Lost Innonence  

rm_Psyched4SEX 54F
148 posts
8/31/2006 3:50 pm

Last Read:
9/17/2007 5:07 pm

Lost Innonence


I'm not exactly sure why I have an insatiable desire for SEX. I think perhaps some of the events in my life have contributed to my unrealistic NEED for sex. I must admit that I would LOVE to have SEX at least six to eight times a day everyday. I have felt the same way for as long as I can remember. I think about sex ALL the time....it's kind of like the game "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon" whereas in six steps or less, every person or thing can somehow be linked to the actor Kevin Bacon. I seem to connect everything to sex in six steps or less.

I am multi-orgasmic! Believe me, I'm NOT bragging. It's not always a blessing. I seemed to get turned-on too easily....if that's possible. I can be watching a television commercial about cereal and my mind wanders to sex. I can be listening to a sappy love song on the radio and I start getting aroused. Even watching an elderly couple walk down the street holding hands turns me on. There really should be a time and a place for everything and I wish I could control myself a little bit more at times. I wish I knew what triggered these feelings.

Some of my friends have offered their opinions. They say that people who are sexually abused as children and young adults seem to become promiscuous adults . I was abused as a child. As an innocent little girl I suffered years of abuse at the hands of a "family friend" that I knew as Uncle Bob. Uncle Bob was married to Aunt Toni, my mother's life-long best friend. My parents were divorced when I was just four years old. My Aunt Toni and Uncle Bob were always there, offering to help my mother as she struggled to raise my brother and I as a single parent. My mother went to nursing school during the day and worked full-time at night to keep a roof over our heads and food in our stomach. My mother has ALWAYS been my inspiration and my source of love, support and strength.

As far as I can figure, the abuse started when I was between four and five years old. My sick "Uncle" took great pleasure and satisfaction molesting helpless little girls. Bribery and guilt were his methods of luring me to the basement. My two younger cousins, my younger brother and me would be in the car waiting to go on some fun excursion with my uncle. He would feign some excuse about forgetting something in the house. He'd get out of the car and head toward the house. He would holler for me to come help him....he told us that if I didn't help him, that NO ONE would go anywhere except back in to the house to stay for the remainder of the day. My cousins and my brother would be mad at me and cry that they hated me and I should just hurry up and help him so we could leave. Once inside the house, my uncle took my hand and pulled me down to the dank cold basement. I tried to plead with him to let me go. My cries and pleas just seemed to anger him all the more. In the beginning, the abuse strictly involved him touching me through my clothes and me masturbating him as he held my tiny hands in his to guide and direct my movements.

I'm not really sure when the abuse escalated. I don't know whether it was a gradual progression or if it just changed suddenly one day. I remember vividly him rubbing my naked pussy with his hands and "kissing" me there every chance he could. He began forcing me to suck his cock. I can still feel his hands on the back of my head, shoving himself into my mouth. There are many times that I gagged and threw up - each time it happened, I was made to service him even longer. I can only ever recall the abuse taking place in the basement of my aunt's house - my own private dungeon and hell. As far as we have been able to piece together, the abuse probably continued for nearly five years before it was discovered.

Apparently, my uncle made a habit out of picking me up from school daily. My two cousins and my brother always rode the bus home. This gave my uncle about an hour alone with me each day. One day, my mother got off work early and went to school to pick up my brother and I. She was surprised to find out that my uncle had already picked me up and my brother was left behind. She picked up my brother and headed to my uncle's house to find out why he taken me and not my brother. She was shocked to discover my uncle molesting me in the basement. An investigation ensued. As the neighbors were being interviewed and questioned, some horrific details arose. My uncle had molested at least a dozen teenage girls in the neighborhood. My aunt would hire the girls to baby-sit for my cousins and when my uncle returned home, he would molest them. My aunt didn't understand why the same girl would never agree to baby-sit more than once. It was also discovered that he was molesting his own daughter and step-daughter as well. This nightmare ended about the time I was nine years old. What a sick, twisted bastard!

My aunt and mother talked to child psychologists as well as law enforcement officials about how to proceed with prosecution. The consensus was made to NOT press charges against my uncle. The primary witness was me. They did not want me to re-live the events and traumatize myself any further. My mother was told that children are resilient and I was very young. The odds were that I would not remember the abuse and it was never to be discussed in my presence. My aunt divorced my uncle immediately and I still don't know to this day whether he's ever paid for what he did or not. I would like the satisfaction of knowing that someone had the courage to stop this monster. Perhaps he's dead. Perhaps he's rotting away in a prison cell somewhere. Perhaps someone has hurt him as deeply as he hurt me.

Fast forward to the vision of a fifteen-year-old teenage girl. My best friend, Denise, and her family lived next door to me from the day I was born. She had two older brothers and a younger sister. My brother and his friends had built a fort in our backyard. The "guys" slept outside quite often and were always talking and hanging out in the fort....of course, no girls were allowed. My brother wanted to sleep in the fort one night and none of his friends could spend the night. My mom said that the only way that he could sleep outside was if I slept out there too. I agreed. During the night, Denny (my best friend's brother) came to join us in the fort. It was obvious he had come to see me instead of my brother. He started kissing me. I enjoyed kissing him. Then he started reciting baseball moves....trying to see exactly how far he could go. "Denny's up to bat. He swings. Can he make it to first base?" First base was never a problem. He wanted to go further than first base. I agreed to let him feel my boobs under my shirt. Then I started to feel uncomfortable. He DIDN'T want to stop there. He tried to unzip my pants. I tried to wriggle away from him. He was so strong and determined and he would NOT let me go. I yelled for my brother to wake up. Denny somehow managed to get my pants down to my ankles as I neared the door. My brother tried to get him off me by hitting him and pulling him. Denny threatened my brother and told him not to say a word to anyone. My scrawny brother was no match for this eighteen-year-old man. Denny me as I bit him and scratched him and hit him. The exit was blocked and we were trapped.

To this day, my brother and I have never discussed the incident. I'm not sure whether he even remembers the night in the fort. We moved away from that neighborhood in Michigan on my sixteen birthday. I have remained best friends with Denise to this day. Every year the people from our old stomping ground have a re-union to reminisce and celebrate our history together. About six years ago, Denny came to the re-union. We hadn't spoken to each other in years. He came up and gave me a hug....I cringed and pulled away. He asked me to go for a walk with him so we could talk. I obliged. He apologized for me all those years ago. He asked me if I could find it in my heart to forgive him - I had done that many years earlier. He made amends for his wrong-doing and we found solace in each other. Denny died on Wednesday, August 9, 2006. His memorial service was held on Friday, August 11, 2006 - that would have been his 47th birthday. I'm glad to say that, in the end, Denny and I had found peace with one another and had found our way back to being friends once again. I do love you and I will miss you!


Thank-you to my friend and fellow blogger LostLilSoul for giving me a reason to share this with you! {=}

surecumsalot 48M
121 posts
9/3/2006 3:31 pm

OMG. I'm so sorry that happened to you.

I've wondered if anything like that ever happened to me which may explain my high libido, but I can't recall anything. I did have a close call of sorts. I was a Catholic alter boy and befriended one of the priests at my parish. The only uncomfortable thing he did was invite me to his residence on the church campus for breakfast. Nothing happened there, but he seemed to take an interest in me. A few years ago, I did a Web search and found out that we was under suspicion for molesting boys years ago at another parish!

What really makes me sick is how many women have been molested by men. I read somewhere that one out of four women will be molested sometime in their life. I've known quite a few women who were molested or . I can't imagine doing that to someone. What sick pleasure do guys get when they force themselves on someone?

Hopefully your disclosure gives you some relief even though the memory and pain may never go away totally.


rockedcat 58M/58F
20 posts
1/13/2008 7:30 pm

Tammy Read your story good thing we have a God to turn to


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