Child Abuse Story From Larry
by Larry
(USA)
I am now 35 years old. I was abused by my foster mother (who later became my adoptive mother) from age 7 when I moved into her home to age 16, when I ran away from home. What she did to me forever shaped who I am today. What she did to me was force me to be the girl she always wanted. The only problem with that was that I wasn't female. I was a boy.
I guess you could say I fell into all the categories of abuse at the hands of the woman who made me call her Mommy. Emotional, physical, neglect and sexual. She made it clear practically from day one she despised males and never wanted a boy in her home. I learned quickly that resisting her meant what she called spankings, but were in fact brutal beatings. Going along with her sick and twisted ideas meant I could eat regular food, sleep in a comfortable bed and be "loved" by her. Not going along meant eating nothing some days or week-old leftovers others. I had two bedrooms as a child. One was a very large, very feminine bedroom, a suite any little girl would have loved. The other was in the basement of our home, and was an old Army cot, nothing more. And the only time she ever showed affection to me was when I ceded to her wishes for a daughter.
What began as me simply wearing dresses or skirts at home for her changed when we moved, when I was ten. She made a show of throwing all of my male clothes away, bringing along only the female side of my wardrobe. In the new town, I was all girl, all the time. At home, out shopping, and yes, even at school. She had me under the belief that if I didn't just be a girl, she'd make me go away. That, to me, was a valid threat to use. I'd been in 15 foster homes from age 4 to age 7, following the death of my father and the incarceration of my mother. This woman, my "Mommy", had taken me in, she reminded me nearly every day, and provided for me a comfortable home and a loving mother. Was it really so much to ask, she would demand, that I give her what she needed? That being a good little girl to love.
So I went along with her, even telling the therapist my new school insisted I see when I showed up for my first day in a skirt and blouse that it was I who wanted to be a girl. I never told anyone it was "Mommy's" idea, out of the fear and terror I felt at her threat of abandonment. I must have been convincing enough to the therapist. Child Services were never called, and after a few months, the kids in my school sort of just stopped teasing me. Most left me alone all together, but a few accepted me as the girl I appeared to be.
"Mommy" started me on what she called vitamins when I was 12. At least, I assumed they were vitamins. In fact, they were hormone replacement pills, and they, as you can imagine, did their job well. I began to take on the feminine shape of a teenage girl. My hips rounded and my breasts swelled.
The defining moment of my youth, however, came the night of my "Sweet Sixteen" birthday. I'd been living as a female full time for just about six years to that point, and "Mommy" threw me a small party. I invited several of my girlfriends over for cake and presents and music and dancing, but "Mommy" invited one other person, without my knowledge. She had hired a man, you see, a man who came over after my friends had left for the evening. I will not go into details of that night, but I can assure you it was the most painful and degrading night of my entire life. "Mommy" just told me to accept it, that she was helping me further in becoming a woman.
I'd had it. The next day, I skipped school, packed a small bag and took off. I went to my best friend's house and told her mother the truth. The truth of what "Mommy" had done to me, how I'd been forced to become a girl, and then told her about my special birthday "present" the night before. My friend's mother was appalled. Sickened, actually. She nearly vomited, in fact. She called the local police department for me, and after again telling them my story, "Mommy" was arrested at her job. They never did find the man who raped me, however.
With my admission of abuse, the HRT was stopped at once, and I was placed with a foster home in another new town. They were great people who loved me for whoever it was I wanted to be. There were days I wanted to be a girl, since I'd been one for so long, and I had been "loved" as one for so long, I thought it was the only way to be loved. And there were days I wanted to be the most macho boy in the world. Mom and Dad, which is what I still call them to this day, never once tried to stop me. They accepted both Leah and Larry, my two halves. Mom hired a tutor for me, so I was spared the ordeal of starting another new school, and I completed my high school education at home.
I am now married to a wonderful woman who knows I have two sides still. While my body is that of a man, I have the soul of a split person. She lovingly accepts both halves of me. I am also the father of a little girl who is now 5 years old and there couldn't be a more loved little girl in the world.
It has taken me years of therapy to overcome what was done to me, and I will readily admit to all that there are days I am not fully over it. I doubt that will ever happen, to be honest. Ten years of systematic destruction of my maleness, I don't think, can be fully undone. But I live my life to the best of my abilities, which is all I can do. Thank you, Darlene, for allowing me to share my story. God bless.
Note from Darlene: I welcome you to follow me on my Facebook page at
Healing from Child Abuse. When you get there, don't forget to click onto the Become a Fan link. I hope to hear from you there!
Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in submissions and visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited. Please don't include them, as they will be removed.
