By womantrek on December 18, 2013
I had given up a lot before the incident on the highway. The biggest disappointment, however, was in giving up my education, a scholarship to a private college, my college cheerleading career..and so many friends.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but I think it was part of the plan.
During our first year, I learned many things from Phil. Mostly glib little sayings and retorts, like: “Cold hands, warm heart.” Philosophies like “Only you are responsible for your own happiness, and I am responsible for my Hap-Penis.” He told me stories that had been passed down to him, about the Cherokee people, about his family. (I think he was Cherokee.) Like how whites had given tribes food and clothing after signed treaties – rotten food, and blankets infected with small pox. I sat listening intently, for hours, usually after one of our lovemaking sessions. Once he’d leave, I was usually left wondering how I was going to deal with another reason to feel guilty for my existence. The guilt probably extended our relationship another six months longer than it should have.
The sex. It clearly was the anchor keeping me in the relationship. Despite the fighting, and the abuse, and the abortions. Phil clearly knew how to do it. Make up sex was frequent, but the instructional sex – I would say that was his forte. Phil relished in teaching me how he liked things done. I learned about pleasure for every orifice.
And then I was introduced to the porn.
Not just regular porn, mind you. But nasty magazines that I was too embarrassed to look at. Bondage and dominance. Every fetish you could think of.
It was, in a word, gross. And I told him so.
So what do you do with a chubby teen that you’ve targeted - she’s got too many opinions, and she’s not behaving, and not into your kinda lifestyle? You try to tap into her emotional side, by manipulating her with stories, getting close to her friends and family, appealing to her sense of decency.
The story with Phil was that he was a displaced worker. His wife and kids had left him. He had recently received money to attend computer school, but was kicked out of his apartment.
It was 1986. I had just flunked out of my college scholarship, and was trying to figure out what to do next. So I asked my father if we could move in with him for the Summer.
This wasn’t my step-father, the cop’s house, mind you. This was my biological father. Whom I’d only just met a couple years earlier. I’m sure he was eager to expand our relationship. He hadn’t much family of his own around, after all – and being the blacksheep of a wealthy family didn’t exactly offer up much in the way of a loving environment. So my father created his own loving family, who wouldn’t?
Of course Phil accepted my offer to move on in.
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