I guess the fact that I am nevous means this is good for me to do.

My family seems really nice. There wasn't that much yelling and my dad was an electrical engineer so we were middle class. I guess he was and is and alcoholic, but he's really controlled and doesn't get loud or violent. They got divorced when I was nine and I went to live with my mother. My brother was already sixteen or seventeen so he stayed with my dad and then went off to college.

I don't really know anything about my father's past, or why he would be abusing his kids. but he was moleting me as far back as I can remember and did it the whole time that I was growing up. When I was young it was mostly touching and oral sex. On a young kid oral sex is inherently violent, so it was pretty bad even if he wasn't trying to be sadistic. a few times when I was five or older he would try to have sex with me, I think those times he was more drunk or something, becuase I would freak out about it. One time I was in the garage wityh him and he had me pinned over the clothes dryer and I guess he was doing it because I was screaming and he had his hand over my mouth. After I was eight or nine the sex happened a lot.

He would try to do thises things as much as he could, so it could be anytime and place that he had a chance. I can't picture him now without seeing his dick sticking out of his pants or pajamas or underwear or whatever. He would come into my room at night, or in the early morning, or take me out to the garage or around the side of the house or out in the car somewhere.

My mother started doing things when I was pretty young too, before I started school. During the day it was just her and me in the house so she could do whatever she wanted and she would touch me or do oral sex on me. She took my hand and showed my how to touch her and made me kiss her down there. She held my head between her legs. I saw my broterh having sex with her when he was maybe ten and I was three. They were in her bedroom and I was out in the hall, and I was jealous that he was in there getting the attention. When my parents were fighting a lot when I was seven to nine, she would come sleep in my bed with me and she would pull up her nightgown and take off my pajamas and hold me against her. After the divorce in the condo that we lived in I slept in her bed with her. She stopped wanting to do it just before I hit puberty, at eleven or twelve.

The thing that bugs me about her is that it felt good most of the time, so I would want her to do things, which I hate. Also when she stopped it was like a rejection of me, and since it had been a big part of the relationship, it was like I lost her. I think I wanted to still do it, which makes me feel like I am the sick one, the pervert, even the perpetrator. I have a hard time with that. If she comes near me now I want to throw up.

So my brotehr abused me too, given that they f*cked him up and I was seven years younger. He started having sex with me when I was four. He wasn't full grown yet, so it was wasn't as bad as having an adult do it. He was nice to me in other ways, sometimes wresting or playing cards. When I was seven he started letting his friends do it too, and it was really humiliating, so that was a big betrayal from him. That was pretty much the end of my ever trusting him. There was a few times when the four of them would gang rape me. With him it stopped after I was eight or nine. I'm not sure.

So for the first ten or twelve years of my life there was nowhere for me to hide, no one to trust. Someone would do something to me at least once a day. I think I was so messed up that if nothing had happened yet I would go seek it out with my brother, just to get it over with and to get the "high" of the overstimulation.

I did have some good times over at a friends house, and I think that saved my life, or at least gave me an idea of what was normal. I went on a vacation with them a couple of times and I always remembered that I felt really good on those trips. Recently I remembered that feeling I had, and I think it was that I was relaxed. No one was just about to have sex with me, I actually felt safe.

there were some other random people that intermittantly did stuff to me. My grandfather, who fortunately lived in a different state, so it was less than once a year with him. The father and two teenagers of a family that we were friends with. Some random stranger in a van when I was eleven. Two guys at this church we went to when I was four--that memory is really weird, its like I'm across the room watching them do stuff to my body. We only went to that church the one time.

I guess once your boundries are shot to hell its like you have a target on your back.

So I think that's pretty much it, what I worry about is that I don't have that much emotion about it. The memories make me shake when I get them, but I don't feel rage or that much fear or anything. Sometimes they turn me on which sucks.

It really feels like there were two different worlds, two different bodies, one for normal everyday school and meals and reading. The other body was having all this stuff happening a lot. Once in a while I'll get a flash of what it felt like to be in the other body, the abused one, and its horrible. I felt it once, from a memory of my brother doing it to me in my room in the afternoon, and I felt so disgusting and disgusted that I didn't want to move, I couldn't stand to feel my skin or where I hurt. I guess I'll get more of that as I feel it more.

It still shocks me that this was my life. Whatever.