Daddy beat up everybody in the house; there was no protection and nobody was safe. Whenever he was done venting his rage, he’d tell whoever he’d left in a broken heap, “If you don’t like it, you can get out.” My mother and siblings not only stayed but they groveled and scraped to please him. Me? I wanted him to be crystal I didn’t like it and I left. Years of being molested by my dad taught me that my body had the power to make men do things. After that beating, I put my knowledge to practical test and talked a Navy man I knew into sending for me. The night I landed in San Diego was the night I lost my virginity. It was painful and bloody, but it was alright, because he said he loved me. I was fourteen. Next morning he left me sleeping and went to work; I awakened to police bursting through the motel room door. The manager, who’d let them in, stood there gawking, as they hand-cuffed me, still naked in a bloody bed. A cop told me my navy man had called. Later, when I got the chance to ask him why, he told me my cherry was worth the price of a plane ticket, but better I went to jail then him. The promiscuity began then and there; in that moment I knew daddy was right – the only thing about me that was any good at all was the little hole between my legs. read the whole story
