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  Рассказы инцест и не только...        19 мая 2018        41         0

Rape stories incest



rape stories incest

A Story of Incest "I can't wear a Night Gown at Home…" — What Women Want

A Story of Incest “I can’t wear a Night Gown at Home…”

It started when I was in second grade. He was eight years older than I was, but I never truly understood what was happening between us until years later.

My father was very strict and I hardly ever watched TV, so I never understood these things. I never had anything to do with my siblings, and I never felt like I could come forward and talk about anything that happened to me with any one of them.

I don’t remember all the details, all I remember was that there was touching and caressing almost daily until I was in my second year of Preparatory School. So, almost six years… I was very young and I didn’t understand that what was happening was abnormal, but I started to think it was weird when he used to do it really fast and stop doing it whenever he heard anyone coming, and especially when he said to me, “don’t tell anyone”. I always listened to him because he was older than I was, but when I thought about it again, I realized that it just wasn’t normal.

“I don’t remember all the details, all I remember was that there was touching and caressing almost daily until I was in my second year of Preparatory School.”

I was in fourth grade when I told my mother “he grabs my boobs, and sometimes unzips his pants and… is this ok?” She got really angry and told my dad, and he beat him up, and everyone in the house found out that he was beaten because of me, but they didn’t know why. I wished I could tell them that what he did to me deserved much more than just a beating.

Dad never spoke to me about it neither did Mum, and I never really understood. I didn’t even understand what masturbation was until I was in university!

After Dad beat him up, he stopped for four months, and then started doing it again, gradually. Sometimes, he would come over when everyone was asleep and I was watching TV alone, and he’d do anything he could, quickly; maybe what happened to me wasn’t that bad in comparison to what a lot others have been through, but the duration and continuity of it was very hard for me…

“I was in fourth grade when I told my mother “he grabs my boobs, and sometimes unzips his pants and… is this ok?””

When he finally stopped I felt relieved, but at the same time I felt very depressed because no one had stood up for me. For the first couple of years after he stopped, we would be around each other without talking or dealing with each other, and even now our relationship is very formal. I can never sit comfortably when he is around me, and if I’m dressed in anything tight or revealing I go to my room and change right away, not in fear that he might do anything, but because whenever he’s around I feel like I’m on the street, and I can’t be dressed like that on the street, can I?

When it stopped, I felt that everyone got on with their lives except for me…

I never spoke to anyone about this even though it bothers me, and sometimes I feel like I want to talk about it with any of my close friends and tell them but I don’t know what difference it would make. I just wish I could, but I can’t, because I don’t trust anyone, and I’m always afraid to talk about this issue, especially because of the fact that I was brought up with a list of strict taboos.

“When he finally stopped I felt relieved, but at the same time I felt very depressed because no one had stood up for me.”

After a while, he started treating me very nicely, I don’t know why, maybe as an attempt to compensate for his mistake, but why should he get on with his life and I can’t? This is what bothers me. How can I hurt you so badly, and then afterwards see you and go out with you?

I don’t know if, had I known what he was doing, I would have stopped him or not because usually when someone is older than you, he’s in a superior position. Plus with the way I grew up, I would have never understood what was happening.

Now, however, in the streets I am never silent! And if anyone tries to do anything I turn it into a scandal!

In the beginning I used to be silent, but now no! Once, someone tried to touch me, so I caused a scene, but I found another girl giving me looks of disapproval and told me that I shouldn’t have made a scene, that it’s ok! Why? Am I wearing a sign that says “a place for touching?”

“Now, however, in the streets I am never silent! And if anyone tries to do anything I turn it into a scandal!”

Usually people are surprised when the girl is not silent or passive, but Oprah Winfrey is the one who encouraged me not to be silent. She used to say that no matter what happens, I should never be silent.

I still see him every day and sometimes we talk, and sometimes we laugh. He got on with his life but I didn’t…

BuSSy is a performing arts project that documents and gives voice to censored untold stories about gender in different communities in Egypt. The project organizes storytelling workshops and performances where women and men step on stage to share stories about harassment, rape, gender discrimination, honor killing, forced marriage, Female genital mutilation, motherhood, domestic violence, child abuse, mass sexual assaults and many others, from different communities and cities in Egypt.


Bait Rape Children Chapter 1, a young adult fiction | FictionPress

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Warning: Graphic Violence, Sexual Scenes, Intercourse, Incest, Murder, Language. all the good stuff

Up a dirt road, where trees linger to the left and right, you will find my house. The road is dark all the time, day or night. There is no happiness here with the dead trees and the presence of crows and rabid animals.

It seems that when there’s something bad, everything turns bad. At least that’s what happened to me. Anyways, back to my road. The road itself is in a broken down condition. It’s always muddy and wet with many potholes and ditches. There is no sound, here.

You go up to my house, miles outside of civilization, but not so. We actually live only 1 mile from our closet neighbor, but one wouldn’t know it.

When you reach my house, it almost comes out of nowhere. My house was white, when my mother was alive and everyone was happy. Then, she died, my father took over, and the houses paint chipped, the horses that are in our front yard are black, dirty, and have almost red eyes. They haven’t been fed anything but grass for years now, and no one takes care of them. They look so abused with their mats of hair.

The windows to my house are broken, and the furniture is rotting out. There is a barn in my backyard and that is run down too, but that’s where me, my brothers and my sister sleep.

My father lives in the only good room of the house, in the attic. It is nicely furnished and always warm. His bed is a king and he has a dresser made of oak lined with gold, which was our mother’s.

My brother is now 13, I am 16 and my sister is only 9 and I have and older brother that is now 18. We have lived here for our whole lives, and will continue to do so until either someone finds us, we die, or HE dies.

Yes, he is my father. His name is Frank. We were kicked out of the house 5 years ago into the barn when our mother died, as I was saying.

1999- 5 years ago — the death of mother

I was only 11 and my mother was cooking, as usual, and my father had gone down to the casino to spend the money he had made that day, as usual. We never had money, grew our own food, and sewed our own clothes.

My father worked in the fields chopping hey or cutting down wood then selling it and making money. At least that’s what he told my mother. He had actually purchased a camera several years ago, made me and my brother Mark pose naked for his pictures. Sometimes he put us in awkward positions and something weird would happen to mark every time I was naked, he would become. harder. I didn’t understand this until I was older. Mark never inserted himself into me though, he pretended to at times when my father told him to, but he really just places himself between my legs and lied. I hated this, but otherwise worse would happen.

My father was always an alcoholic, and he always was out with my other brother Mark, which was 13 at this time. Mark was a well built boy but not to muscular and not at all chunky. He was very attractive to every girl he had met, and he was out almost every night with some whore having sex or drinking with his friends. He got arrested many times, and our father just patted him on the back and said good boy, while my mother gave him a small sad look and returned to her business.

Mark looked out for me all the time. He almost never let me hang out with boys he thought only wanted sex, and he often kept his friends in line about hitting on me. Apparently I was attractive to them, though I don’t see how.

Mark and I look very similar, we both have dark auburn straight hair, and green eyes. He is much taller then me, reaching about 5’11» at 14 years old. My brother Jason, who is 8, has blond hair and brown eyes, and my littlest sister Jessica who is 4 look identical.

Mark and I look like my mother, while Jason and Jessica, or Jessie, look like our father.

My father had just come home from the casino, it was 10 P. M at night and me and Jessie were reading a book in the living room one room from the kitchen. My brother had just came home and he was in his room which he shared with Jason.

Then I heard yelling, which was common in my house. My mother was yelling how my father is always drunk, always beats her, and treats his family like dirt. He gave her the «Well its not my fucking fault I work all the fucking time and come home to this shit-ass family,» speel.

I know he only said bullshit things, and that he never loved us, but I never said that out loud. Then I heard my mother scream and my father yelling. Jessie started to cry and I could see the shadow through the crack of the door into the kitchen He was beating her again, he was punching her in the stomach and I could see him kick her to the ground.

Mark ran into the room, and I started to cry.

«What are they fighting about?» he said, a bit of alarm in his voice.

«I don’t know, I think it’s dads drinking.» I quivered.

Then we heard a drawer open and him muttering something to her.

Mark gasped and ran into the room. He opened the door for Me and Jessie to see and I could hear Jason slowly creeping out of the bedroom.

Mark ran to our father and got down on his knees in front of him. I could see father holding a knife down towards our mother and she was crying on the floor with her head covered in her hands.

«Dad, what are you doing? Please stop!» Mark pleaded, but our father just kicked him into a wall, and Mark passed out.

Father then looked at us, I could see the blood running from Mark’s head and I could see my mother crawling for him, but I also saw my fathers eyes fixed on me.

«You stay the fuck there, I will deal with your brother when I get back. Me and your mother are going to take a walk.» He yelled at me.

He walked to my mother and pulled her up from the ground by grabbing a lock of her hair. She was wearing a white nightgown and he was in scruffy jeans and a white wife beater.

«Remember, stay here.» He warned.

He pulled my mother out the door by her hair and we ran to Mark. He passed out was next to a window so I held him and watched my father kick my mother around in the dirt of our driveway

He jumped on my mother and lifted her nightgown so you could see her waist and below revealed. He took off his pants and stuck himself first into her mouth, which he held her head still by his hands, and then he pulled out of her mouth and pushed himself between her legs.

She cried out in pain and was screaming for him to stop. I could see a knife in his hand, cutting her neck in little slits and cutting her nightgown bleeding her breasts. She was grabbing at the dirt and rocks and throwing it at my father. She clawed the ground until her fingers were bloody.

I covered my ears, closed my eyes, and sunk down into my brothers chest. He was still unconscious.

Jessie was being held by Jason, we were all crying in a circle. Then we heard our father yell something muffled and all the noise stopped.

I knew something happened.

I knew my mother was dead.


Dad’s rapes, mother’s complicity: 10-year-old tells court her story – The Denver Post

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Tears didn’t help.

Night after night, Mom would lead the girl into her parents’ bedroom, cover her eyes with a washcloth and lift up her gown. Then, Dad would put his “wrong place” in her “wrong place.”

And every time he did, she would cry. Dad would tell her to stop crying, but she said she couldn’t.

Peering over the top of the witness stand, the 10-year-old girl told jurors Wednesday about her ordeal as the trial of her mother, a 40- year-old woman charged with 24 counts, including sexual assault and aggravated incest, continued. Her daughter said it all began when she was about 7.

“She never didn’t want me to do it,” she told the Denver District Court jury. “She was the one helping my dad.”

Afterward, her mother took her into the bathroom, gave her a bath and hugged and kissed her.

The daughter, now living with foster parents, testified while her mother watched a live video feed from the courtroom in the chambers of Presiding Judge Herbert Stern.

Charges against the mother also cover alleged assaults of the girl’s half-brother, now 18. Prosecutors say he was first abused when he was 5. In that case, prosecutors say, the woman dressed her son as a schoolgirl, painted his face with makeup and then took him to his stepfather.

The woman’s husband, 59, has pleaded guilty to two counts of sexual assault on a child and faces up to life in prison. The Denver Post is withholding the parents’ names to protect the children’s identities.

The girl testified Wednesday that on three occasions her parents asked her to perform oral sex on her dad, and the mother demonstrated how it was done. Each time, she refused, running back to her bedroom and pulling the sheets over her head.

“She (the mother) told me I was being a bad girl because I wouldn’t do what they wanted me to,” the child testified.

Her dad told her it was something she should do because that was what their family did.

She testified that once after she refused, her dad took his anger out on her and her mother, hitting her on the knees with a belt and whacking her mom across the head with the belt.

Although her mother was a willing participant most of the time, the child said, her mother sometimes refused to get her, provoking a violent reaction from her father, who would beat her mother for refusing.

She also said her father shot her mom with a BB gun and threw an iron into her head. She described how her mother always had black eyes and injured knees – which her mother would say were from falling down or running into doors or walls.

Defense lawyer Chuck Leidner has portrayed his client, who is disabled and walks with a cane, as the victim of severe domestic violence. She was told by her husband that he would kill the children, slice them into little pieces and freeze the remains if she didn’t do what he said, Leidner said.

Leidner plans to call a series of mental-health and domestic-violence experts to testify that the woman is severely psychologically damaged.

Staff writer Howard Pankratz can be reached at 303-820-1939 or hpankratz@denverpost. com .


HollyJane (Stewart) Belle’s Story of Child Rape and Incest | RELIGION’S CELL

HollyJane (Stewart) Belle’s Story of Child Rape and Incest

My name is HollyJane (Stewart) Belle. I am tired of being silent, so here is my story..

Holly — Daddy’s Little “Bawl Baby”.

My Dad is the Wood County Surveyor in West Virginia. His name is Scott Franklin Stewart. He is very well known in his community as being a very upright man of God, who is very active in his Independent Fundamental Baptist Church. When I was growing up, he was the leader of the junior church, my Sunday School teacher, and always walked with his head held high above everyone elses. Yes, he is a very prideful man. Above all else, he strived to be better, and have a better family than everyone else. He gave Mom and us 3 girls such strict rules to live by every day, that even the preacher’s kids seemed ‘worldly’ by comparison. He was the greatest man of God at church and no one can deny that! But at home, it was a far different story. Dad was a tyrant, who I nicknamed ‘Hitler’, and us 4 girls were the Jews in the ‘concentration camp.’ That was our home. One of my best friends from our church school told me that she thought we had the perfect family. I thought, ‘that’s what Dad wants everyone to believe, so I guess he’s got his wish.’ I didn’t say it though.

I was so afraid of everybody and everything…. so many thoughts going through my head every day, all day long. just wanting it to stop, but they wouldn’t! Every day at our church school, then again when we started to homeschool, if I got stuck on a problem, all those thoughts would tumble forward! Those horrible, nightmarish thoughts, the ones I was trying so hard to forget! I was just sitting there, in 3rd grade, at my desk, trying so hard to finish my math, and solve the problems correctly, but, those thoughts. The rememberance of the night before. When my Daddy came in my room in the middle of the night. Yes, he touched me, and made me touch him. He made me put his penis inside me. Inside my 9 year old body. “Rose, I’m going to go read my bible and pray. I’ll be back after awhile,” I would hear him tell Mama in the middle of the night. Every Saturday night, Wednesday night, and the night before Easter, Christmas Eve, and every Thursday night, (he went door to door selling Jesus to people on Thursday nights). Just like clockwork, I knew that in a few moments, daddy would show up at my door, with a washcloth in one hand, and his KJV Bible in the other hand, then whisper in Kelly and Julie’s room at them, to see if they were awake, and then he’d saunter into my room, asking if he could ‘pray’ with me for a while.

This is Dad’s version of praying with me, there, in the middle of the night, knowing I needed sleep, but never caring. HIS needs must be met! So, he would sit and read his bible aloud to me for what seemed like an eternity. This is what Dad told me God was like – “He is a jealous God, Holly, just like your daddy is over you girls”. God wants what is best for you, Holly, just like I want what is best for you. Our heavenly Father loves the world, and the things of the world, do you believe that, Holly?” “Yes, daddy”. “Our Heavenly Father wants and craves his children for himself, Holly. Just like I do for you. “How come you never kiss me on the mouth anymore, Holly? I always loved it when you kissed me on my mouth.” How could this happen to a little girl… No wonder I hate the night… Everything bad happens at night. While he would read his Bible out loud to me, I’d fall asleep, then awake with my hand around his penis… I awoke all the time doing bad things to my dad. He raped me in my own bed, while he was praying to “Almighty God” and spanking me with his penis, telling me it was because I was such a bawl baby. In the middle of the night, my dad would come into my pink decorated bedroom, take all my stuffed animals out of my bed, wake me up, and rape me. He’d beat me with his penis, yelling to his god, “Ohhh God. OOOOHHH God. Holly, quit bawling like a bawl baby. I’ll give you something to bawl about! Ohhhh God. ” He just kept raping me, putting his penis inside my ‘little kitty’ as he called it. He’d use the washcloth to clean himself up afterwards, but left me to lay in the filth for the rest of the night. So many nights I slept with wetness covering my nightgown. He told me that when I hit puberty, I’d have to start shaving my ‘little kitty’. When I shaved it for the first time at age 17, my dad was the first man to notice. It wasn’t my husband, or a boyfriend, it was my dad. I felt so ashamed.

He raped me every Sunday night. I think he thought he’d been so spiritual all day Sunday, and had felt the very hand of God in his own voice while preaching to the teens, that he felt he should be rewarded. I was in 6th grade when he taught my class. He didn’t even read his bible as he was preaching. He wanted to show off to the class that he could recite the whole book of something or other, (I remember which books, but if he someday reads this, he’ll want the whole world to know what books he could recite, and have pride in it). He told me he could recite them without missing a single word. He actually humbled himself when he spoke like this to me, and said, if he missed one word, he really felt bad. But he was committed. He acted so humble, and yet still so arrogant at the same time somehow, always thinking he was the best thing God had ever made. If God would make such a creature as my dad…. and then I think I’M a mistake. He must have felt so good about himself after not missing any of the scriptures he quoted, and when he didn’t miss a chord in the song he played for the offeratory with his guitar, and when he thought his voice was the greatest as he led the choir and the congregationals, if all this came together without a hitch, that night, he would come into my room…. We attended church regularly on Wednesday evenings as well, so he’d ‘visit’ me that night also. On Thursdays, he’d go ‘soul-winning’, selling Jesus to blocks and blocks of people, always taking me with him, then coming to my room that night. Saturday nights he’d come in again, and I wondered if he thought I was his good luck charm. I sure didn’t feel like it. All those nights with my dad, I thought he was praying, so I kept my eyes shut. But I cried the whole time. He’d ask me, “Are you going to bawl this time, Holly?” I tried to sound sure of myself, and told him no. So then he would start smacking me with that horrible, long, uncircumsised thing of his. When I was 7, we carpooled with with some 16 year old boys, and I remember wanting to sit on their laps and touch them like my dad made me touch him. I wanted to play with them like my daddy made me play with him. I hated it, doing that to my dad, but I remember thinking these boys were different. While my mom would be busy in the kitchen, and dad would be in the living room, sitting in his rocking chair, and have me get on his lap, made me unzip his fly, and I would willingly put my hand inside. I’m so sorry. I wish I had known better, but, when you’re a little girl, you want to hide in all the little compartments of your parent’s clothing… at least I did. I didn’t know what I was doing.

Until I came out about this, and Mom told me it wasn’t my fault, that it was that man’s fault, I thought I had done this horrible deed, this awful sin, that even GOD couldn’t forgive me. If I had just told someone sooner, maybe I wouldn’t hate myself so much for sinning so badly. All my life, this is what came with my days… every day when I would wake up, the whole day long, I would just be trying ever so hard to forget what happened the night before. I cried a lot… because I couldn’t communicate very well. I didn’t get my way a lot, or I didn’t know what I really wanted, and my mind was always racing, and rhyming. Horrible rhymes. I think in my little girl mind, I thought rhyming would make the memories go away, but it just got worse. The reason behind all of this, is because I was constantly trying to forget what had happened to me, and just always trying so hard to find something to be happy about, and thought if I could just find something that could make me so happy that I could forget what happened to me the night before, everything would be okay! I always found something to be happy about, until Dad came home. Mom has told me recently that I didn’t cry all the time. If I didn’t cry all the time, then why do I remember crying all the time? I had such fun with Mom, Kelly and Julie every single day! But, I always knew that one day they would all be grownups and leave me. I didn’t want Mom to ever have to be alone with that horrible man, so I decided I would never get married! I told myself that all men are like my dad anyway, so who wants that? I tried to get Julie to let me be her maid, so I could always be with her, she told me I could, but I always knew in the back of my mind she’d get married and leave me. Kelly was a no brainer. She wanted to get married, I tried to get her to let me be her maid, she thought I was kidding. I still wish we were all together, but I love my nieces and nephews and Kelly and her husband, so it’s all worked out… and Julie is living with us now! And even though life was hard when we didn’t have our family living around us, it wasn’t all that bad. Mom and I were together, and we had each other. If it hadn’t been for Julie and Kelly moving away, I probably wouldn’t have gotten the help I needed. I may have just killed myself, not thinking anyone needed me… So, it’s probably worked out for the good. I was diagnosed in August of 2002 with Schizophrenia, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Major Depression, Paranoia, and a big, long list of other psychological problems. None of my parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, or immediate family have been diagnosed with these disorders. My therapist, who knows me well and has been working with me for 11 years now, has told me that I’m not a typical schizophrenic, that there is hope that I will get better one day. As a side note, one of the last times I spoke with my dad, (after I’d been diagnosed) he told me that if I lived with him, and went soul-winning with him every day, it would heal me of these problems. When I was smaller, he would tell me that I was his best friend, and that I was the only person he could really talk to. I didn’t feel like I could tell Mom, Kelly, or Julie, because he told me over and over that if I told them about him and me, Mom would divorce him, and that divorce is a sin of the devil, and it would be my fault.

I’m not proud of what was done to me, but I tell this because I’m tired of keeping quiet about something that was not my fault. I’m tired of ‘covering’ for a man who did unspeakable things to his own daughter, all while advertising himself as a godly, holy, Christlike man in all the churches he’s attended over the last 30 years.

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16 thoughts on “ HollyJane (Stewart) Belle’s Story of Child Rape and Incest ”

Holly, you are so brave and courageous. I’m so proud of you for speaking out about the abuse you suffered at the hands of your father. There’s no way for me to even comprehend what your world has been like. I’m so indescribably sorry for all that you have endured. (((((hugs))))

Holly, I just want you to know I’m still thinking about your story this morning. My story reads like a sunday school lesson next to yours but I still needed tons of validation when I told it. You will not be forgotten and many more than comment are reading!

Yes, your story needed to be told. Like you said, you needed a LOT of validation as well!!

My heart hurts for you. I’m so sorry this happened to you, as if that’s any help. You’re so brave to speak of something so unforgivably awful. He had no right to ruin your life, and I honestly hope you find a way to move beyond it and have as normal a life as possible. I applaud your bravery and courage in moving forward with your life. Don’t let anything hold you back. The human spirit is amazingy fragile, but at the same time, resilient and strong, so I think the strength it took to open up about what has happened to you will serve you as you continue to heal. When you feel low, look back on these posts, and know that what you did in coming forward was right, and that you deserve to be here and to have a happy life just as much as anybody else.

Thank you for your encouraging words. I was afraid of coming out with this, afraid because I thought I’d lose a lot of friends over this…. thank you for your kindness. I’ll remember and look back at this and all the comments concerning this topic for many years. I like your name, I like the way you spell it Loves….

Words cannot describe the hate one would have for your ‘father’ after one would read this. You are indeed strong, and I respect that. I am also aware of so many others who have suffered silently, and in fact didn’t make it. To them, I pray they rest in peace. But a burning question I have now, is that has that man not been punished for what he had done?

The state police are still working on it I don’t hate my dad. I don’t know how to. I think I should. I’m just glad no body hates me for telling. I was so ashamed. I thought dad was right about everything. I just obeyed. “Mind over Matter” is how I dealt with it. I made the most of it. My days were good.

Stay strong Holly. Wow. I helped a young woman who went through a similar experience as you did. She too is a very strong woman. You both amaze me. I hope you do not mind but I am linking your story to my blog.

So many people fall victim to the various “religions” around the world. When will society wake up, hold these rapists and torturers accountable? I don’t care who (or what) anyone calls ‘god’ however, no one should have any religion or ‘god’ forced upon them.

Religion is the tool used by murderers, pedophiles, rapists, sadists and sociopaths to justify their insanity! Aleister Nacht

I am soooo disgusted by all the abuse from your evil father, just mortified. And I am surprised you survived with such a good attitude. My heart goes out to you with a million hugs. You Are Strong and Courageous and actually have a clear and sharp mind. Jesus absolutely weeps with you. He has such a heart especially for children that half of Matthew is written specifically for the protection of children. I’m glad you have a voice now and your story will help a lot of others. I also find it very sad that your mother never seemed to clue in or care for all those years. I think I would resent / hate her just as much as him.

Anonymous, while Holly’s story is a very tragic one, we must be careful to keep the blame on the perpetrator. Holly’s mother genuinely had no idea this was taking place in her home. (You and I know how good abusers are at silencing their victims!) She wasn’t told about the abuse by Holly until last year and, she immediately went to the police with Holly to file charges against Holly’s Dad. They are dealing with the legal situation against him right now and, the backlash from her Dad as a result of Holly’s speaking out publicly about her abuse. I would ask that everyone be gentle with their words with this family. They desperately need the support emotionally.

Let me also add that you are articulating an emotion that MANY will have because they do not know this family. You have not done anything wrong in articulating how you feel. I am sure this little bit of info that I have given will help in alleviating that emotion toward her mother. Don’t be upset with yourself. Others will feel the same way and your comment allows for me to set things straight so they don’t make the same emotional assumption.

It’s not your fault at all. It’s your dads fault. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Good for you to make it public, you are helping alot of others by doing so

Holly, a problem shared, they say, is a problem half solved. In your case, i pray it becomes a problem whole solved. That you come out of that trauma. The Lord is your strength. It was His ( Lord ) name your dad used while defiling you. So He is going to strengthen you!

Holly, your father was a sexual predator and on top of that, and the worst kind of all, the kind that you used God as an excuse or some kind of ruse to have an opportunity to hurt you. This is the worst kind of predator because they use God and His name to do it. I don’t know if you do or not, but please don’t ever blame God for any of your father’s actions because it doesn’t wash. Trust me, God was as horrified as you are and were. Rightfully so.

Joyce Meyer encountered similar sexual abuse for a good number of years growing up, and she has helped bring about a lot of healing. And while her father was not the religious type, He still used fear as a method of controlling her. I hope you listen to Joyce if you haven’t already, and maybe you will come to find better peace than you seem to have already. Either way, I wish you continued peace all the days of your life.

My ex wife had a creep dad like this including the religious part. She went to years of therapy. Unfortunately she also felt guilt for hating her dad. According to a therapist and

psychiatrist she transferred the hate to me since I was there. She became an alcoholic and drug addict which completely destroyed what was left of our marriage. She had been very

promiscuous because of the abuse. Six weeks after the divorce she was living with a guy. Within 6 months she had been with no less than 6 men. It’s really sad. I had loved her and we have 2 kids. I tried to just be a friend but it wouldn’t work. Our kids


<br /> Incest & Date Rape | Brave Miss World

Incest & Date Rape

Posted on: January 7th, 2016

As a young girl, from age 5-11, my stepfather repeatedly molested me when my Mom wasn’t around. I didn’t tell my Mom until I was 15, and she had divorced him. She still denies it ever happened.

At 17, on the night I graduated from high school, I went to a house party with a friend. She knew them, but I did not. I was drugged and raped, waking up early the next morning with my clothes on wrong, and no memory of the night. I never told anyone, because I felt it was my fault for accepting a drink from someone and not being careful.

Two years ago, my husband was very sick for a long period of time. After many tests, they discovered he had AIDS. Unknown to me until then, a few years earlier, he had been gang raped by a group of 5-6 African-American men on his way to a sales call, which was probably a gang initiation. He never told anyone until he was diagnosed.

No one has ever been held accountable for these assaults, but I have been to counseling for myself. Most of the time I feel I have moved past it, but then I see or hear about these types of incidents, and it all comes back.

Thank you for your story, for your support of other women in this situation, and for making it okay to tell. I wash all people could be as supportive of your Mom. Many blessings to you!


Mother and son incest: The untold stories of boys raped by their mothers

Unspoken abuse: Mothers who rape their sons

Ian* was just a child when his mother made him have sex with her. As a child he felt ‘yucky about it’. As an adult he has realised the experience was incredibly damaging. Source:Supplied

TRIGGER WARNING: This story discusses experiences of childhood sexual abuse, incest and suicide.

“I AM very sorry I brought you so much pain,” Marcus* wrote in his final letter, “Thank you for caring for me. I know I didn’t deserve it.”

Marcus died by suicide two years ago and when he did, he left University of Canberra researcher Lucetta Thomas a message.

The sentence that stayed with her was this one: “The only course of action is for you to do something positive, like finish the PhD.”

To an outsider, these could be understood as simple words of encouragement. Lucetta knew their real meaning; this was an urgent final plea.

The PhD she’s currently writing is about sons who were sexually abused by their biological mothers — just as Marcus had been.

Since she met him, Lucetta had witnessed Marcus struggling to come to terms with what happened to him in childhood.

“He was not only sexually abused by his mother from a very young age but when he became older and was able to physically prevent her from abusing him, she engaged another friend to be her strong arm so she could continue the acts of sexual violence against him,” Lucetta explains.

“When Marcus died, I knew I had to finish the research. I didn’t want this to happen to anyone else. I wanted these men to know they aren’t alone and it’s not their fault. There is help out there,” she says.

It turns out Marcus is far from alone. For Lucetta’s study, 94 men who had been abused by their mothers filled out online surveys. Of that number, she then interviewed 23 men at length over the phone.

“The abuse often started before the child hit puberty, when the child was still quite young, so they had really no concept of what was going on but they were still being coerced or manipulated into performing sexual acts,” she says.

University of Canberra researcher Lucetta Thomas has interviewed dozens of men who have been sexually abused by their mothers. Picture: Ginger Gorman Source:Supplied

While some boys were mentally coerced into “a full sexual relationship” with their mother, Lucetta explains that others were on the receiving end of “incredible violence” if they tried to resist. Mothers might also withdraw of basic human needs, such as food and shelter.

Hamish,* now in his 50s, was 12 years old the first time he recalls having sex with his mother.

“She had this big bedroom and if we were ever sick or anything like that we’d stay in her bed. One day she just initiated it, she just started touching me and it just went from there.

“She preyed on the fact I was coming into puberty and made me feel important and special,” he tells me.

From this distance Hamish now understands he was just a child when the abuse occurred; he was unable to consent to sex with an adult in a position of power.

At the time though, it was a different story: “I thought I was enjoying it and I thought I was grown up.”

Despite growing up in a wealthy suburb and going to a private school, home life was difficult. His single mother suffered frequent physical illnesses, such as pneumonia and pleurisy. In retrospect Hamish thinks his mother was also mentally unwell.

“It was a good household to be in when my mother was in a good mood and it was a horrible household to be in when she wasn’t,” he says, “she would threaten to kill us and she’d lock all the windows and turn on the gas.”

“I got hurt,” Hamish continues, pointing to a decades-old scar on his the top of his head.

Especially when his mother was sick, Hamish cooked, cleaned and went to the shops to get food for the family.

“She saw me as like some sort of de facto relationship, I’ve got no doubt about that. She’d say: ‘You’re the man of the house’,” he recalls.

Meanwhile his mother warned him to stay quiet about their sexual relationship.

“People wouldn’t understand, you can’t ever tell anybody,” she told Hamish.

The truth is that Hamish had no one to disclose the abuse to — and even if he did, was terrified of splitting up his family.

“You’re physically and mentally trapped in this relationship and you can’t get out of it,” he says.

This isn’t an easy interview. When I ask what went through his head during that period in his childhood, Hamish struggles to form an answer. Like so many men in his position, the distress lies not in the words but in the silence.

“[I’ve] spent most of my life trying to repress these thoughts and memories,” he says, “I haven’t talked to anyone for 30 years about it.”

When he was just 15, Hamish’s mother died. While making it clear he didn’t wish for her death, Hamish is blunt: “She did me a favour … I’ve always felt that it enabled me, in some respects, to get on with my life.”

He worked damn hard to do just that. Hamish married in the early 90s and fathered two sons of whom he’s extremely proud.

About 10 years ago a television news story prompted him to briefly mention the childhood sexual abuse to his wife. After the disclosure he promptly told her: “I never want to talk about it ever again, ever.”

Quietly reflecting on this, he says: “It’s really hard to tell someone you love, ‘By the way, my mother abused me and I had sex with my mother’.”

True to his word, Hamish never did discuss it again with his wife — something he has lived to regret.

“I love my wife and for a lot of the time we had a good relationship but this thing [the abuse] came between us,” Hamish says, “it did slowly poison our relationship.”

“Our marriage was never the same after I told her about my mother … just telling her wasn’t enough, we needed to get help,” he says.

Three years ago Hamish had an affair and his marriage unravelled. As a result he lost his wife and his business.

“I wish we’d got help together, you know? I might still be married now if I’d got help. But I’m not,” he says with unmistakeable grief.

Despite this, Hamish no longer feels anger when it comes to his mother.

“I feel sorry for her that she couldn’t see what she was doing was wrong,” he says.

It’s an incredibly confusing situation for victims, explains Lucetta, because “the boys still love their mother” and just like Hamish, “they don’t want the family to break apart.”

Lucetta says men who were victims as boys are deterred from disclosing what happened due to the very real fear of not being believed or being blamed for their maternal abuse.

“Society says that males are actually instigators of any sort of sexual relationship, so the child copes with the trauma by telling himself: ‘I must have actually instigated it,’” she says.

Lucetta recruited the men for her research with relative ease. This may lead one to assume this type of abuse is common. Frustratingly though, there seems to be no reliable data on its prevalence — including the Personal Safety Survey conducted by the Australian Bureau of Statistics.

The way Lucetta sees it, the lack of data leads to both a lack of public awareness and acceptance of mother-to-son sexual abuse and a lack of “support and assistance for these male victims by health professionals.”

Ian,* 70, was also sexually abused by his mother. Unlike Hamish, it happened when he was a much younger child.

“I can remember what her vagina felt like, I can remember what her body felt like and I as a child felt all yucky about it,” he recalls.

Ian at the age of eight, around the time his mother was abusing him. Source:Supplied

Up until the age of eight, Ian says he slept in his mother’s bed and was asked to perform sexual acts on her, such as sucking her nipples.

“I hated her because of abuse,” he says, “I had a list of people who I wanted dead and she was on that list.”

The family dynamic was complicated. Ian, his two brothers, mother and her husband — we’ll call him John — lived in poverty in rural South Australia.

“I was born illegitimately,” Ian says, “and he [John] knew that because he wasn’t sleeping with my mother.”

“My whole life I felt guilt and shame because I shouldn’t have been in existence,” he says.

Growing up, Ian “just existed” rather than living. John kicked Ian’s mother and her children out of the house several times.

“I was shunned, I wasn’t wanted. I felt that even from my cousins, uncles and aunties, grandparents,” Ian says.

For Ian, the childhood abuse “manipulated my sexuality and impacted my ability to operate as a person.”

“How can you have a healthy sexual relationship? How can you become a father, husband, grandfather?” he asks.

Throughout adulthood, Ian has been plagued by feelings of isolation, guilt, low self-esteem, depression and anxiety. He’s also battled a “dysfunctional sex life” and attempted suicide a number of times.

Ian describes “a paralysis” inside him and states: “I don’t think I’ve loved anybody in my life [and] didn’t know what love was.”

Although Ian is still married to his wife and has been for nearly 50 years, he confesses to having a number of extramarital affairs and visiting escorts for sex.

In a lighter moment, he jokingly refers to this as “a very good form of therapy.”

Only in the last six years — and after decades of counselling and therapy — does Ian feel he’s started to recover.

“I honestly believe she [his mother] had probably been sexually abused herself,” he says, adding: “I feel pity for her.”

“I had to forgive my late mother in order to recover,” Ian explains.

In the context of Lucetta’s research, Ian is unusual because he considers himself mentally healthy.

She says: “Out of all the males that I spoke to I would say only one had actually come to terms with what had happened to him.”

The sexual abuse of “these men when boys is often highly traumatic and at times extremely violent and impacted on their psychological, biosocial and physical development,” Lucetta says.

Far from healing over time, the impacts of this mother-to-son childhood sexual abuse seem to continue.

“There seemed to be a recurrence of the trauma building up over the years,” she says, “so from the late 30s onwards, it was really starting to become an issue for them.”

As adults, the majority of men in Lucetta’s study felt “very trapped, very isolated, very afraid and very unsure of how to go about getting help and understanding the power dynamics that they had been subjected to.”

“One gentleman, sadly, was completely house bound. He basically just felt that it was completely impossible to trust anybody or to be out in society because he had so little self-regard,” she says.

According to Lucetta, society’s beliefs about gender are effectively stopping a cohort of male victims disclosing their abuse and accessing support.

“They have experienced the same forms of trauma, the same forms of sexual abuse and emotional and psychological abuse as any victim of sexual abuse or sexual assault and they need to be taken seriously and they need to be believed.

“It is time to break the long-held view of mothers as only ever gentle and caring females, so that the sexual abuse of sons by their biological mother is acknowledged,” she says.

For Hamish’s part, he urges other survivors of mother to son abuse to reach out for help.

“You can’t just bottle it up and think that it will go away, because it doesn’t ever go away,” he says. And he would know.

* Names and some personal details have been changed for privacy reasons.

If you’re a bloke who is impacted by sexual abuse, call Mensline 24/7 on 1300 78 99 78 or visit www. mensline. org. au

You can also call Lifeline on 131114 or chat online at www. lifeline. org. au

In an emergency, call 000

For a detailed listing of support services for victims child sex abuse, see this page from The Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse.

Ginger Gorman is an award winning print and radio journalist, and a 2016 TEDx Canberra speaker. Follow her on Twitter @GingerGorman

Disturbing accounts of child sex abuse as read out by Actors 4:12


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