Category: Relationships Publisher: A-Argus Better Book Publishers
Type: Non-Fiction
Pages: 180
Copyright: Jan 3, 2008
ISBN-13: 9780980155532
The true story of sexual molesting of two girls, ages 4 and 5.
Deena, age 4, and Starla, age 5, become the sexual victims of their deperaved step-father, his sons and their friends throughout their childhood and until they could achieve emancipation in their teens. The sexual abuse continued while the mother stood by, not believing the misery that the girls were going through. Told in their own words, broken by emotion as they reveal the monsters in their lives.
Excerpt
“Can you imagine yourself being a four-year-old baby girl, sitting naked on a kitchen countertop with your step-daddy’s sticky, gooey semen all over your face and your body and your hands and in your hair and in your mouth?”
With those terrible words, Deena, my future daughter-in-law began to describe the sexual horrors visited on her at the innocent age of 4, and her sister, Starla, who was only 5 years old. And continuing throughout the rest of their childhood and beyond.
How did it all start?
~*~
“Pop, would you write my story? “
The question came out of nowhere.
I had been sitting at my desk, leaning back in my chair, contemplating the fate of the universe.
Right!
Okay, so I had my eyes closed while I was contemplating. I really wasn’t asleep, at least not completely but I had been lost somewhere out there.
The question began to soak in and my brain began to awaken. My future daughter-in-law had asked me an interesting question. And. as it turns out, it was a lulu of a question.
Write her story? What story? Why would she ask that of me? I had never really considered myself a real author, although I had long wanted to write novels. And in fact, I was lucky enough to even have written one book that was just being published.
It had been my first serious attempt at trying to have a manuscript published, and to my shock and surprise, a publisher had agreed to issue the book. Would you believe on my first attempt?
Do you know how rare that occurrence is? Especially when there are literally hundreds of thousands of better-than-I writers submitting manuscripts everyday?
And such a feat is virtually unheard of, especially when you realize that this writer is not proficient with words, his spelling is atrocious, his punctuation is worse and his grammar is straight out of the hills of his bucolic upbringing.
Despite these handicaps of mine and even with her number one editor screaming, “Save me from this animal!” a feisty, semi-young publisher from New Jersey decided that my story about the abuse a young homosexual man from Indiana was suffering at the hands of the Federal authorities merited a look and possibly exposure. It must have been the theme; it couldn’t possibly have been the author. That same publisher urged me to continue writing.
Boy! Talk about an ego booster.
Deena, my oldest son’s fiancé, had been a proofreader of ‘Deliberate Indifference: A Gay Man’s Maltreatment by the United States Department of Justice’, the title of the one book that I had published. She had frequently made comments about the courage of a gay young man willing to reveal his entire life’s troubles in hopes that the abuse by the authorities that he was suffering would ease, but more in the hopes that the consistent and flagrant abusive practices by the Federal Bureau of Prison authorities and employees that affected thousands of inmates could be brought to light.
But, this was different.
I looked at Deena, and she could read the question in my eyes.
“I was sexually abused when I was four years old.” Her tears began to flow, her voice cracked and broke as she sobbed, but she found the strength to continue. “Raped or sodomized almost every day by my stepfather. And by my stepbrothers. And then by their friends. So was at least one of my older sisters, Starla who was only five when it started with her. While my mother stood by and did nothing to protect us. And he – that bastard, that cruel, inhuman bastard – is still out there. I – we – want you to help us protect other young and innocent children.”
I’m not sure that I will ever be able to find words that will convey the feeling and depth of the emotional shock that ran through me at those words, delivered with so much apparent agony for the speaker.
Noticing the look of astonishment on my face, Deena broke into tears, weeping and sobbing. While my mind told me that this was a story that I really, really didn’t want to hear, my primitive instincts told me that I must listen. The feeling of outrage that had driven me to write the story about Chris Wehner was nothing compared to the building tide of fury that was beginning to cloud my vision.
I met Jerome on a busy city street in Baltimore, Maryland, when he was forty-five years old. On that particular day, I was out and about, enjoying a much-needed day off from work.
I wanted to purchase a sukiyaki sub. I parked my car in an area of
