If there is anyone that is reading this, who has felt the religious shame for thinking about sex, I know your pain.
I unfortunately was introduced to sexual behavior at a VERY young age. It was a period of time where I should have been playing with my dolls and stuffed animals...
But instead I was learning about the male anatomy, and being a living sex doll to the older boys in my neighborhood.
I didn't understand it, but it stayed with me. Over the years, my sexual desires grew to the point where I was stealing my older brothers porn mags just to look and feel myself.
I started to watch porn and hentai at the age of 9. It fascinated me, and I yearned to go to that back room every time we went to the video store. But I felt ashamed. I was raised by Baptists, and in that house, it was easy to get caught with contraband.
I remember in a fit of frustration that I wanted to be seen in the same way as the actresses in their depravity. I wanted to be beautiful. Like them.
I used to yell at my mother that I wanted to be a stripper. Not because of the exploitation, but because in my eyes, they were goddesses. They were worshiped. And all they had to do was dance.
It didn't help that I hit puberty around the same time either. Hormones flooded me and I started to grow boobs. Deep down I was in love with this. To feel like I was one step closer to being older and freer.
But on the outside, I was shy. Embarrassed. I knew what I wanted but I had to hide it from everyone.
I lost my consensual virginity when I was 15. The experience was new and exciting. It didn't make me feel weird and I didn't leave me in a violated heap on the floor.
My parents found out and I wasn't allowed to do anything in my free time. I had to sit downstairs with them until bedtime. To be the good girl. To recite bible verses about sinning over and over again until the words felt like nothing. Not even words.
But inside I was screaming, and crying.
And it happened every. Single. Time. I was caught out.
Every time a boy showed sexual interest in me, and I wanted to reciprocate, I was "The whore."
So I shelled myself deeper. I swallowed my frustrations in an attempt to vanquish it.
Until recently, that is exactly what I did. I stopped watching porn. I stopped looking at magazines. I stopped everything, including most sexual actions, even with my husband.
I love him so much for sticking it out with me, as he has a ferocious sexual appetite. He stapled me as a prude, and I suffered with that, knowing if only I could just unlock everything to him, I could prove to him just how hard it was to hold back.
And I did just that.
Ladies and gentlemen, my sexual re awakening led this prudish Sub, to Dominate the bedroom.
And I felt fantastic.
So please find someone, and if you have that someone but you feel like you just can't talk about anything...JUST DO IT.
I wished I had done this years ago.
Im standing on the corner of bitter and sweet.
And there are no familiar faces that I see.
When im looking all around and there is no one about, I tend to shake my head in exaggeration.
I have always felt this tired need to tranquilize my thoughts. In a helpless array of sanctity.
Hoping to field my vision once more, I stick my thumb out in the open like its a new way of prayer.
Im relying on this witness to help guide me through my troubles.
Im truly sorry if you don't see me standing there.
There's a tree that stands tall next to the garden of Eden, and the house within it's gates has always been abandoned.
I wont slither my way across the fields of grey, in an attempt to keep a light conversation. But i'll humbly ignore your face as your body trails behind my line of sight.
Your fair words have me shaken in a deep reverie. My eyes they cant contain my loathing pride.
I thought by the light it was a half past three. But sadly no, it was a quarter to five.
I was adopted.
This subject can be very emotional for me because of the circumstances of my adoption.
I was not adopted at birth like many out there. Instead I was adopted a little too late.
My biological mother was a woman who had several mental illnesses, and in her selfishness and sadism, tried to hide me away and abuse me. I was neglected, sexually, physically and emotionally abused by her and her boyfriend up until I was taken away...the 5th time.
I wished that I was taken away sooner so that I might not have gone through what I did. But sometimes I wonder what I would have been like if my Aunt had kept me in her Beverly Hills mansion.
Let's start off from the very beginning.
My mother was 26 when she met my 21 year old father. Their relationship (from what he has told me in recent years) was that of a one sided love story. He was very young and stupid. And my mother was living in a fantasy world of her own.
When it came down to my birth, my father went to the hospital to propose to my mother, and she said no.
She shunned him in the only manipulative way she could by using me, a brand new baby against him.
He adored me, and wanted to be a part of my life but she refused to let him. I'll get back into that in a little bit, though.
My first two weeks of life were spent in a shelter until a kind family from her church took her in. She became very paranoid and started screaming about a cat attacking me in my crib.
There were no cats in the house as two of the small children who lived there were very allergic.
The family called CPS and the investigation started on her.
She knew she couldn't handle me and she needed help, so she turned to her sister, my Aunt Barbara who happened to live in Beverly Hills California in a giant house. The deal between them was that she would keep me until my mother settled things here in Connecticut, and then my mother would fly out there and live with her and we could be one happy family.
Instead of the above arranged deal, as soon as my Aunt got back to California with me, she called up my mother and told her to not bother coming out there, and that she was going to adopt me.
I was kidnapped and help hostage by a woman who was truly capable of taking care of me. But that soon ended when it was reported to police and I was brought back home.
I lived with my mother off and on. Being taken away by the state, and by my Godparents.
The abuse had gotten so bad that one day, I just simply never went back to her, and I was officially adopted in 1993 at the age of 8.
I was an emotional wreck, and constantly told that I was the female version of The Problem Child.
My behavior was so erratic that I had no conscience about my actions.
In order to escape from the pain of what I had gone through, I would tell people that my mother died during childbirth. Just so it didn't feel like I was unwanted. I felt unwanted.
Years later, in high school, I met a boy. We fell in love and I got pregnant.
The woman whom I affectionately call Mom told me that because I was still in high school, that I should get an abortion.
I fought her on it, harder than I fought about anything. I wanted to be selfish and keep the baby, knowing I could not actually do it. My boyfriend kept my hopes up in my decision, despite his parents disapproval. They were Roman Catholic, and we had committed a horrible sin. I was a girl that stole their precious boy. I was the problem, and they reminded me of that every single day.
He never stood up for me. And he never stood up for my unborn daughter. I was alone with his words of hope and love, but he never expressed it to his parents. They would have none of it even if he did.
Graduation day, I am proud to say that I walked down that isle, albeit 6 months pregnant and VERY much showing, and I got my diploma. I surprised everyone. I did it.
And then my parents gave me my graduation present. 2 suitcases and a brochure for a woman's shelter in Poughkeepsie NY.
I had just accomplished the unthinkable, and they were sending me away out of embarrassment.
It was right there that I made a vow that I would do this on my own. I didn't need anybody.
I lived in that shelter and met some extraordinary souls. Woman and children of many different backgrounds that shred one thing in common. We were all pregnant. We felt free in a way that we only had each other to comfort, rant, and even dance with. We laughed a lot, and we talked about what ifs like there was no tomorrow.
They called me "The smart girl" simply because I was constantly in the shelter's library with my nose in almost every book. It kept me going as the unborn baby in my belly was growing.
Then on September 26th, 2003 everything changed.
My beautiful baby girl had arrived and I was in absolute awe of her. She was so perfect. I named her Kaylee Marie.
My boyfriend showed up to see her the day after she was born. I will never forget this.
He was sitting in the rocking chair in the corner of the room holding her and he looked at her and smiled. "She has my nose." we giggled a little bit. And then he looked at me and told me "We can't do this."
Apparently he told his parents that I was going to keep the baby and they sent him with a message for me.
"If you keep this baby, my parents will do everything to find you unfit and will take you to court."
He didn't stand up for us. He didn't believe that I could do this.
I contacted an agency to place her up for adoption. I didn't want her life to be started out in a shelter, dealing with people who would bring her to court constantly. I didn't want that for her.
The day came when I would hand her over to a loving family who could not bare their own.
I held her in my arms, and I just stared at her for what seemed like hours, soaking her in. Taking in every little thing about her. Her thumbs that were exactly like mine. Her little crown of brown ringlets. Her tiny button nose. The dimples perfectly placed in her chubby cheeks.
I wept as I sang her the lullaby that I sang to her in my womb. She was made from love and all I felt was love just looking at her.
I handed her over shortly after that. And I never saw her again.
I know she is with a beautiful loving family, as I met them and their little girl that they had also adopted. She would grow up with a sister, in a nice house. They would go to their vacation house in Ireland every summer. She would see the world. She would be free.
The life that I wish I had.
She is 11 years old now, and there is not a day that goes by that I don't think about her. What she looks like. What her favorite music is. What her hobbies are. Is she like me? Does she enjoy the same things?
Seven more years and I might know those answers.
Just seven more years.
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