I got called a whore and a bitch and some of the men were mean and liked to slap me while they had sex with me. Initially she was a bit hesitant on how to start, but then I guess it was her determination which pushed her to share how it all started and what exactly happened. They wanted me to lick their butts. You don't give your age, but its irrelevant anyway; sex between close family members connected by blood is taboo in most societies. The main problem is your father is not the person you have sex with; that's a crime called incest. I didn't know then that I was having orgasms; it would be years before I learned that word, and even longer before I admitted to myself that what I experienced was orgasm. I acted out my distress in myriad ways.
Nice guys have trouble hitting you during sex, go figure. He never penetrated me with his penis, but his fingers would routinely enter my tiny vagina. You are a shining example of that. But having intercourse with a family is called incest and is illegal! No one helped me build interests in anything other than being sexy and interesting to boys. I wanted the sex, no doubt, but I also used it to keep feeling ashamed.
It took quite a few years for me to find a really nice, reliable guy. We'd be wrestling, rough-housing playfully, maybe in the living room, and he would casually, repeatedly touch my vagina through my clothes. I am inspired by your courage, strength, and honesty. He did the same to himself, and applied the oil to his penis. Some street dogs chased me, I was scared to death.
He started abusing and assaulting her every day. This story is about Juli and what her father did to her. Everywhere I looked, girls were taking off their clothes and grinding against men. I liked those feelings so much. Again I knew it was wrong, but I let it happen.
This says nothing about you as a person. But at the same time, I was able to prove to myself that I wasn't an awful person because I didn't let him do things to me. You and your dad need help to break this habit and restart your lives in a healthy way. It was traumatic; their disappearance spooked me horribly. Some of the guys would choke until my vision would fade and then slap me to wake me up.
And I could tell that it was something bad, shameful, and not to be talked about. I decided I would be proud of it and embrace it so I did. The day they ran the dogs in the woods across the street, the day they dragged the pond searching for their bodies, those are two of the most vivid and horrific memories of my youth. They would make me sit in front of everyone and ask me to tell in detail about what happened. I felt like I deserved to be used that way.
Once I made my best friend, Jane, pull down her pants and lie across my lap as I pretended to spank her. You need to take your own life back, live it how you want to. And most of all I loved that my dad looked at me again with something other than disgust. We would devise elaborate strategies, some plotting to get rid of my dad so he'd stop doing it and others scheming to get rid of his girlfriend so he would never stop thinking I was special. It takes time, but healing is possible. I apologize for how long this is and how graphic if graphic descriptions are going to be hard for you consider this your warning to stop now.
Or I'd imagine that it was an older boy, Jack, who was a friend of my family. You took a life of lemons and turned it into lemonade. He would come along with my younger brother and emotionally blackmail my mother. Though the abuse itself ended long ago, the impact is everlasting. I'd go to sleep, genuinely fall asleep, and he'd get in bed. I felt like someone had died again.
And the things that I was supposed to do for the guys got worse and worse. And, meanwhile, the beliefs he had about women negatively affected his life. Fathers can give their daughters attention for non-sexual qualities, like bravery, strength, intelligence, and humor. If a boy wanted me, I believed that could make me worthwhile in the world—certainly every media outlet suggested that was true. I created an imaginary friend, Charlotte, who was the only one I confided in. It was like a vestige of Daddy; for a long, long time, only Daddy would make me come.
With my father, in his bed, I first experienced the bump and grind of sexual relations. After we'd get off the phone I'd masturbate to orgasm. I told my mother that I was cold -- that I was shaking because I was cold. After a while, the snapping of the sheet stopped and I knew it was time. If they can't help, find someone who can. Jeff would beg me to let him kiss and touch me, and I would tell him no. At night, while my mother worked, he took me into their bed and made me believe he was doing me a favor, giving me a special privilege.