GOD'S WIFE

The Story of a Sex Worker

July 29, 2004

Childhood

(Note: I have been accused of being stereotypical because of my tale of abuse. This is a little insulting. Things usually become a stereotype because they’re common.)

My childhood was hard. It fucking sucked, really. In the beginning, my dad would beat me regardless of whether or not I did something wrong. Later on, after I'd hit puberty and hit it hard, I started getting in to trouble, partly I think so my father could have a reason to hit me. It felt even worse when I was minding my own business and he came into my room and beat me because he hit himself with a hammer. I think part of him really believed that I was at fault for him hitting himself. I had distracted him by existing. I should have been a boy, or I should have never been born, I'm not sure what went through his head. Maybe he just didn't like children. They never had another one. All I knew is that he was twisted and my childhood was vaguely like living with a low-level serial killer.

When I turned twelve I started fucking around. Again, I'd managed to alienate most of the girls who knew I was sleeping with the boys. They never called me a slut to my face, but with their hateful looks, they didn't have to. The boys liked me, and how, but that wasn't friendship, that was activity. So I started shoplifting. The act itself was a fine companion. I felt justified for being alone because it was a solitary art.

I started with toy stores. I didn't want any of the toys, it just seemed like a good target. I didn't even steal toys meant for girls. I stole boy's toys. Most of the time I threw the toys away once I got outside. A couple of times I gave a water pistol or an action figure to a neighborhood kid and then felt like Robin Hood. I told him to tell his parents he found it on the street.

For a time the crime was thrill enough. But soon I wanted the profit as well. Problem was, I couldn't think of anything I wanted. I didn't use make-up. I was pretty without it. And I didn't wear jewelry. I was basically a pretty tomboy. My father had made me tough. I sometimes stole food but that was so easy it was almost boring. I finally decided to steal a piece of stereo equipment from one of the big stereo stores. I didn't have a stereo in my room. I walked into the store and saw all the blinking lights and black cases and TV's all set to the same channel and I felt as if I'd made a good decision. I felt at home.

"Can I help you?" said a man with acne on his cheeks and a name tag that said, "Mark."

"I'm just looking," I said.

He looked disappointed, maybe even a little disgusted, and walked away.

An alarm went off behind me. A woman was trying to walk through the front door with the metal-detection panels. She was carrying a box with a telephone. She stopped midway and looked to her left. Some guy with a name tag told her to go through. I thought to myself, that woman could have been stealing that telephone and the workers didn't even care. They were lazy. The salesmen didn't want to work any more than they had to. And if somebody stole something, it was no money out of their pocket, just out of the million-dollar company. This was going to be easy.

I walked to the section with the portable boxes. I would have to hide it from my parents but I could listen to it at night with headphones and steal CD's from the local record store. I was looking forward to it. I walked through the section and ran my fingers along volume knobs and graphic equalizers. All the stereo boxes looked sleek and expensive. I grabbed one and found that it was chained to the wall. So were all the others. There was nothing I could steal.

I walked away and thought about it. There was so much activity in the store that nobody noticed me pick up a heavy cardboard box on the floor sitting next to a man who was paying for it. I walked towards the front of the store carrying the box in two arms. Nobody seemed to be following me. I took long, soft strides. I figured I'd just walk out the front door like the woman. Maybe they'd already cut out the alarm protection. They hadn't. As soon as I got to the alarm sensor, it went off. A hand was on my shoulder and a deep voice said, "Miss. Please step back into the store."

I backed inside and looked up. The voice belonged to a tall security guard. I slowly set down the box. As soon as I did, I started running. The guard caught me immediately by the back of the shirt, choking my Adam's apple. "OK," he said. "That'll be enough." I slackened. Everyone in the store was looking at me. The security guard took me to the guy who was buying the box, a small man in his forties.

"Apologize to the man," said the guard.

"What?"

"I said apologize."

He had both hands on my neck, slippery from sweat but applying pressure.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I've never been so sorry about anything in my whole Goddamn life."

The security guard applied more pressure.

"Well, that's OK," said the man, more than a little confused.

The guard then took me to a back room. He sat me down in a metal chair next to a candy machine and a Coke machine and a round table covered with six ashtrays. It was the employee lounge.

"Why did you do this?" he asked me.

"Why? Fuck if you ask me."

"Don't talk that way."

"Sorry, Mr. Guard."

I was trying to sound tough in the face of the hairiest, most masculine man I'd ever seen. He looked like he had hair on the other side of his skin.

"So why'd you do it?" he said.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I wanted a stereo."

"You wanted a stereo."

"Yeah."

He cleaned out his ear with his pinkie and then left it in.

"Look, I'll tell you something," he said. "I used to be a cop. I've seen a thousand petty criminals. You don't seem like a criminal to me. You're just having some fun. You're not ready for Juvy Hall. My guess is this is the first time you've tried to steal anything expensive. Am I right? Is this the first time you've tried to steal anything serious?"

I hesitated. "Yeah."

"OK, then. I'm not going to report you. I'm just going to call your parents.

"Thank you."

"Fine."

I gave him my home number and he dialed.

What I thought was a lucky break resulted in a broken arm. My father took my arm and put it in the bathroom door and slammed the door against it. "Maybe now you won't do any Goddamn stealing," he said.

"You broke it," I screamed, crying. My arm hurt so much it was almost numb. There was a bump in the middle of my forearm almost an inch high.

"Yeah? Good. You can't steal with a broken arm."

I probably would have been safer in Juvy Hall. My life would have been a whole lot easier if I had gotten thrown in six months, or even ten years, earlier.

I kept stealing long after my father broke my arm. It was never my intention to be taken away to Juvy Hall. I kept stealing because, like I said, my father would have kept hurting me anyway, and my mother would have kept not helping. So I continued, almost with the purpose of getting caught, to show my dad that his beatings were having no affect on me. It was my one form of retaliation. Every time I got caught it ate him up inside. He might still hurt me but he was also beat-up himself.

I didn't fuck all the guys in class to get back at my dad like I had with stealing. I slept with the boys so they would touch me in some way, something to make up for my parents rarely even giving me a handshake. I sometimes got a soft pat on the shoulder from my mom saying, "He doesn't mean it, honey"--the standard excuse that so many mothers gave their sons and daughters. But I knew he meant it. He meant it with all his lack of heart.

My father never beat me directly for screwing boys. But he hated me screwing around more than stealing. He always found some other reason to punish me, like the trash not being taken out, even if he hadn't asked. The sex killed him, I think, because he was jealous. One, because he didn't get laid as a kid and thought all the girls who wouldn't give his acne the time of day were whores. And two, because he wanted to be fucking me himself. Thank God he had some restraint and didn't fuck around on me like so many other girls I knew. I'd take fists over finger-fucking any day of the week.

My father had his share of trouble. He hated himself because he wanted me and I have a feeling that he wasn't getting too much from his beloved Joy. He also had a lot of stress at work. He worked sales in computers, too low down to ever ride the technology bandwagon. My mom was always quick to remind me how hard he worked. She rarely got involved apart from those flimsy soothing words late at night. My father only hit her a couple of times. He was probably afraid she'd leave. He probably hit me because he wanted me to leave. Although I bet if I left, he would have missed me. His abuse of me had become something of a hobby.

There was only one time my mom ever physically came to my defense. It was the night I tried to rob the stereo store. He'd already busted my arm. My mother was pleading with him that she had to take me to the hospital. He said, "She still needs to learn my lesson," and took me into the living room. Nobody knew what he was going to do to me. I was terrified and I turned to run into my room when he grabbed my broken arm. I shrieked in pain and my mom screamed, "Stop it!" She rarely raised her voice and hearing her scream sounded tragic. My father glanced at her and then raised his fist to hit me again. My mom picked up a porcelain clock off the mantelpiece and threw it at him. It missed and hit the wall by the front door, leaving a hole about the size of a baseball and a crack going two feet up the wall like a fault line.

We all looked at the wall and the crack, the clock laying in pieces on the floor, and we were silent. The sight of it, and the soft sound of my mom starting to whimper, seemed to calm my dad down. He went into the kitchen to fix himself a whiskey and my mom took me to the hospital.

The next day my dad filled up the hole in the wall with plaster and painted over it with a yellow paint that didn't match the original color, which had faded.

The cast on my arm went all the way to my shoulder. I wrote on my cast names of characters I had made up like Harold the robber and Cassidy the starlet. I told my classmates I fell off the roof. Some kids I told I was on so many drugs that I was trying to fly, just to see how they'd react. Some were disgusted. Others were wide-eyed and fearful.

This story is just one piece of my childhood.

20 Comments:

  • At 3:41 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    You mention your Adam's apple? When did you have the sex change operation?

     
  • At 4:13 AM, Blogger Says She said…

    http://kidshealth.org/kid/talk/qa/adams_apple.html

    Actually the anatomical name for Adam's Apple is larynx and both men and women have them. When men go through puberty their's grow larger and stick out, women's do not get larger but are still there functioning the same way - which is why some people mistakenly think women don't have them.

    There's a nice link above to a kiddy article on this which should clear that up for you.

     
  • At 5:16 AM, Blogger Izzy said…

    And I thought my childhood was fucked up.

    Great narrative, as usual :)

     
  • At 6:33 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Worth the wait.


    Mr Magestik

     
  • At 3:52 PM, Blogger Simoney said…

    Whenever I read your blog, I feel like I should hug you or throw you a party or something. I'm weird like that.

     
  • At 6:05 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Actually, the "Adam's apple" is the slight projection at the front of the throat formed by the largest cartilage of the larynx. So, not quite the same thing, and usually more prominent in men than women.

    It's a common mistake to confuse the terms "adam's apple" and "larynx".

     
  • At 8:02 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Good God

     
  • At 8:07 PM, Blogger Vadergrrrl said…

    This was an amazing post. Your such a strong survivor. Wow! you rock. thank you for sharing that.
    i think a lot of us sleep around for similar reasons. its something we are missing, a cheap, but easy fix.

    Big Hugs for you sweetie!
    xxxxoooooooo

     
  • At 12:52 PM, Blogger Jenny said…

    To the commenters: I don't understand how, in such a moving narrative, the only thing you managed to pick out was the Adam apple reference.

     
  • At 9:50 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    ...because the Blog is fiction, I'd imagine.

     
  • At 10:44 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    So what if it is fiction? It's a great story nonetheless. I really enjoy reading it.
    -Holly
    http://mamablogs.com/ravenrose/

     
  • At 10:34 PM, Blogger Steve said…

    That's heart-breaking. And my wife thinks I'm a rotten parent.

     
  • At 7:44 PM, Blogger Lady Charisse said…

    A female Robin Hood!! Hehe!! One good thing to come of it....

     
  • At 5:31 AM, Anonymous Suzie said…

    Amazing. I am a counselor for teens and my upbringing was sorta/kinda similar to yours. I've only read the first page and I am already hooked. Those of us who survived need to keep telling our stories...for the sake of the children being hurt NOW and for the sake of the ones who didn't survive.
    Excellent job God's Wife.

     
  • At 11:34 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Your story is much worse than mine...I thought that my life is the most fucked up of all people...Guess I was wrong huh?Well I certainly enjoyed myself reading one of your post...

    You sure are one damn survivor that I will neva forget...

    Stick with your beliefs...

     
  • At 8:42 PM, Blogger sensualglitter said…

    how tragically phucked up! i dunnoe how u managed to weather thru it all.

     
  • At 11:51 PM, Blogger 8709 said…

    Interesting blog you have here, I landed here on accident. I was searcing for something else and came across your site. I found it pretty interesting and entertaining. I got you book marked.

    I will pop back in from time to time to see what you have new here.

    My site is a bit different than yours, but just as entertaining and educational, I run a mens male enhancement reviews related site pertaining to mens male enhancement reviews related articles.

     
  • At 4:28 AM, Blogger TS said…

    Nice Blog!!!   I thought I'd tell you about a site that will let give you places where
    you can make extra cash! I made over $800 last month. Not bad for not doing much. Just put in your
    zip code and up will pop up a list of places that are available. I live in a small area and found quite
    a few. MAKE MONEY NOW

     
  • At 4:35 AM, Blogger TS said…

    Nice Blog!!!   I thought I'd tell you about a site that will let give you places where
    you can make extra cash! I made over $800 last month. Not bad for not doing much. Just put in your
    zip code and up will pop up a list of places that are available. I live in a small area and found quite
    a few. MAKE MONEY NOW

     
  • At 11:01 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Honestly I think it is a little rediqulous to say that this girl is a female robin hood. She definately wasn't stealing from the rich to give to the poor! She did it for attention. And boy did she get it. God's wife, I am sorry that your dad treated you the way he did. I know it has to suck really bad. Without wasting everyones time by fully explaining, I will just say that I definately know how you feel about the beatings, and the constant abuse. I just took a higher road. You don't need to fuck other guys to feel the love you missed from your dad. I never was able to have a real relationship with a man, because of the mistrust I felt for men because of my dad. I am a single mom, and I am a college graduate, and I make alot of money. You can do that too. No woman needs a man to survive.

     

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