Just like me

It's funny how most of the blogs that interest me at the moment are using the same template I am. Black. Lots of black.

When I was a teenager I was into black. My mother wanted me to wear pastels- she refused to buy me any black clothes and refused to let me dye my hair. This was just another symptom of the way she wanted to hide the truth about me. She wanted to bury the real me and make me into the sweet, popular baby girl she'd always dreamed of.

I was never what she wanted me to be. I know the first real disappointment she felt in me- after my brother started molesting me, which of course I kept secret until later, I started to get chubby. The idea of me becoming fat was more than my mother could bear, so she made me go on a diet. She took me to a dietician every week for a weigh-in, starting when I was nine and ending when I was eleven. Every bit of food that went on my plate was weighed and measured carefully; I was allowed three-quarters of a cup of breakfast cereal with half-a-cup of skim milk; lunch was a slice of lunchmeat between two thin slices of dry, brown diet bread; for dinner a hamburger with all the grease squeezed out between two paper towels, and two lettuce leaves, but no bun would be allowed.

It's amazing I didn't become anorexic. As it was, my chubbiness went away and I became a pretty, slender 11-year-old, all the more tempting to my horny brother, I suppose. The molestations continued unabated throught those years- he taught me to give him head even though it choked me, he tried to fit his dick in my ass while I knelt on my bed, bleeding, crying and begging him to stop, stop, it hurt too much. Mostly he liked to perform oral on me- I can picture it happening all over the place, in his room, in my room, in the bathroom. But at least he thought I was pretty.

My mother never noticed what was going on. She walked in on us more than once, but we always told her "We're wrestling" and of course she believed us. My brother was her special golden boy and I was a little innocent clone of herself, so there was no need for suspicion.

I was eleven when I got my first period, a few weeks after we moved into the new house, the house that I now think of as a cursed place (thank the gods, it was sold to some other poor loser just two years ago). At Halloween, a few weeks after we moved into that house, my father left my mother for some bimbo he'd met in a bar while on a business trip. My mom receded into a walking, comatose version of her old self- she refused to eat, refused to talk, did very little but cry.

That winter we went to stay with my grandparents- the same ones in whose basement my brother had first begun his attentions. We drove to their place, a thousand miles to the North, in the toppered Datsun pickup that was our only vehicle. That was an incredibly cold and snowy winter, and since the traveling party consisted of my mother, my other brother, my molester brother, and me, us three kids had to rotate spaces in the truck with every stop- two of us in the back at a time, wrapped in sleeping bags and packed like sardines for warmth. I remember my brother shoving his fingers deep into my vagina as the road rolled away below us. I remember him taking my hand to wrap my icy fingers around his huge erection. He must have loved knowing that my mother was only a couple of feet away as he fingered me hard enough to make me whimper. When we stopped I begged my mom to let me sit in front with her but it wasn't time for my turn yet.

For Christmas that year I got a poodle skirt, like had been popular in the 1950's, made of felt. One of my brothers gave me a stuffed animal of the type that came with a kids' meal at a fast food restaurant. My grandparents gave me a full set of The Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis, and escaping into those wonderful books was my salvation that winter.

More later. Oh, so much more. I can't believe how much I still have to tell, and how many details I have skipped over already. But for now, it's time to put my baby to bed, and whisper promises that she will never be hurt as I was.