It all started innocently enough, but innocence in a way has a lot to do with being shielded from the truth. In my early years before fifth grade my life was just that -- an innocent existence with everything I wanted; little did I knew then that the rules of engagement had a price with those same rules of engagement. I was spoiled and naive. The throbbing in the center of my being is no joke. The memories and pain derived from it are etched in my mind with a burning desire to rid myself of an upbringing I’m not proud of. It’s a constant reminder of what I chose to rid myself of. In a subtle way without fanfare at a time after my birth father had already bitten the dust, hell raised its ugly head. I was all of 6 years old. Times had indeed gotten bad in my immediate household with the economy taking a nosedive. It affected the family immensely and made them all vulnerable to circumstances that didn’t allow them room to feel comfort. For me, I became numb and impervious to what was happening to me, not knowing how and when to stop because I’d become a slave of the flesh. Biding time is like an eternity, but I never lost faith in God, even as young as I was, and it’s reenforced even more so now. As time progressed I prayed constantly. I had to. I always considered myself blessed and full of the good things that a girl of my time could have despite the fate that I was befallen to. It’s never too late to tell the truth. It’s my way of being pulled up by God and doing the right thing. I asked God in most of my prayers to allow me to look up reverently while on my back so that I could get up and embark on a journey go in the a direction familiar to those that know Him -- standing tall, going straight, turning right and looking up. Keeping your head to the sky, knowing too, that to be made whole you had to have been broken first! At 25 there’s no shame in my game and it’s time that I go on record to help my sisters still in bondage. Let me introduce you to the devil.
His name was John Stevenson. Several years after he commandeered our family it didn’t take him long to exploit molestation and illicit sexual behavior. I became a victim. Crooning as he always plunged always deeper enjoying the sensations of my nubile and tender soul, it was all I could do but be victimized. John felt that he was in another world as he relished the tightness and snug feel that gripped his member. This was the type of pleasure he couldn’t never imagine getting from his wife, Janice, my mother. There were many reasons why he married her and it wasn’t for love, nor the plain sex he said she rendered. Besides, she was frigid and felt that sex was overrated, he would also lament. He needed to satisfy cravings that went far beyond money and financial satisfaction, and didn’t have a problem getting satisfied elsewhere, especially young tender pussy. It’s amazing how much you learn by being observant letting eyes and ears do their thing! At times though, I would hear him talking to his family how he couldn’t help reminiscing about his childhood. The demons inside him made sure that the art of manipulation coupled with cunning insight was not lost on him. The blame wasn’t too far amiss from him. It was his own daddy’s fault he complained —his crave for money and how he treated him, his brothers, and sister. It set in motion desires that only intensified as he grew older. Those desires were much more than sexual -- they were about control and domination. The need to force his will on girls gave him a rush that gave adrenalin equal footing as if it was a drug.
I found out early that young girls were his passion. He liked them young...always did. There was something about them in my opinion, that satisfied all that it needed to be with the intent of making them grown women before their time. It gave him a sense of completeness for a task that he knew made it a worthy endeavor as long as it filled his coffers. Yet, loving the primal fear that he put in making as much money as he could legitimized the control and power he craved. He felt that young girls should be taught early that their only purpose was to serve men in the bedroom and endow themselves further in the kitchen. So many times I heard him tell me this. He reveled at the pain and anguish he’d seen in countless eyes after rendering them helpless so that he could bend his will. I know, I was part of it. I remembered other times of the dark legions that it cast on my soul as I harken back to those unforgettable things that won’t leave me — he said that my stuff was tight, had a good fit, and that most men wanted a little more room. He constantly emphasized that he was different, and said that I was perfect, promising me that it wouldn’t hurt and that he would be easy with me. He lied. Much to my chagrin it DID hurt…and I bled a lot. It hurt so much that I felt that someone had skewed me through and through with a pole from one end to another. No pun intended, but that was exactly the feeling. He told me that after it was done a few times that I would be broken in for good, thus becoming a woman making me whole.
He would always tell me that only a man with good equipment, tender to the touch, and one that would teach me to believe in the act of making love for total satisfaction would further make other men want me more. It was all of the things he wasn’t. I remember him laying me back and licking me in places I didn’t think was proper, but he told me that it was part of the game...and that I would learn to love it. He would lick and suck me and feel me all over...then he put his index finger, often adding two or three more to broaden the affect, and I admitted every time he did this it felt damn good! As his fingers went deeper, I automatically opened my legs wider, because he taught me different positions for better penetration. As I got older, I took everything that was thrown at me, and I became good at what I did. I felt that if I was going to go all the way, then I SHOULD be the best. That’s when I decided to skim more off of the top when I got paid because I deserved it. In the interim, and just before I wised up, the die had been cast for me to turn the tables and get the hell out of Dodge. The more he plundered me, the more the clock in my head ticked…the older I got, the wiser I became.
Embarrassment became an understatement and I blamed myself for not being astute enough to holler. But if I hollered would he let me go? Knowing how John felt in those early days I decided to become a master tease and took flirting to new heights, but at the times I was powerless to stop the drudgery of sex and the sin it begat. I’d become a slave to erotica. I felt full of myself always wearing daisy duke cut-off jeans, walking around the house in my best see-through negligees, bending over the clothes basket while hanging out clothes to dry just to turn him on. All of it was just a calculated plan to turn the tables, but I had to be as devious as he was and beat him at his own game.
