My mother told me that even before I could say whole words I seemed to be drawn to men. She said it didn’t matter if it was her male boss at work, or the husband of one of her friends or even a stranger we met while out some where I would flirt and reach for any man who showed me any attention.
She would never tell me why but she never had any relationship with my biological father. She wouldn’t tell me who he was or anything about him. So the first several years of my life were spent without any type of father figure.
Really other then my mother I had no other family to think of. I’m not sure why but she didn’t really seem to have much of a relationship with any of her family including her own mom. Because of that and a lack of much of an education she always worked more then one job just to make end’s meat. It wasn’t surprising then that I spent a great deal of time in either day care or with a baby sitter. I have some memory of several different men seeming to come and go in her life that is until I was six years old.
Even our living arrangements changed frequently over the first few years of my life as we moved from one place to another none of which would have ever been considered to be in a good part of town. But shortly after my sixth birthday we moved into a trailer park. It was there that we met Don. Don lived in the trailer next to the one my mother rented as our new home. He apparently had some sort of work related injury and was living on disability so he didn’t have to go to work. Within just a few days of us moving in he stopped by and introduced himself.
You will have to judge for yourself, and make your own decision on what you want to think about my mother but it wasn’t too long after we met Don that he offered to keep an eye on me if my mom needed help and always short on money she quickly took him up on the offer. It was early in the summer that we moved to the trailer park and that was the first year that I didn’t spend the whole summer in day care. In reality you can probably count on two hands the number of days she took me there. Within only a few days of meeting Don he became my babysitter.
I can not tell you what she was really thinking but it felt to me like he gave her, her first freedom from becoming a mother too young. I believe she was just so relieved to have someone willing to watch her kid for free that she never bothered to ask herself why a single man would provide free daycare to a little girl. Some people tell me I should blame her, or hate her for it, but how can you hate your only family.
I had hardly ever had anyone who paid much attention to me so when Don began to talk to me and listen to me I loved the attention and threw myself at him. I can hardly remember my mother ever hugging or kissing me but I still remember the first day he babysat me pulling me onto his lap on his recliner. I think I remember it so much because most of the time Don held me, he held me very tight and firm. Most times I was held, I would have to ask to be put down before he would release me and often he would just tell me “no” and refuse to put me down.
But I didn’t care. I had someone to talk to and who would listen to me and pay attention to me and that is exactly what Don did. So after learning that he decided when I got up in his lap and when I got down I began to accept his will so I would not be alone or at daycare. I am not sure if it is true, but Don will swear it is, he says that the very first time he touched the private place between my legs, that I tensed and looked at him. He says that I stiffened and squirmed for a moment, but like he usually did he says he held me tightly until I stopped struggling. He says he held me firmly and held his hand between my legs and whispered into my ear, “Good girl.” He says I looked at him shyly and then smiled softly and accepted his hand there.
I can tell you that for many years I craved approval and praise and that I always responded to being told, “Good girl.” I can not say I remember the first touch there actually I can not really remember a time when he didn’t touch me there. I can tell you that of all the people I have known in my life Don is a master manipulator. I can not tell you how many times he with only words manipulated my mother into what he wanted. I even have seen him manipulate complete strangers to give into what he wanted. So as a little girl I guess I was an easy target.
I can not tell you the exact date or the exact age I was the first time he did it but I do remember the odd, naughty feeling that would come to me when he would push my panties down. Sometimes he would leave them just a few inches down on my thighs and other times he would pull them completely off but I always remember feeling shy and naughty and embarrassed as he would tug them down. He would just whisper into my ear, “It’s okay, be a good girl.” And I would then feel the warmth of his hand on my bare skin.
The reason I mentioned to you about his ability to manipulate people is because I remember a few times when I would resist and whine about the naughty games we would play, but when I resisted and complained, he would get ice cold towards me. He would ignore me, not talk to me, not listen to me and pretend I wasn’t in the same trailer home. Of course this would drive me crazy until the point that I would come to him giving into what he wanted even as I got older to the point of me undressing completely just to get him to pull me onto his lap.
Its one of the things I struggle with most. Professional mental health people tell me over and over that it wasn’t my fault but I carry so much guilt for the times I would go to him and seduce my way into his attention.
If you have ever have wondered about the mental anguish and pain regarding rape I can tell you from my own experience that I feel so much less guilt from the times in my life when a man would force himself on me, and hit me, and restrain me and force sex on my body. I do not struggle to call those times rape.
What I struggle to believe no matter how many people tell me so is that it was also rape the times I went to him and the times, God these words are even hard to say, but that I wanted him, I wanted to do those naughty games we played.
Guys have asked me a question that I still struggle with wanting to lie about and that is, “Did it feel good?” I am so full of shame that it did sometimes. I am so full of shame that many times I wanted to feel him touch me. I am so full of shame that I would go to him and touch him. I am so full of shame that sometimes as I got older I wanted him inside me.
Obviously it took years for the games to escalate. It took years for the touching to change from him touching me to me touching him.
My hands tremble, when I type the words and feel the emotions rushing through me knowing how many things he was my first for. He was the first man to touch my privates over clothing. He was the first man to touch my privates bare. He was the person who taught me how to kiss with passion. Not the little girl pecks that all little girls do with their mothers but to kiss with meaning.
I remember the first penetration of his tongue into my mouth. I thought it was so gross. But he made me feel ashamed for telling him that and showed me with movies and TV that was how people love each other.
He was the first man I was completely naked in front of and just thinking about being naked in front of him makes me feel so awkward even now. He used to love to have me just stand there naked in front of him. It felt to me like hours when I’m sure it was only a few minutes but he would have me turn around and he would just look and stare at my body.
I can hardly forget the humiliation of being made to get completely naked in public places. He loved to take me into the men’s room at the mall or at sports stadiums or in restaurants. It is hard for me to describe for you the awkward and humiliating feeling of being made to get naked in a public men’s bathroom and standing barefooted on the nasty floor feeling the grime and dirt and stickiness of the floor on my bare feet. I’ll never forget the first time, when I was a little older and doing more naughty things having to kneel in front of him on the filthy floor on my bare knees, feeling the grime on the front of the calves of my legs and the tops of my feet.
He was the first person to watch me use the bathroom. I cant forget the first time, feeling his hands on my knees forcing them to open so he could watch me pee. I cant forget the first time he reached between my legs and reached into the stream moving his hand up to touch me. I was so ashamed and intimidated I stopped the flow and he got upset with me for that. That day it felt like more then an hour that I sat on the toilet as he waited for me to begin peeing again while rubbing and touching me down there. But he wouldn’t let me get off the toilet until I finished what I had started.
He was the first person I ever watched go to the bathroom. I remember him making me watch no matter how many times I tried to turn away. I am even more ashamed to admit that he was the first person to actually pee on me. The first time he did so as I sat on the toilet with my knees wide, and as I began to pee, he did too peeing between my legs and on my body. It shook me up so much again I stopped my flow. I got in big trouble for that.
I wont tell you anymore about it right now but yes he humiliated me with the other manner of human waist but I try not to think about that let alone write about it.
He was the first man whose sex I ever touched. Again it is hard to describe the feelings I felt being told to touch it. Words like ashamed and naughty don’t fully describe those feelings. Feeling his hand on top of mine guiding me how to touch it as if it was something normal for an adult to teach a child like how to use a knife or tool. I will never forget the disgusting feeling I felt the first time he had cum and he made me touch that. I thought I’d be sick, but it only got worse when at a later time he got that on more then my hand.
Obviously he became the first person to cum on my face. Still to this day it is one of the most humiliating things I have experienced and I still hate it. But its one of those things that he convinced me if I loved him I would accept. I do not think there are too many more demeaning things in the world then being asked to kneel, holding still in front of a man, told to keep my eyes open and then watching and feeling the thick warm goo squirt onto my face. Hoping it doesn’t get into my eyes. Then only adding to the humiliation when he threatens me not to wipe it off, to let it thicken and drip and run down to slowly dry on my face.
It was during a facial the first time he began to use demeaning, humiliating language on me. “That’s my dirty girl, my dirty whore,” he said it feeling like a knife in my heart.
Obviously as I got older things continued to escalate and one of the things I resisted most was oral. It was just so hard for me mentally to put my mouth on the part of his body I had seen pee and cum. I threw up the first time and was dealt with severely for doing this. But he made me put my mouth right back on it. I think that was the first time I really noticed and learned the scent of a man. But not just noticing the scent of sweat but also the smell down there. I learned the scent of pre-cum, maybe old urine, and sweat in the pubic area.
I think it was also the first time I learned about sexual human nature. I will never forget the first time I realized that he was extremely aroused and needed to cum and once he got to a certain point he didn’t care how I felt, how scared I was or anything about me. I remember him taking hard hold of my head his fingers interlaced in my hair and the strength of his hips thrusting his cock into my mouth. He no longer cared if I gagged or chocked, or if his hands were hurting me. He just thrust over and over with abandon into my face until he achieved his desired result, orgasm. I remember the determination and maybe even anger in his voice telling me I’d better swallow every drop. I’m not saying it was always like that but the first time that happened I think I started to understand the primal sexual need people can have.
I find it very difficult to express to you my discomfort with receiving oral. Its hard to explain but I struggle immensely with how vulnerable I feel with my legs wide open and a man that typically weighs more then double my weight down there between my legs. So many people tell me I’m foolish and missing out on not getting the favor returned to me but I avoid receiving oral as much as I can. Like many things there is one exception to that but its one I’m not ready to share.
He was the first man to spank my bare bottom. It shocked me the first time it happened. My mother had never hit me and he never spanked me in a way I think some parents spank their children, more to scare them then to hurt them. I am not ready to go into all the details with you but I can tell you that over the years he spanked me in multiple ways. To him spanking could be either punishment or a form of degradation. He could use only a few but extremely hard spanks or he could use multiple not too hard hits. But do not take that lightly, because even a soft hit, if done over and over and over will begin to hurt deeper and deeper. I think he looked for new ways to spank and new things to spank with. Over the years I was hit by everything from his hand, to a riding crop, to a paddle, to a variety of canes from thick to thin even other objects like cooking spoons and ping pong paddles. The spanking would never stop till I completely broke down.
The stupidest thing I could do would be to try to be strong and not cry. Trust me every time he spanked me it would break my will. Do not think he limited the spanking just to my bottom. I was also spanked on my thighs, lower back and even between my legs. And don’t under estimate the area on a bottom. The feeling of a cane or any object hitting high on your bottom to very low on your bottom can feel very different as can every inch in between. And I can tell you there is little more painful then being hit between your legs. It rarely took many hits there to get me to sob uncontrollably. The severity of the spanking grew over the years.
And of course he was the person who took my virginity. I think he did his best to be kind and gentle but up to that point I do not think I have ever been more afraid of him doing anything else. It took many times before I ever understood that intercourse could feel good. But I’ll never forget the pain of the first several times. I will write more about it another time. But I was terrified and I hurt down there like nothing I had ever imagined. It felt like someone was trying to crawl inside my body. I wasn’t ready to feel part of another person’s body push inside me. I was not ready for the emotional feeling of another person penetrating my soul. It was overpowering feeling his weight and strength pin me between him and the bed and force deeper inside me. I can not appropriately describe to you the emotional feeling I felt when I felt him cum inside me. He put his body fluids deep inside me against my will. The only thing I can even think of close to it would be if someone spit into your mouth without you knowing they were going to do so. I really was afraid I would die. When it was over I was stunned to see blood down there for the first time ever and trembled for the next several hours until it stopped while he kept telling me to stop being a baby. It was still another year and a half before I had my first period.
Of course once it started it became more and more frequent. It obviously took time but my body continued to mature and slowly the pain lessoned. I think once I got over the fear of it and accepted that it was going to happen whether I liked it or not I began to experience the physical feelings in my body. After I had reached puberty and began my cycle I began to get more into the intimacy of what we were doing. There were times when we had very good sex everything from passionate, to primal to even loving.
It was during those times that I started to believe he truly loved me. While my mother almost never said that word, Don said it all the time. The huge amount of time I spent with him allowed her to get a life away from her child. My first few years of puberty I think I spent between two to three nights at home with her during a week sometimes it was more but usually not.
I have just begun to write about the things I have been through. But now that I have written about what I have you would likely think I hated him. But there is nothing farther from the truth. It is one of the things I struggle with the mental health professionals about as they think I should easily hate him. However, it is hard to explain how for so many years he was the center of my universe. My mother allowed him into my life and he inserted himself fully. Every summer we spent almost every moment of ever day together. Even during the school year he limited me as much as possible. Mostly I went to and from school.
That only lasted a few years before he convinced my mother he could home school me. It took him a bit of convincing but she finally gave into him after he managed to find a home schooling curriculum online and product it for my mother. The only schooling I had after that was in sexuality. I think he somehow purchased some exams and papers some other student had already completed and submitted them to the home schooling board he belonged to. I know I never took an exam or wrote a paper. The only thing I was permitted to do education wise was to read. He selected what I read and it was either stories of bondage and slavery or pornography of women degraded and submitting to men.
As the years passed I began to believe more and more that my life with him was typical and that other girls were doing the same things I was doing. I had little understanding how wrong most of it was and still struggle to understand how wrong it was.
One of the biggest changes in my life was when he decided to involve others in our sexual life. The first time it happened he had a male friend over to his trailer and made me undress for him. I was so ashamed to be standing naked before the two men. I was disgusted when he allowed and made me allow the stranger to touch me.
I think the involvement of others was one of the most degrading and emotionally difficult things for me. I no longer felt like his special loved little girl. The dirty words even seemed to escalate after that and I was called more names like, whore, bitch, slut, etc. It was also so disgusting to have to smell and taste other men.
One of the worst days of my life to this day was the first time he made me have sex with someone else. I had allowed myself to believe that he was doing all this with me because he loved me. So when he told me I had to have sex with this total stranger I was devastated. I felt dirtier that night then any other night in my life. While it didn’t hurt like so many times had with Don when we were first having sex it felt more dirty then anything to that point. I swear I felt every inch of his cock as he pushed into me. The weight of his body was so frightening to me and I felt terrified until it was over. To my horror he came inside my body and I felt sick.
Slowly over time there were more men. After the fifth different man I realized there would be more. It took me a long time before I ever realized that they were paying him to do things with me. Once I fully understood that he was being paid by them to have sex with me my self esteem plummeted. Yet I grew to be more wild in an effort to make him jealous. But each day I felt more and more like a slut and a whore. I started to believe those words about myself and they no longer hurt when they were said but instead I began to believe that was exactly what I was.
What still amazes me to this day is the number of men who did things with me who had to have known I was under 18. I’m not sure how or where he found them but not one of them ever turned him in for what he was doing.
I have hardly touched on the tip of the things that went on in my life but I need you to understand that it is not a little girl’s fantasy to be with a man. I still struggle with the guilt of my part in it, no matter how much people tell me it wasn’t my fault. I am writing this after another attempt to end it all. I don’t want to do that, so I need to get control of my emotions and find better ways to release them. I don’t even know if you want to read about this or think it would help anyone to understand. Mostly I wrote it for myself so you’ll have to let me know if you want to read more.