She was eight years old when her uncle first raped her. Her mother worked third shift and entrusted her in the hands of this family member while she worked at nights. But her uncle, her father’s brother, would molest and rape her through those nights, then walked her down at each dawn to their neighbourhood Mcdonalds and bought her happy meals breakfast as compensation. Years later, Ms. Jones, an emerging plus model, mother and care giver, shares her compelling tear jerking story of rape, love and addiction to sex from the brutalities of a dear family. Her story:
“The cool morning summer breeze slapped my silky window curtains. I lay in bed, naked and wondering if it was time to get up and begin another hustle in the city. The children had dressed themselves and taken the school bus that snaked into our subdivision earlier. Bored and undecided about how to chase the new day, I engaged my imaginations with my life as a single mother in these times… It’s been a hard living, an extreme challenge. How I make it this far remained a mystery to me. I had seen fire, rain and sometimes, days that won’t end faster. It’s been intriguing, exciting and doomed moments, especially for a beautiful Black country girl, living in southern United States. Despite these torments and tortures, I still retained my external beauty. People see the smiles beam all over my pretty face. What they don’t know is what lies beneath my adoring smiles. I wondered through my love life and pains: the first time I experienced first love and thereafter. Did I ever feel loved with what I had been through? To understand, you have to be led through the thorny roads of my life: the first time I felt “love,” I didn’t realise what it was. It felt strange, wet and cold. It was the first sexual love. It made my heart beat so fast I couldn’t breathe: a treacherous love that I could not look in the face because this love was in control. I hated to remember these times of my life. But I just can’t ignore the everlasting scars this love left me with.
“My first love was a sick obsession. He was a part of me: my family. He was my uncle. My mother entrusted me in his care while she worked third shift job at nights. This love would wait till my mother went to work, then crept into my bedroom at the wee hours of the morning; cover my mouth with his heavy and long palms so no one would hear my innocent and hurtful scary cries. He would then slowly rape me, abuse my childhood, scar my womanhood, dignity and pride. He stole my virginity. This love was my father’s brother! I remembered being wet all over, smeared in his semen and marinated in his sweat, a gift from a horrible midnight with him; my family member that my mother trusted to care for and protect me while she was working the night shifts. He would wipe me clean at sunrise, take me to McDonald’s and buy me a “happy meal” breakfast just to make the mind of an eight year old he sexually assaulted, forget the sad ordeal and abuse of the previous night. He would sit across the table from me. I was scared to swallow my happy meal. I was young, confused, angry, helpless and alone. To this day, I still feel something hard pressed against my vagina. I could still smell his breathe and gasps of his sexual assaults on my eight year soul.
“Years later, my first ‘love’ died and I cried at his funeral. I cried not for his death but because I felt he didn’t pay for all the love he stole from me. He bruised and scarred my life at a tender age of eight. My uncle through the years thronged his penis into my vagina, stealing my precious blessings from God and brutalising my virginity. I could never forgive him. I tried to move on, carrying with me the pains of these sadistic acts by him, silently dealing with that trauma through the years. The memories affected my relationships and my love life:
“At fourteen, I met my second love. He was also a teenager, endowed with a universal gift of brilliance, beauty and laughter. He had a crystal smile, playful spirit, and appeared to be kind. I would see him when my grandmother visited his mother. And sometimes we met at the church premises. We were young and innocent, at least, he was. He would bless me with kind words, flirtatious praises of my beauty and physical amazement. He said these with intoxicating smiles. He was beautiful in his smiles and handsome with his words. One night, he called me over to his mother’s home and made love to me. It was the first time that I experienced the beauty, the comfort and the calmness of being wanted, being romanced, of being lubricated and penetrated. It felt warm, smooth, sensual and beloved. Oh gush. That night, he completed me!
“This love was surreal and special because when a girl is giving away her natural beauty willingly, it is immaculate. Despite the spectacular feelings, I still felt really bad and painful from years of molestation by my uncle. But this charming and enchanting young man naturally broke me and I was willingly submitting to his benevolence. I considered myself a virgin because I never gave my uncle permission to continuously rape me.
“Jebose, after several sexual escapades with my second attempt at love, this restless teenager changed. His smiles disappeared whenever he saw me. I no longer felt special before him. That crazy attention he lavished on me expired. He was silent and cold afterwards. I had matured so fast to learn when to walk away from love. His signs of the times said a lot about how he felt for me. He walked round the neighbourhood as a conqueror: he disvirgined a neighbourhood girl!. He wore the pride of a cupid of love and he allowed that to melt his bright soul, replacing it with arrogance and an anointed ego! I got mad at love after this and said that I would never think about or fall in love again.
“By the time I turned 18, I had forgotten about my promise to myself. It wasn’t long before another love was blazing and melting my heart. He came like a thief in the night, banging on my door and loaded with beautiful nonsense that I could not resist. He was saying the things I wanted to hear from a handsome stud! I didn’t pay attention to his lullabies because I was dealing with the past: the horrors and thoughts of love from my past constantly troubled me. I prayed that this would be the real thing. My aching young heart needed to heal and feel this experience. I wanted love. I was ready to move on from the past passionate pains, from a stolen innocence, from a shredded young yesterday filled with naivety, betrayal and sadness. I said this love got to be best. I deserved the best. So I opened the door to my heart for him to enter. He was the first love that promised to stay. We lit up like a candle in the dark. Every day we shared, we became very attached to each other. Separation from each other was sickness. It was crazy, yet healthy: the beginning of a sizzling love.
“We glowed, gloated and loved carelessly. It was the kind of love that I felt. He was a handsome high school senior heartthrob, getting ready to be enlisted into the United States Navy. He promised me marriage after enlisting. He said he would celebrate me and tell the world about me. He would travel the world with me. But Jebose, his spoken words were lies. This love was as brief as a candle light. As soon as he left for the Navy, he turned his back on me. The next news I got from him was a postcard telling me of his marriage to someone else. Weeks of tears followed the sudden loss and mourning of a promise unfulfilled! Another great expectation that never came through. I was left with an aching disappointed heart. I didn’t know what love was supposed to feel like. During my experiences I felt scared, had pains, confusion, violation and betrayals. Were these what real love was supposed to feel like?
“I decided to focus on my adolescence and growth after this young navy took me on a voyage of disappointments. I was 18 and really needed to set goals for my life. So I got busy for the next four years, seeking a roadmap to a successful life. By the time I turned 22, I had grown into a beautiful mature woman. I was ready for the world and hoped the world was ready for me. I left my little country home and relocated to the city where I met my city love. And boy, it was different. Here was a country girl, meeting for the first time a new wild experience. For a country girl, love is very simple, it doesn’t ask too much of you and doesn’t take too long to please. A city love takes you to new heights, different elements. It takes you out of your normal surroundings to places you had never seen before. City love brings imaginations to reality. I never experienced the things this love would introduce me to. This city love dug deep and brought out kinky things such as oral and anal sex, sex in public places and dressing up in all kinds of costumes to satisfy his fetish desires. After meeting and experiencing the city love, it changed me in ways I never knew and had no idea what was about to come next; from being molested, raped at childhood to losing my virginity and not having family to care or support me.
“This city love turned my world upside down. It was too steamy, sassy, hardcore and erotic. It was too real for a native girl. I began to spiral out of control. The more I had new experience, the hungrier I was. I became a sex addict, willing and able to sleep with several men a day. I was sexually insatiable. There were times when I didn’t want men to touch me too many times because I couldn’t get enough of them. I lost myself because I didn’t know I was worthy. I allowed men and the love they claimed to have for me control who I was: a ravaged sex addict, silently crying for help. The things I did were sometimes horrible. I let love do whatever it pleased to me. I found myself on one night stands, exchanging sex for gifts and cash. And at sunset, some of these men who claimed they loved me bought me nice things because I was satisfying their sexual desires.
“Through these confusions and confrontations in my life, I again, found someone that said he truly loved me. You probably are guessing; finally this woman finds true love. But because of all the turmoil and past shenanigans I went through and experienced, when “real love” came, I did not know how to accept that. I abused this love; I didn’t take him seriously. That was the only love that lasted 10 years. Instead of nurturing that love, I did to that love what love in the past did to me: I used that love as my anger, my pains, my violations and frustrations. I didn’t care much for him. He believed in me, tolerated my behaviours. He wanted to love and help me recover. He was a victim of my transferred aggression. He wanted to share and show me true love. He was genuine. But I never gave him a chance. One day, I came home from work, and this love was gone. I was so caught up in anger and mistrust that I didn’t even see love walk away and found someone else to love. It was too late when I realised what happened. Today, I suffer all kinds of anguish from losing him. I am still in search of true love. I don’t know if I would find it in my life time. But what is true love? Does it make you smile or does it strip you of every piece of self dignity? Does true love define who you are as a person? Does it have an effect on the directions of your life? What are the real concepts of love?
“Love has beaten the hell out of me. Yet, I am on this quest to find love. I was never true to what I thought might have been real love. I never committed myself to him. He stayed briefly and tolerated my struggles with my past pain, betrayals and hurt. I didn’t respect his commitment and devotion to me. While he stuck with me, I misused him, cheated on him, and cared less about his feelings. I even married another man while I was with him. I gave this love psychotic behaviour that I didn’t realise I had from what happened to me…I gave this love my ass to kiss: had wild orgies with other men while he lived with me and continuously pledged his love for me. I got pregnant from secret affairs I had with another man; he still accepted and cared for me and the child even though it was an embarrassment to his family. He loved me. But I was never there for him. Then he walked away! I wish I had been more prudent. I wish I had given him that chance he so much begged for. Jebose, I wish!!!!!” Punch
