My Life... Part 7...Living Terror

I know I have not written anything in this series for a while now; things were getting pretty heavy there for a while and I needed to take a break from the memories.

After that first night, my father began fabricating reasons for us to be alone. He would send my mother to the store, making her take my brothers with her. He would need me to accompany him into the woods to gather deadfall and kindling, etc...

Always, the moment we were alone, my father would be touching me, or making me touch him. He taught me how to masturbate him to ejaculation, then the proper way to perform oral sex for the most enjoyment for him. He taught me a lot.

I also learned never to say no. Never. Bad things happened to my mom when I said no. Her bruises were my fault because I tried to say no, told him I did not want to have sex, did not want him to touch me.
I hated it; every moment... in my mind, I wanted to vomit. My body though, that was another story entirely. It liked it. He would touch me in ways that I somehow knew was wrong and bad, and yet, I would have an orgasm. I felt dirty, ashamed, and I wanted to die. I must be a terrible person because otherwise my body would not like the things he did to it.
The older I got, the worse things got. The more my body developed, the more he wanted to show it off to his buddies in the bar. He bought me skimpy tops, made me remove my bra, and took me into the bar for an afternoon. I spent probably a complete year of my life in bars over the years with my father. Hour after hour, day after day. Exposing my developing body to drunken, leering men.
There was no escape.