see groups he couldn't stand. Over the years I have come to admire, respect and love him, which is sometimes twisted and intermingled with fear, hate, disgust and loathing for him.  This is very painful and confusing at times.

For us, my mother, older brother and I, the fear was planted early, and for me grew to am overwhelming and monstrous size. I remember the most common punishment my brother and I getting, as having to drop our pants and underwear, bend over and grab our ankles, while he whipped us with his leather belt. I was never confused as to why we got whippings, we got them because we had, in some way, made him mad. I don't know which was more painful, getting whippings, or having listen to him yell at mom and watch him beat her. The seed of hatred had been sown.

My s-father was not the only powerful, authority figure in my life. My older brother also had a power and authority over me, but in a different way.  We were allies against our s-father.  At times, he was my only friend. I thought he was the best, the coolest, I wanted to be just like him. My older brother, my ally, my idol, my enemy, a traitor.  Every time we were left alone, he would beat up on me. He was always making me cry. He loved making fun of me, and was very witty about it. Sometimes he would make fun of me and everyone would laugh at his remarks. I would cry and they would laugh harder, saying I was too sensitive, that I couldn't take a joke.  It just wasn't funny to me, it was hurtful. I think he took great pleasure in exerting his power over me. I don't remember the first time it happened, I was very young, maybe five or six. I didn't even know what he made me do had a name. He always just told me he wanted me to do up and downers on his dick. he would tell me how many times I had to move my lips up and down. I thought I hated doing that, but it got worse. He began giving me oral sex, though I didn't know that word at the time. I always felt dirty and disgusted with myself.  When our family would go visit their close friends, who had two boys, mine and my older brother's age, he would also exert his power over them too. We would go out to the barn to play, and my older brother would make the two boys suck him. He would also make me suck the other two boys. I remember one time in the barn, my older brother was making all of us suck him, and was pissing in our mouths. We were crying and protesting, but when he told us to do it, we did it. Things like this continued until I was about ten or eleven. My older brother, my ally, my idol, my enemy, a traitor. Yet I loved him and still do. He has had a very hard life, I guess that is why I am not nearly as angry at him as I am my s-father.

The disgust and loathing for my s-father began to grow when I was about seven or eight. I remember the first time very clearly.  We were all going to the lake to meet relatives. I wanted to bring my friend from school along, but there wasn't enough room for us in mom's car. So I was to wait and wake my s-father at noon, then my friend and I would go to the lake with him.  At noon I woke him up as told, then sat back down in the living room to watch saturday morning cartoons.  A few minutes later he called to me, I went to his bedroom door and he motioned for me to come over to the bed. I didn't want to, but I did. He told me to lie down with him for a bit. Then he put my hand over his dick, and he began fondling me down there.  I hated it, I just wanted to take my friend with me to the lake. After that, it seemed like every chance he got, when we were alone, or mom and older brother was gone and my younger brother and sister were outside, he took the opportunity to touch me. We had a paper route for a long time, I hated going with him, as during the long stretches of riding, he would make me stroke him and he would fondle my breasts while driving.

Finally when I was about twelve or thirteen I ran away. Everything came out about what my s-father had been doing to me. I told my older brother, aunt and mother. We went to a few counciling sessions together, my s-father, mother and I.  But after about the third visit, my mother came to me and started talking about how expensive it was to visit the shrink, how we couldn't afford to keep going. And to think about if I really wanted to go through a trial and have to tell everything in court in front of strangers, to think about what the people at my school and around town would say about our family. Then, I am not sure, maybe I misunderstood, but as I remember, she asked me to tell the shrink I made everything up for attention.  I didn't want to have to go to court, I didn't want people talking about our family, I just wanted my s-father to stop.  So I told the shrink I had made everything up for attention.

My s-father came to me later and apologized to me. He said he didn't realize that I didn't like what he had been doing to me. He had only wanted to teach me about sex. He promised me it would never happen again.  Well I don't think I was ever made to touch him again, that seemed like the biggest issue to everyone anyway.  But he still touched me. And as I got older he began talking about sex to me. Asking about my sex life, telling me about his and my mother's sex life. I didn't want to hear that, nor did I want to share my secrets. But I was afraid if I did, I might upset him, or hurt his feelings. That kind of power also produced guilt.  The last incident I remember happened when I was 24.

Recently, I talked to my mother about this for the second time. I was tired of having to hide how I was really feeling, having to hide that I had been in therapy and was on meds. I just wanted for my parents to know what I was and am going through.  I was self injuring for awhile, but I hope I have overcome that. Sometimes its difficult, as I have come to hate myself with such vengeance.  People can tell me over and over and over again, what a good person I am, but I just can't see it. Right now I just feel like I am in limbo, just hanging out there, waiting for something to happen. In some ways it was a great relief talking to my mother. I never felt closer to anyone as I did to her during that conversation. In other ways it had been very hard for me. I feel like I should be with the family, ready to take the consequences of letting all this out again. Instead, my mother, younger sister and s-father are having to deal with this themselves, while I hide out behind my computer in another country.  Therapy ought to be interesting this coming week.

Oct. 31 1997 1