Why I didn’t report?
I was a child, barely able to pee unassisted, bathe without an inspection or even pour my own cereal and milk. Games like ‘candy land’ and ‘lightbright’ were my obsession. My dope ride was a ‘greenmachine’ tricycle. My profession was pretending to be a master chef serving up leaves and dirt to the neighborhood kids.
I was learning about the alphabet via inflatable animal models, the parachute in PE class, and still taking a nap after juice and cookies. I was about 4, or 5. I was small…
He had many jobs. An auto body repair guy. An oil rig worker who carried a metal lunchbox! I remember his lunchbox, for it haunted my toy box some years later. He was unemployed at one time. I think later in life, he became a nurse.
But at one point, he wore a brown police uniform and drove a police car. He had keys to the jail cell, and took me there to see the scary space where ‘bad people who don’t listen’ get locked up. He was there to serve and protect us, YOU, from harm. He was there to keep the ‘bad guys’ from hurting YOU and ME. You know, those horrible men who hurt their wives, those monsters who beat their children, those crazed drunks who cannot control their tempers and of course, the super bad people who sped through the city streets late at night!
To serve and protect. He wore his shield with honor.
He carried a gun. He drank beer. He had a recliner from where he watched football, sometimes falling asleep mid-game and sometimes, yelling in angry manly voice at a TV screen full of images of people hundreds of miles away who couldn’t hear him.
That always confused me because those people couldn’t hear him.
He was in charge! A man who ‘hung out with the ‘bros’. He could hunt and fish and he even did many things like ride motorcycles! He liked to light fireworks on the 4th of July and attend family gatherings. The family holidays were so fun and full of affection and gifts, food and laughter. He smiled big and bold, full of A hearty laugh. Everyone ‘loved’ him. He was such a family man!
He supported a Christian lifestyle,
attending services and raving about the message.
God and family first.
He liked to touch little girls. He liked to touch them in places that no one else ever touched, except when you wiped or someone washed you.
He liked to teach little girls. He liked to teach them how to do things to him…’it’s like licking a lollipop’, he would tell them. He liked to make a ‘mess’ in their mouth and on their faces.
He liked to make them ‘feel good’, he would say. This is what free and wild women talk about as being liberated, right? The big ‘O’??? He like to teach little girls how to be liberated, wild and free.
He liked to prepare little girls for life. He found such power in making sure the little girls under his control were ready for life through first hand experience and training. It taught them to withstand the burning sensation a fully erect grown man penis has entering a tiny girl’s vagina.
He liked to take little girls on field trips. He liked to participate in ‘being your child to work’ days. He worked alone and in isolation sometimes; in the country…in solitude. On these field trips, he would show you how to shoot birds and how great the span an owl’s wings could be! Although a little sad, the death of a creature, It was fascinating!!!!! I mean, 5 year olds LOVE nature and witnessing new things.
Especially the newness of the cold dirty hard metal floor of an oil rig and the pressure of a 250 pound man, who was everything he was suppose to be, drilling into the most sacred of lands.
He liked to reward little girls for their ‘good’ behavior. Compliance reaped the greatest opportunities for the STAR CHART placement! Mostly, cash rewards and ice cream, candy and soda! Being a good girl created opportunities to be able to walk to the store by yourself with $5 and buy lots of .10 candy and even an ice cream bar before dinner. Conversely, non-compliance meant being grounded or punishment like any good father would do.
Punishments and rewards.
I tried to tell. I had no words! No one really listened to my fears and pleas. At one point, I did tell, but it only made life worse, stopping the behavior temporarily. He was more more angry.
I remember how bad my tummy hurt knowing I was going to be left alone again with him. I couldn’t stand it anymore! He wasn’t working, so he was always home and I had no escape.
I would walk really slow from the bus stop…the walk of shame and fear. I wished so badly that my mom didn’t have to work!!! He never touched me when she was around. He was actually mean to me, like a daddy doing daddy things like watching TV felt towards his irritating children. But in her absence….he would seek me out instantly. Almost craving me as if I were the vodka to the drunk or the cookies to the overeater!
Sometimes I would hide behind the garage. He would call my name from the front porch to come inside….I would hide until his words turned to threats of busting my ass with the belt. I knew he would make due on his promise and I would be in sooo much trouble with mom too, for he would punish me out of anger.
I’ve never known another person who could rip his belt from the loops of his jeans in less than a second! Such speed and precision. And of course, his lashes left deep purple welts on my tiny pale legs. I was instructed not to wear shorts. I guess the welts were too ugly to be seen in public.
I still hate shorts today!
I would walk the walk of shame. So slow. Like a beetle crawling through honey. Consumed by FEAR and that horrible feeling of laying on the bathroom floor, both doors locked, my head banging repeatedly into the sink’s base….wishing it would just be over; the laying in my bed pretending to be asleep when he would slither under the sheets next to me and touch me…a touch that felt so ugly and painful.
But no more! It was ‘moms night out’ and I ‘tattled’ on him ruining her evening, I’m sure.
There was lots of screaming, cussing and yelling and even calling me names. There was arm grabbing, launching me to the stage to reveal again and again details
and really angry raging faces…looking at ME. I was just ‘trying to get attention’, he said.
I was put on stage to repeat to my attacker my own vulnerability that I had just revealed.
Then came the feeling of being a bad girl. I had broken up a perfect family because of my ‘selfish’ attention-getting lies….at least that was what neveryone around me made me feel. I mean, NO ONE spoke of ‘IT’. No one told me it was going to be OK. There were no words of protection, of anger towards the predator. No one took me to a professional to help me work through it.
It’s over. It’s done. It’s in the PAST. There’s no need to bring ‘further’ harm to him or the family! I mean, what kind of family wants this SHAME looming over them?
FOREVER SILENCED….but children grow.
I did have my first visit to the gynecologist in 4th grade…A COLD rigid OLDER MAN who wore a white lab coat! I guess I was a ‘woman’ now and this is what ALL women do. The ‘women’s’ doctor. Women are condemned to suffering because of a fruit faux-pas, as the fantastical stories in the only book of rules tells us, right?
I remember the day….I was still in gymnastics, wearing my ‘team uniform’ to school. I felt so powerful when I wore my gymnastics uniform to school, which I didn’t get to do often. I wasn’t very good in gymnastics and we didn’t have the money or the ‘time’ to let me compete. I was TOO big, they said. But still… Burgundy with pink piping down the side. I loved gymnastics. I got to stay late and I was safe from his big hard fingers and slimy body part that left my high waisted white with pale blue flower panties slightly bloody…it looked like blood but not as dark. It was always in my panties after he taught me how to be a woman…three sometimes four days a week.
I was scared, being pulled from school early, in my uniform.
The doctor’s office was scary and I had to take off my uniform and lay on my back. Naked on crinkly paper. ‘Don’t say anything unless he asks you questions’. I felt alone, but I mean, it wasn’t unfamiliar.
He stuck his hard cold slimy fingers inside of my vagina and dug around. What was he looking for? Would there be a big black object of reveal? Like discovering gold?
I think I was 10, maybe about to turn 11…maybe 9 about to turn 10 years old. I don’t remember my age, but I remember the way it made me feel having an older white man with cold fingers looking at my naked body.
Get dressed and sit outside. No one asked me any questions. That’s what I did. Done. Nothing further. I guess the physician obtained the information he needed to obtain.
I was now officially a grown up! A woman!
From that point forward, my life changed. I knew this as the norm. What exactly was childhood innocence? I never knew. I simply understood that father’s left, that men were allowed to take what they wanted and that my NO would mean potential punishment.
When my friend’s daddy turned around in the car and rubbed my 13 year-old thigh, gently grazing his fingertips against the area where my pant zipper met my vagina only moments after she ran into the grocery store to get grab milk and bread.
And the old man who loved to dance REALLY close to me when I would go dancing with my family. He would squeeze me extra close to his pelvis with hard fingers and I could feel his hard cock against my body. But he was a ‘harmless’ old man who loved to dance so be nice. That’s just who he was. He would call me ‘grown up’ and comment on my ‘grown up’ body at 14. Be NICE.
When my troubled teen years were penetrated adult men. Age didn’t matter to them…some were in their late 20s, some in their 40s. They all seemed to find me appealing in some sexual way! I mean, at 14 and 15, I was a sex goddess and these grown men, educated men, professional men, married men…they were just showing me love, right? Saying NO might make them angry.
This is what happens to children, little girls, young ladies and grown women when they are being shown LOVE, RIGHT?
Because MEN are from MARS?
Because they are JUST DOING WHAT MEN DO?
Because men can take what they want, so ‘females’ should endure it because it’s ‘inevitable’?
Because no one ever told me otherwise. No one spoke about MY RIGHTS to MY BODY. No one spoke to me of respect, or what it means to respect a woman. No one taught me what was not appropriate treatment and touching of a female and WHEN NO meant NO…which I discovered in my late 30s WAS ALWAYS!
The 28 year old construction worker didn’t hear my NO. He gave me cigarettes. Pal Mal filterless. Oh and a few beers. I couldn’t understand why we had to sneak off into the woods so far in…where no one could see or hear.
The 65 year old veteran…he was so grandpa like! But I was 21 then and definitely it was my fault, I mean choice because my attempts to leave were not being very NICE. My NO was weak, which meant please proceed. He was a grandpa. A war veteran. Treating him badly would have been looked down upon highly by the ‘lady-like police’.
The married and rather handsome 30-something Air Force recruiter who tried to lure me into his private office after hours…I felt so weird inside, but I wouldn’t go back there with him. My 17-year old intuition dominated and I stayed at the front door and waited patiently. After the investigation into countless other high school female recruits from Denton, TX and the surrounding areas being sexually assaulted by him, I realized I was lucky. Nothing further.
The married with children 40-something pot-faced, super skinny ugly military tech school instructor who would physically pin me up against the wall in the loud machine room and speak of all the sexual things he wanted to do to me….his face so close to mine, I could smell the coffee and cigarettes on his breath as his lips barely touched min. He graded my work and held the key to me being a failure in the military, in tech school…the key to my future! He reminded me frequently how a GOOD military member and student would behave. He never physically touched my breasts, my butt or my vagina, but the FEELINg was the SAME. FEAR. NO meant YES. Rewards and punishments.
The Chief Master Sergeant who liked to hang out at the NCO Club and befriend the really young, underage girls who were there just to dance. I didn’t know old men did this, hang out at clubs with the guys to ogle, rank and aggress the young girls. Of course, he would take them to his house with a pool and hot tub. He even had a jerky making smoke house! I never knew people could make jerky in a house! His house was so different than the dorm rooms! He had LOTS of alcohol, brands and bottles I had never seen and you wouldn’t get into trouble for underage drinking….and NO apparently meant YES, just try harder and give them more alcohol until you hear YES.
The supervisor who found humor in reminding me that a female’s role is ‘under the table sucking his cock’ and to be a ‘good’ subordinate deserving of high rankings on performance reports, this might be expected. He always gave me lower marks…I guess I didn’t believe in his definition of duty performance.
The married, wealthy and ‘powerful’ predator sociopathic instructor who used one’s own goals, vulnerabilities and fears as a cage to obtain extreme sexual favors and rewards. How else would a married woman allow herself to be chained to a trampoline naked, a teenage girl be his ‘special’ student hedged just to take it up the ass, a grown woman walk around the streets of Vegas wearing a dog leash SHE made because he told her to? I mean, student of the YEAR and a special badge?
Distinguished and the fastest most recognized student ever?
The CONSTANT promise of advancement, a business, making money, opportunities etc.
Rewards and punishments.
I tried to tell my husband BEFORE this happened, for I felt in my gut the same feeling I had 30 years prior. He dismissed it. He was too focused on his own voyerism and alcoholism that my fears were numb to him. And when I spoke out? I was ostracized, blamed, ridiculed, ignored and forgotten.
Let’s not forget the multiple exposure to high-end football coaches and administrative staff who would look at these freshmen through senior high school girls in their sexy dresses and rank them on a scale of 1-10 as fuckable! An entire culture right there!!! And when confronted?
They were ‘harmless’ men being men!
Watching YOUR husbands going to the gym, to fitness competitions and to bars alone, to ogle, flirt with and look for open doors and opportunities from the young women trying to survive. Watching someone close to me seduce and sneak off with her ‘friend’s’ husband, having built trust with HER to gain access to HIM! I said NOTHING! I saw this insanity and ‘normalcy’ all around me! Enabling. Predatory. Ignoring. Seducing. Taking.
I started looking around the room and watching women ENABLE their drunken sleazy man’s behavior. I watched women being accosted by OLD MEN in bars…the most abhorrent of experiences in my own life….those men were really predators using your JOB against you.
You want a tip? Be extra nice.
Extra Nice = income? I don’t recall that equation in any lesson I learned from my mentors in life!
SOOO….Why WOULD a woman want to REPORT?
These predators are not ‘weirdos’ lurking in dark places looking to reach out and grab you! They aren’t different. In fact, there are MANY of them blended in with the the humans of society.
They are uncles, fathers, husbands, grandfathers. They are customers. They are patients. They are handsome, clean and friendly. They are even charming. They are grown up men with powerful positions, steady incomes and great families. They are politicians, attorneys, professors and CEOs.
They are perfectly situated in society to deflect any possibility of exposure, albeit immediately following a report or 35 fucking years later.
Why didn’t I report?
Fear of LOSS….of my life, my freedom, my own safety, my being accepted, my reputation, my divinity. Fear of retaliation from family, friends, the UCMJ and anyone who enables the behavior of a loved one.
The realization that no one fully believes you when you do report it because ‘HE’ is such a good, powerful, Christian, community giving, married man who doesn’t deserve to have his career, family and life ruined because of his pattern of JUST BEING A GUY!
I’ve grown so much since my experiences beginning nearly five decades ago. I no longer hurt or have anger. I realized that these predators are broken. That men are not from MARS and women, from VENUS except in their communication style and emotional display based on masculine and feminine energy.
I hope women everywhere are able to tell their story without tears or hate in their hearts. I hope we as a circle, a tribe of women, heal one another and are
fully present when a woman comes forward to REPORT these violations.
The ENABLERS are the reason I didn’t report. Stop the enabling! Stop domesticated acceptance of ‘male’ behavior. Stop looking to BLAME a VICTIM because of her clothing, her tattoo placement or her job. Stop putting the rights and the value of the ATTACKER as priority.