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. I had conversations with Charlotte in my head all the time about the ways my father touched me. I created an imaginary friend, Charlotte, who was the only one I confided in. I believed that I had let the sex happen, and that it was my fault I believed that I was the bad one. One afternoon, there was a spanking after a sexual encounter and the link between sex and shame became permanent in my brain. I'd wake up and feel his warm skin, his erection against my bottom, his breathing in my ear, the slight scent of Budweiser on his breath. I'd go to sleep, genuinely fall asleep, and he'd get in bed. Meanwhile, at Dad's house, the abuse continued. I don't know if I was truly scared or if I simply came to believe I was, but I rarely spent a night in bed by myself until I was 13 years old.Įven at home with my mother, I would crawl into her bed to sleep at night. Somehow, the lie he'd told my mother to explain why I was often in their bed when she came home from work - that I was too scared to sleep alone - became truth. Those nights, I stayed in his bed with him, all night long. And he was, in my young mind, my nice daddy he hugged me and put Band-Aids on my skinned knees and sang Sinatra songs to me.Įventually my parents separated, meaning I spent two nights a week at my father's house. But sometimes the incest felt good - that special feeling, all that attention and love and affection from my nice daddy. 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 could hardly wait for him to reach into my panties and give me that tingling feeling. 1 girl?" And he would touch me under my nightgown, and I would like it. Later in bed he would hold me close and we'd laugh. We'd be wrestling, rough-housing playfully, maybe in the living room, and he would casually, repeatedly touch my vagina through my clothes. Sometimes he would leave me alone in the closet until I begged to come out, but when he let me out it was more of the same. He spoke in the harshest voice I knew from him, as if I had started screaming in church. At times I fought with him, begging him not to touch me, and he responded by scaring me further, pressing his hands too firmly against my neck, ordering me to be quiet, to behave. He never penetrated me with his penis, but his fingers would routinely enter my tiny vagina. He was always talking to me, whispering things, telling me he loved me. He would grope me, run his giant hands under my nightgown and into my flowered panties - the kind that little girls wear, with yellow and pink daisies on them - and he'd talk to me. After a while, the snapping of the sheet stopped and I knew it was time. Knowing what was ahead, of course I could not sleep. In bed he would watch TV, snapping the edge of the sheet between his fingers and the mattress while I pretended to fall asleep. For many years I held onto the notion that in some way, his attention and his obsession with me made me special. It took me a long, long time to really believe there wasn't anything special about it, that it was all just sick. 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. I have no memories that predate his abuse - his rubbing and touching, his forcing me to touch him. It was his genitals I first explored he was the first to touch my body sexually, and those hands have left an indelible imprint. With my father, in his bed, I first experienced the bump and grind of sexual relations. All rights reserved.It's ugly and, even now, more than 25 years later, difficult for me to say. Terms of Use and Privacy Policy and Safety Information / Your California Privacy Rights are applicable to you. ^ Back to Top ^ © 2023 ESPN Internet Ventures. You have reached a degraded version of because you're using an unsupported version of Internet Explorer.įor a complete experience, please upgrade or use a supported browser
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