Penelope's Story
Penelope's Story
I was molested by my brother when I was 9. I only remember one time, but he molested my sister for 8 years(he molested me the year he stopped with her). I asked my mother if it was okay for a brother to touch his sister "down there." She asked if it was ****. I said yes and asked how she knew who it was (I have three brothers). She said, "He did the same thing to your sister." She then told me to talk to my sister about it. She was 16 at the time. Mother expected a 16 year old incest victim to take care of a 9 year old incest victim! End of conversation. She didn't ask if I was okay, or tell me it wasn't my fault. She just stood there calmly folding laundry the whole time. She never told my father (he was irate when he found out years later that she had known and not told him). I don't know if she ever talked to **** about it, but I really doubt it. She now says she doesn't remember this conversation.
When I was 16, I was in an abusive relationship. He was emotionally abusive, and he took my virginity. He had been trying for a couple of months to get me to have sex, then one night he stopped taking "no" for an answer. We were in his room. He pushed me down onto the bed, and started taking my clothes off. He was much bigger than I. He was 6'3" and I'm only 5'1". I kept telling him I didn't want to have sex. I yelled at him to stop. He kept telling me he wasn't going to hurt me. I would like it if I'd just stop being a b**** about it. I can't say that I was really scared during this time. I guess I really didn't believe he'd actually do it. But he did. I kept saying no, but he told me to stop being a b**** and relax. He actually told me to try to enjoy it. He held me down the whole time, since I didn't stop fighting him. When he was done, he laid beside me, telling me he loved me. He acted as though everything was fine. This was a normal, everyday thing. I just laid there. I didn't know what to do. I still couldn't believe it had actually happened. I didn't think the word "rape." It wasn't until many years later, after my first son was born, that I actually admitted he had raped me. He acted concerned later, asking if I hurt. He told me that the first time always hurts, but it wouldn't hurt the next time. The really stupid thing is, I didn't stop seeing him. I have no idea why. He already had a great deal of control over me. His best friend went to my high school, and he reported back to Chuck everything I did there. The only guy I was allowed to talk to was Mike, Chuck's friend. And he told Chuck if I did talk to other guys. He told him if I wore make up to school (this was a big no-no, I was only supposed to want to look good for Chuck). Three weeks after the first time, I was home alone one night. I called Chuck and told him that a man had broken in to my house and raped me. I hoped that if he thought this had happened, he would not ask to have sex for a while. Better yet, maybe he would be so disgusted or angry with me that he wouldn't want to see me anymore. This backfired. He came to my house and insisted on calling the police. They, of course, knew I was lying. Instead of telling them the truth, I told them, with their encouragement, that I had made up the rape because I thought I was pregnant. This was not what I had wanted to happen. I had not wanted the police, or especially my parents, to get involved. I just wanted him to leave me alone! But still, I continued to see him. I felt like a wh***, getting all dressed up to see him when I knew he would want to have sex. My heart pounded from the time I started getting ready for a date until hours after I came home. But I didn't stop seeing him! How can this not be my fault? This was not a case of stranger rape or incest, when the woman/girl has no choice. I had a choice. I feel very guilty for continuing to see him. Maybe he thought it was okay to do this, since I didn't stop him. After that first time, he didn't have to force me. I just laid there and let him do what he wanted. I did sometimes try to keep it from getting that far in the first place - I would tell him I didn't feel well or something. But, more often than not, we had sex anyway. And I continued to see him! I still don't understand that. And I don't see how I can be angry with him when I had a choice, and I chose to keep putting myself in that situation.
Okay, I need to move on now....
I really believe that, if my father had been the least bit controlling or abusive with my mother or us kids, I would have ended up in repeated relationships like that. But, he wasn't, and I found a wonderful man to share my life with. He is a wonderful husband, and a great father to our three children. Though I was raised in church, I didn't find Christ until 6 years ago. Now, my husband is a preacher. He also experienced rape as a child. I don't believe he has really dealt with it though, and he doesn't want to. He knows about my past, but we don't talk about it. I feel very guilty for my relationship with Chuck, and I really could not handle hearing my husband ask why I continued to see him. I can't answer that - I don't know. I also feel that I should be over it by now (it's been 13 years since I dated Chuck). So, I don't talk about it. But I need to get it out sometimes. That's why I'm here. This feels more safe. I'm not actually talking about it. I don't know if I could verbalize everything that I've written here. I don't think I could. But here, if it gets too difficult, I can stop, delete it if I need to, and come back later.
Thank you for "listening." I'm sorry this got so long. I guess it needed to come out.
-Penelope
i was 12 at the time it started. i got a new piano teacher who seemd nice at first but, oh god i was wrong.
at first he was just getting his penis out and rubbing it while i played and i didn't know what to do i just carried on. i was so embarrased and i told my dad i didn't want to go anymore - i didn't tell him why - but he was real angry and thought i was trying to get out of it.
then it really started. i was playing the piano as usual and my teacher got up and went behind me, i just carried on thinking noting of it. well i felt something hard touch my back and i looked around and he had his penis out and it was erect - i was so scared i didn't know what to do. he told me to carry on i was doing well and i nervously said i wanted to go home and he suddenly flipped! he pulled my head back and he had this knife near my throat and he shouted real angrily he was gonna do what he wanted or else he'd kill me. and if i told anyone he'd find me and kill me.
he turned me around and his penis was right up to my face. he told me to start sucking it and i did - what could i do! i think i was sucking him for 5 minutes that first time but it felt like forever. he was groaning really loud as i did it and then he pulled out masturbating himself and shouted at me to open my mouth. he ejaculated in my mouth and all over face and in my eyes.
i drew into myself during those 3 months he was teacher - my parents thought i was going into puberty. i didn't see my friends - i was so ashamed by what he was doing. i saw twice a week. the first month i was giving him oral sex and he always came in my mouth, ordering me to swallow. i can still taste it.
the next 2 months were hell. he said i quote 'i want to fuck you like a girl now' and he did, twice a week for an hour a time. i became his plaything. i felt so dirty he'd come in my ass or over my back or sometimes he'd make me suck him after he'd raped me anally and i could taste my own shit. sometimes he'd use objects to fuck me. he'd walk in the room with cucumbers and big dildos and lube and i'd let him that's the worse thing. even though he threatened me i could've done something, now i'm older i know i could've.....thank you for listeneing i've got a long way to go
-Jon C.
will never think of myself as a victim. Like every other rape survivor, I’m a good girl who had a bad experience. I went through the typical difficulties - people who didn’t believe me, people who blamed me (even one of my closest friends), and then people who meant well, but wound up smothering me. It’s all in the past. I don’t really talk about it except with other survivors and with very close friends who were supportive immediately afterwards. I’m a songwriter, so I took a cue from Tori Amos and captured the experience in a song, sealed the musical tomb in which I buried it, and took back my power.
It happened on Valentine’s Day.
I’m also an actress, and most of my friends are involved in theatre in some capacity. My friend (I’ll call her “E”) had a leading role in a local show, and had asked if I would come see her. I was currently in a show as well, but there happened to be one night (Valentine’s Day) when our shows didn’t overlap. I didn’t have a date, nor did I need one. I was wearing a new dress, and I felt very sexy and confident. After the show, I recognized a friend of E’s whom I had met once before. I’ll call him “P.” He was handsome, flirtatious, and charming. We all know where this is going.
It may be difficult for non-actors to understand, but theatre people are very open, very affectionate, and very uninhibited. Our profession necessitates it. We all wound up going to a cast party, which was only moderately wild. P was hitting on me at that point, as was E’s other friend, “L.” I was in desperate need of an ego boost that night, due to some backstage drama (or lack thereof) in my current play. Both P and L were attractive, and they both blatantly told me that they were attracted to me. Before long, I had kissed (just kissed) both of them.
The party was winding down, so several of us decided to go to a gay dance club. There, L (who is bisexual) began flirting with men, so I retreated to a corner with P and proceeded to make out with him. He tried to put his hand up my dress, and I pushed it away, telling him blatantly, “I only want to kiss.” He seemed to think that my reluctance to get too physical was based on a fear that someone might see us, so he grabbed my hand, and dragged me into the bathroom.
In the bathroom, he “whipped it out,” and I tried to laugh it off as a joke, and told him to pull his pants up. “Oh, I get it,” he said, and stuck his face between my legs. I wasn’t afraid. I was basically just annoyed with him. I twisted away, and pushed him a little bit, which took him aback. “What’s the matter? Haven’t you ever had your pussy eaten???” I found this statement incredibly offensive, and I bolted from the bathroom to find E & L.
L was in straight mode again, so we started dancing together. Before long, P came up to us, complaining that he was tired and wanted to go home. All of us had downed a good deal of alcohol, but E & L seemed to be the most sober out of all of us. On the way out, E suggested that I ride with her to go get some coffee before trying to drive home, which sounded like a good idea. I got in the car with her, and L & P started insisting that they could take care of me, and for her to go home. She had a bit of a crush on L, so the fact that these two were hitting on me was kind of pissing her off. She got a little defensive, but I still insisted that I was going to go with her.
Well, the guys opened the passenger’s side door, and physically pulled me out of the car. E got pissed off, said some nasty things to L, and drove off. I told them that they were acting like assholes and suggested that we all just sit on the curb, sober up a little bit, then all go our separate ways. They weren’t game for that. L told me that he was going to drive my car home, and that P could follow us and give him a ride back after they dropped me off. If only I had taken a cab. If only I had consumed one less drink. Hell, I almost wish I had just driven drunk.
But I foolishly agreed, and got in the car with L. He started giving me shit about making out with P at the club while he was busy making out with men. Then he started touting his skills as a lover, to which I replied, “I’ll take your word for it.” We got back to my apartment, and L said that he wanted to walk me to the door. My intention was to let him walk me to the door, permit a kiss (to shut him up), then go inside and go to sleep.
Unfortunately, P followed us to the door, carrying a twelve-pack of beer. I told them that I didn’t want them coming in because the place was a mess, thanked them for the ride, and started to go inside. They pushed their way past me, and made themselves comfortable on the couch. My dogs did not like them AT ALL, and growled and barked far more ferociously than usual. The cat, typically very sociable, ran and hid.
P picked up my guitar and started playing it (without asking), L continued drinking his beer, and I went to the bathroom (which you can only get to through the bedroom). When I came out, L was in the bedroom, and had closed the door. He pushed me down on the bed and started kissing me. “It’s my turn,” he said, and put his hand up my dress. I tried to fight him off, but I was weak from the alcohol and lack of sleep. I can’t even comprehend it now, but my only thought was, “I’m not going to scream. It might wake the neighbors.”
Before long, L was trying to have sex with me, and I said, “Absolutely not. I don’t have any condoms.” He offered to go get some, and I kind of pleaded with him, insisting that I don’t have sex with someone I just met. He at least seemed to have a smidgen of integrity, and merely got himself off on my leg. About that time, P walked in with a stack of papers in his hand. It was my diary. He started reading it aloud, and I got *irate* and told him to put it down, which he finally did.
“Are you done?” he asked L, who answered affirmatively and went off to the bathroom. At that point, P took off every stitch of clothing and got into bed with me. I know, I know. I should have screamed my head off, jumped out the window, called the police or *something*. But hind sight is 20/20.
P started having sex with me as soon as he managed to get me on my back. I was freaking out pretty badly (albeit, far too quietly) and told him that I don’t EVER have unprotected sex. He looked at me as though I was the dumbest person in the world, and said, “I’m clean. I’ll pull out. Just shut up and enjoy it.” I managed to twist myself away from him, but he kept persisting. It was really hurting me, and I was getting scared. I finally screamed bloody murder, and that made him stop. “What’s wrong with you?” he demanded. I don’t remember exactly what I said to him, but I said it firmly.
He got off of me, but then wrapped his arms around me and wouldn’t let me get up. He started asking me if I would be his girlfriend, and telling me that he thought he could fall in love with me, etc. Then he asked to spend the night, and I of course said “no.” I seemed to be saying that word a lot that night. And I might as well have been saying it to a brick wall. You know, even a *dog* knows the meaning of the word, “NO.”
I was finally able to get them out of there by giving them a fake phone number, accepting theirs, and promising to call. When they left, I noticed that the printer was still spitting out the entirety of my diary. There was also beer all over the floor in the kitchen and the living room, as well as all over my desk (next to the cage where my sugar-glider lives). There were cigarette butts in the sink, and one of my cds was missing.
It was 6:00 AM by this time and I somehow managed to fall asleep, only to wake up several hours later feeling dirtier than I’ve ever felt before in my life. The word, “rape” hadn’t even crossed my mind. I just felt like a whore. I felt like it was my fault for flirting with them, for getting drunk, and for letting them in my home. I called a trusted male friend and confided all of this. He was the one who made me realize that it had been rape. Rape. It’s such an ugly word. Sexual theft. Betrayal. Indifference. Power… That’s what it’s about. Power - a man’s belief that he is superior to a woman, and knows better than she does what she wants, what she needs, and what he deserves.
Later that afternoon, I saw my sugar-glider motionless in his cage. He usually sleeps in his pouch during the day, so it struck me as odd that he was out. I tapped on his cage, and he didn’t move. I got worried and put my hand inside of the cage, to find him cold to the touch. I thought he was dead at first, but then he blinked his huge, black eyes, and I cried for joy that I hadn’t lost a pet in that horrible night. I took him to the vet, to find that he was suffering from a form of alcohol poisoning. Apparently, P had given him beer at some point during the night.
Time does indeed heal all wounds, but unfortunately, some wounds leave scars. I have chosen to “tattoo over” my scar by writing songs, and sharing my story with other women. No, it wasn’t my fault. It’s *never* a woman’s fault. I could finish the phrase, “if only…” a million time over, and it wouldn’t change what happened. I can, however, choose not to be a victim. And I can take every necessary precaution to see that it never happens again. Ever.
But I still can’t celebrate Valentine’s Day.
Thank you for listening. My love and prayers go out to all of the women out there who have had similar experiences. I also pray that the men who have been the perpetrators of sexual crimes can someday recognize and repent for their wrongs. And I pray that we will have the strength to forgive them.
Copyright © 2002
