|HAMMER SMASHED FACE BITCHES|
It starts when I was 8. I went to my aunt's house after church (I know, me, church?) to play with my cousins Michael and Jennifer. Both are considerably older than I since my parents decided to have me way the hell late in life.
Apparently when I was 8, good ole Mikey was going through puberty. What a wonderful time for a boy this puberty thing is.
What is interesting is how Mike used my idolizing him as a brother to destroy my childhood. We did the normal kid things: built a fort, played in the machine shed, played in the hayloft of the barn. Normal, redneck, farmers children things. Until one day in the fort he asked me to take my clothes off. I didn't want to, but I did anyway to make him happy so I could get a ride on the 3-wheeler later.
|Mike still has this creepy fucking smile.|
There were more times in the fort. It started as just quick looking and inappropriate rubbing. I still kept asking Mom and Dad to go back to my aunt's house to play with Mikey. Enthusiastically. Every Sunday after church. Sometimes I even sat in the sound room with him as he recorded Brother Door's sermons. The foldout chair was far more comfortable than sitting in a stiff wooden pew listening to Dad snore and Mom sing her soprano notes.
One day we went to the barn with the BB gun to shoot birds. We ended up in the hayloft for some unknown, ungodly reason, and as was the habit, I had to get naked. By this time I was growing breasts and probably already up to a B cup. (These bastards grew overnight, I swear). He told me he had a new game to play called "Milking the Cow." I had to get on all fours, legs spread apart looking like a dog in heat.
I wasn't happy about being naked again, but really, what the hell is a pre-teen going to do against somebody who's already hitting 6'3"? He told me I was the cow, and my developing breasts were the udder, and with that stupid fucking smile still on his face, me in a completely helpless and hopeless position, he proceeded to massage my breasts as if he were indeed milking a cow.
Another wonderful interaction with him was in their swimming pool. It was just him and I splashing around, me stupid enough to wear a pink and black horizontal striped bikini (why the fuck do they make those things in kids sizes?). He made a game of charging through the water at me to try to get the top off so he "could see my boobies."
|I still hate Fords.|
He made me disrobe, showing off my flabby, white, pubescent body and ride on the hood of the truck. If I didn't ride naked on the hood, he told me, I'd be walking back to the house, naked. This incident was traumatic enough to me that I don't even remember if he molested me that night or not.
There were a few days when Mike found his way over to my house, some of them at my own asking.
Logically that is hard to get your head around, but I'll put it this way; negative attention is attention. He paid attention to me, and now that I was hitting puberty my body was fighting my mind and curiosities, and I had a source to experiment with. One day I even asked him to tie my hands above my head to the shower curtain rod and cane me with a switch. Talk about a confusing moment in life. And why I'm still wishy-washy on masochistic tendencies, as the fantasies definitely inspire a multitude of emotions at one time. And this shows just how damaged goods I was, and am.
Eventually Mikey went on his own way, graduating from high school and college, getting married, and having a daughter of his own. Even when I was 19 he was still finding ways to abuse, or try to abuse me. He would send me pictures of fisting, bizarre sex, BDSM, and a lot of skinny lesbians with big tits and apparently elastic pussies. One day, at a dinner at Grandma's house (I was somewhere between 19 and 21), he caught me alone by my car and tried to grab my now full grown, awesome, D-cup breasts. Luckily he only got the bra, and I was able to escape somehow.
Good ole Mikey got to touch me from the ages of 8 to 13 for those of you keeping track. And yes, his daughter is big enough to have breasts of her own, and I feel guilty every fucking day, wondering if by my not snitchin' I've put her at risk. He's that type of offender, and I wouldn't put it past him doing this shit to his own daughter.
Next up on the hammer smashin' list, we have Kenny. Kenny the Meth Head rapist. Kenny is the product of yet a different aunt, but both cousins are on Dad's side of the family.
When I was younger, my brothers weren't really around. I was essentially an only child, so I looked to my cousins to be my brothers. Kenny was one of these cousins, and perhaps the one I looked up to the most, aside from his brother, The Marine.
|Inside, I was still this age.|
Me, in my innocent mind, thought it would be awesome to sleep in the waterbed with a cousin I loved and looked up to. I mean, come on, waterbeds are fun toys, and who the fuck thinks your own cousin is going to cross any boundaries? Plus I hadn't seen him for almost a year.
I crept into his room and asked if I could sleep with him, like I'd done a million times before. He was pissy with me this time though. He told me "To sleep in my bed you gotta have sex with me." My initial reaction, which I should have stuck with, was you're kidding, followed by fuck no.
Really, I thought he was kidding. Apparently not. I went back to the living room and mulled it over a bit, and for some really stupid reason went BACK into the bedroom and allowed him to commit statutory rape and sodomy with my body.
He finished and went to sleep. I felt guilty and went into the front room, smoked a cigarette, watched the severe storm roll in and basically questioned myself on what the fuck I had just done.
I was still smoking when the pissed off girlfriend came back to the house. I know the scent of sex was still in the air, because I remember thinking I heard her say that she thought Kenny and I had sex. Nothing else was said to me and I slept on the couch, listening to the storm.
We went to Walmart and Aladdin's Castle (props to the locals who remember it) as soon as he woke up the next day, like nothing had happened, like I wasn't missing a vital piece of me that was still trapped in his bed alongside the smell of used pussy.
With Kenny, as with Mike, I had found a source to fulfill a very physical need, and one every damn teenager has... the need for sex. My brain and soul hated it, my body liked it. I know I called him to come fuck me at least once, maybe twice after the initial time. I also learned the improper way to flush a condom from him.
Kenny went on to have many girlfriends and another failed marriage with a woman who had two children. One of these children was approximately 14 and looked a lot like me when I was her age. Looking back I think he did something to her too, based on the interactions between them I saw and just how she acted. This wife, and all of the girlfriends I'd had the pleasure of meeting all complained about Kenny's "aggressiveness in bed."
When the wife finally left him I was somewhere around 20. I was at his house playing a computer game and he decided he wanted to go to bed. Apparently he was horny and decided it was a good idea to tell me to either have sex with him or go home. I was far stronger at 20 than I was at 13; I went home and played Mortal Kombat.
|Good Ole Walt|
While I didn't dress like a skank, he must have taken notice of the "good victim" sign I had flashing above my head. He was a slow, methodical predator. I was 15 when he finally got his chance. He had a habit of sitting in his car to watch the local football games. After years of grooming me, he had built up enough trust to get me to watch the game in his car with him. That was a bad idea. Seriously. Fortunately for me I was already 15 and had about enough shit as I could possibly take.
The episode started off friendly enough. "Here, let me give you a backrub, I can tell it hurts." Yeah, I'm so not falling for that line ever again. His disgusting hands crept around to the front, fondling my nipples while I was paralyzed, listening to the moans and groans emitting from behind his rotted teeth. He must have taken my paralysis as a sign to continue, because he slipped his hand into my pants, fingering me, and telling me how he loves shaved girls. Another reason to at least leave a landing strip when trimming.
My body was fighting my mind, it was naturally reacting to stimulation, like all post-puberty bodies do. But this time was different. While that portion of my body was revolting against the rest of it and my mind, my mind finally won the battle for once. I'm sure he would have raped me had I not finally gained the composure to get the fuck out of the car, never to be alone with him again. EVER. Haha I won one!
So did God, actually. He was forced to be castrated due to an accident involving a 2x4 and a dumpster.
I should totally write a book about my shitty life growing up. This was just the sexual shit. There's emotional, psychological and physical added in on top of this throughout the entire time frame.
Dear Awesomesauce: If you even made it through this entire blog, I commend you, and maybe now you understand my point of view on certain matters, and why I am the way I am a bit more clearly now.