The first cut

by Hayley
(Birmingham England)

My previous entry was a bit hurried, and had a spelling mistake in it. Now I see where the saying "More speed less haste comes from"! I know I said I would add mnore last tuesday but I had rather a pleasant surprise on email so I never really got around to adding anymore. Even so as planned - albeit a week late - here's the next addition.

I was ten years old when the abuse started for real, it was a thursday evening in June 1989, I was a mere ten years old. My brother was thirteen by this time and must have had sex education at school. It was after tea and my parents were clearing up, all homework had been done so we were allowed to watch television. I got there first so I had control of what was watched. My brother went into the lounge where I was lay on the floor, it was too hot to sit! It was all perfectly normal, I was a typical ten year old girl up until that moment when my brother asked me that sickening question. My life changed seemingly for ever at that moment when he asked me "Do you want sex?"

I knew it was totally wrong and unnatural hence I refused point blank. Unfortunately my brother refused to give in and it seemed that my only hope to make him go away was to give in. I knew it was wrong and I couldn't relax or comprehend what was going on. Thankfully he didn't penetrate me even though it really hurt. He thankfully gave up trying to get inside me and started to masturbate himself. To my utmost relief either my mom or dad went to put something away in the dining room so my ordeal ended as quickly as it started.

I couldn't believe it, he was just a kid, so was I, so why was he doing this? From then on I felt totally alone and didn't say anything to anyone. I felt dirty and confused as well. Looking back, I probably should have realised that something like this may happen, my brother had been allowed to wander around stark naked, and he and momwould admire his genitals. Was she abusing him?

I knew there were the terrible rows, and mom would have the most horrendous tantrums. I took some real hammerings from her, for the slightest of thing like struggling with a bit of homework, for which I would get chased upstairs to the bathroom, have my legs slapped and face slapped, I even got lifted forward and thrown back against the cistern in the full force of my mothers rages. Sometimes I couldn't blame her for getting angry, like the time I wet myself at the age of nine years old, who wouldn't be mad at their daughter for doing that?! I also got a wallop for the fact that my brother got mud from his football boots on my bed, not him but me. He was in the wrong but I got the beating.

Frankly, I preferred the beatings to the rapes and other forms of sexual violation I was subjected to. They were the lesser of the two evils. Being called things and made to repeat them back was painful, and for a long time I started to believe it, even though I am not a slut, or good for nothing or bone idle, some of the insults my mother liked to hurl at me. None of these hurt me quite as much as the sexual abuse that I was subjected to, and the harassment about my body that my brother also put me through.

That's about it for now, for however long. I won't make any promises this time! There's plenty more where that came from. Cheers