by Petal, kinkster, Australia
I feel as though this story needs a little background information, so please read this to truly understand my position through this experience.
From the age of 10 I was forced into a life of responsibility that was so far ahead of my emotional and physical years. My father had remarried an Indian woman who despised my brother and I because we were not brought up in the “correct” way under my mother. She quickly pushed me into the household roles of a typical Indian woman, which mean that I spent my time after school cleaning and cooking instead of enjoying extra curricular activities and making friends. When she had her son, she suffered from an intense bought of post natal depression, which added to my responsibilities – I now had to care for my 3 month old brother when he woke at night and I could hear her hard slaps on his soft skin.
When I was around 14, I was one of those girls who didn’t quite fit in with the people around my own age at school. I didn’t share the same interests, and I didn’t know how to relate to them. This stems from a number of factors that I can see know in my adulthood; my embarrassment of being brought up in a strict Indian household and the constant fear and degradation instilled in women because of that. My Australian mother had moved away, and I was under the care of my father and his wife. I was shy, self conscious and tried so very hard to fit in wherever I could.
I started making friends with an older group of people, in year 11 and 12 and I felt like I had finally found a place I could be me. They opened my mind to concepts I had only heard about – sex, drugs, heavy metal, alcohol, BDSM and freedom. I didn’t engage in sexual intercourse, BDSM or drugs during that time, but I was learning a whole lot about myself.
Typically, I began to rebel against my father. I would stay at friend’s places without telling him, just to get away from home. I had my first boyfriend which was completely forbidden and I began to explore my sexuality with him. I learned the concept of being my own person and seeing that other people’s parents would love their sons and daughters regardless of their rebellious nature. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to experience that feeling from my father; he kicked me out of home. He sent me to live with my mum. At the time, I kicked and screamed and cried hysterically, but in hindsight, it is the best thing that he ever did for me.
Flash forward a few years to 19 year old me – happy, independent and surrounded by loving people. My partner and I had decided to move to Queensland together, and I was moving up first while he sorted a few things before moving. I was going to be staying with my Dad until I found a place for us to live.
Once I got up there, I realised my father’s distrust for me hadn’t dissipated just yet, and he refused to give me keys to the house. I had to knock on the door like a stranger to be let in. I wasn’t allowed to be alone in the house – if I didn’t want to go with them I had to go somewhere else. I spent a lot of time between working “somewhere else” just to avoid getting sucked back into that fearful place I had escaped.
I bumped into one of the guys I was friends with in my teenage years not long after I had moved back and he invited me to a party they were having – all the older friends I had made would be there. I was ecstatic! I had lost contact with a lot of them over the years and I was so excited to see them. I got myself ready and he picked me up from my house later that night. It felt just like it used to, being in the presence of all these beautifully open minded people again, I felt happy for the first time since I had been back in Queensland. We drank, reminisced and caught up for a few hours, and at around 11 I decided to head home as I had work the next morning. Plus, I didn’t want to be too late getting home as I had to knock to get back in the house. I got a lift back home and got the the door and knocked. No answer. I knocked again. Nothing. I waited and knocked for about 10 minutes, and then I sent my friend text to see if I could crash on his couch for the night, assuming my father was pissed off and didn’t want to let me inside.
When we pulled up at the house, my friend told me I had to be quiet because his housemates were asleep. We got in and I asked where I would be sleeping and he said in his room. I was fine with that, so I set up on the floor with a pillow. He got back into the room and tried to convince me it was okay for me to sleep in his bed with him. I had a partner who I was loyal to, and I was worried he might get the wrong impression so I refused at first, but after a chat I agreed. I curled myself up onto the edge of the bed away from him and tried to sleep.
Just as I was dozing off, I felt him move behind me. He pressed his body up against mine and I felt him hard against my lower back. I pretended to be asleep, hoping that he was asleep too and just reacting to having a woman in his bed. He moved again. He rubbed his groin against my back and his hand slipped up my dress and he began to stroke me through my underwear. I felt myself leap off the bed and yelled at him, how dare he! He had this wicked smile on his face and told me to shut up and pushed me to the ground. He reminded me that I had to be quiet while he pushed my face into the carpet and tore at my clothes.
I was not quiet. I screamed and struggled underneath him, hands flailing and legs kicking, trying to scratch and bite him. He was too strong. He gave me a huge hit to the chest and winded me so I was silent and breathless while he grabbed a condom and shoved himself inside me. He was ferocious. He tore me apart. He punched my ribs and tore chunks out of my hair. My body was trembling and my face was stained with tears and blood after he bit my lip so hard it split. I struggled and screamed. I kicked the walls and tried to escape endlessly until I was so sore and broken that I stopped trying. It continued for hours, I was limp on the floor and stopped fighting. I gave up and he continued, ending with him forcing me to my knees in front of him while he added his disgusting cum to the myriad of bodily fluids on my face.
By the time he was done, it was 5am. He told me to get dressed and he dropped me home. I vaguely remember him saying that we should do it again sometime. I sat at the front door until I heard someone wake up and I ran to the shower, hiding myself, to wash his filth off me. I could feel the water hitting my fresh bruises and my torn skin, and I felt the swelling between my legs grow and throb. To add to all this pain I was experiencing now, my latex allergy was going to be a reminder for the next few weeks.
That morning, I got out of the shower, and I went to work. I continued my life as if nothing had happened. I tried telling my mum about it and failed, the words wouldn’t come out. I buried it inside me.
I moved out of my father’s house immediately so he didn’t know where to find me. I changed my phone number and hid inside constantly so that I could avoid bumping into him again. I didn’t go to a doctor, or the police.
Almost 6 years on, I have had help dealing with this awful mess. I told the people I trusted and loved when I was ready. I have seen counselors and therapists who have helped me put it behind me, and my scars have all healed. I am happy and healthy and I love myself. I have amazing people in my life and I have created and fueled my own success. I am comfortable in myself sexually, emotionally and physically. But it took a lot of hard work to get here.
My only regret is not telling someone earlier. I wish I had contacted the police, gone to hospital and told my family immediately. I was scared and embarrassed and I didn’t think anyone would believe me. But looking back now, I know that none of that is true. I had no reason to be embarrassed or scared, and I had the evidence to prove my claims. That is my one advice to anyone who has been exposed to anything as awful as this: tell someone straight away.