Sex and Pussy: A Journey Though the Decades Part 8

The recovered memory sent me reeling, but I had thought it was the worst that happened to me.  This is another coping mechanism, to deny anything else had happened and to marginalize the pain I was in.  I told the counselor I thought my grandfather had "saved" me from further abuse after I told him what had happened.  I suppose I had to believe someone had saved me, otherwise the truth would be too horrific for me to deal with on top of everything else.  My subconscious knew better, and my confusion regarding sexuality and religious piety would bear proof of this.  It was proof I was unwilling or unable to acknowledge.   

I had this reoccurring nightmare/memory.  In it, I remember being a child going to bed at dusk, just as the sun was whispering it's gentle goodnight to the horizon.  Like that summer July day, I can see the coming of nightfall clearly through the window.  I am in my bed when a shadowy figure walks from the left side of my bed to the end of it where it pauses for a little while.  I equate this figure to the devil as a child.  I am terrified.  I am so terrified, I cannot move, I am frozen in fear.  As a child, I prayed to God fervently for safety.  I kept repeating "The devil can't harm children, the devil can't harm children."  I repeated it desperately, hoping it was true.  As the devil came closer to the right side of my bed, I could feel the heat from his body.  As he leaned over closer to me, I could smell the stink on his breath.  The devil remained in the shadows, I never saw his face.  As his face came within inches of mine, I passed out.  I would always awaken the next morning as if nothing had happened.  In my little girl mind, nothing had happened.  Jesus saved me because I recited Psalms 23, verse 4.  It is the most recognized verse in the entire bible; though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil.  I was afraid. I was so terrified, I would not see or know the face of that evil until three decades after he appeared at my bedside.  It would affect how I saw myself, my sexuality, my self worth and how I used my pussy, but I didn't remember anything beyond that one memory of me as a six year old child.  I clung to the unsubstantiated belief that my grandfather had saved me from further sexual abuse.  I had to believe I was saved from worse horrors.  I had to believe in a hero and that God had answered my desperate prayers.  The devil cannot harm children.   

I clung to religion during this time, like the lost clutching the final unraveling thread from the rope just before falling to their inevitable death.  Religious piety shaped how I viewed my pussy, and how I justified it's use outside of marriage.  I had serial monogamous relationships I subconsciously hoped would lead to marriage.  With Gordon, I had hoped the relationship would eventually end in marriage, because doesn't true love conquer all?  I clung  to the night Gordon professed his love for me.  I used it as a glimmer of hope this is where the relationship would end up.  I simply had to give it time.  I wasn't yet divorced, so time was the one thing I had to give.   

This was a very confusing time for my pussy.  Amber had some points regarding sex I couldn't rebut.  Pussy was a tool, useful to gain many things, not the least of which was money.  I didn't understand it at the time, but using my pussy was the only path I knew through which I could become loved.  I didn't care about money, I wanted to be loved.  I was soon to find out yet another use for pussy, safety.   

I was dating a number of men, so many I couldn't keep track of them all.  At this point, I was dating three Mikes (it's a popular name) and the only way I knew the difference was to ask them how work went that day.  It's how I kept them apart, to know which one was calling me.  One day, a fourth Mike entered the picture.  This Mike came from a rather unexpected source, my soon to be ex sister in law.  I can't recall where Denise met Mike, but they were friends. He had heard a lot about me, none of it good.  I suspect he wanted to engage in some covert work for my husband.  He called me and we talked for a little while, but I couldn't determine which Mike he was.  Finally he asked "Do you know who I am?"  Embarrassed, I had to admit I did not.  He told me and I nearly hung up on him, but he convinced me to talk to him a little while longer. He told me I was nothing like he expected.  He started calling me every few days, and we would talk for a long time.  We had a lot in common.  He was going through a nasty divorce as well.  He may have initially contacted me to be a spy for my ex, but my charm soon convinced him to jump the fence.  He began to tell me what Ron was planning, and it was terrifying.  He offered me safety and security against those threats, and we soon began to sleep together. 

I didn't love Mike, I knew that much.  Mike had resources to help me with my divorce from Ron and he seemed to be a powerful ally.  My pussy ensured he remained my ally and not Ron's.  One Friday, he told me of Ron's next plan on terrorizing me and he came to get me out of town for the weekend.  At least, that's what he told me.  Now I am not so sure he wasn't using my terror and the real violent acts of Ron to gain an access pass to my pussy.  I suspect we were both using each other for something.  His parents had a cabin on the shores of Lake Erie, and we would be safe there.  It was a nice enough weekend, but Monday came and I had to return to real life.  The threats from Ron continued, and since the rape I had more reason than ever to be terrified of Ron.  Mike's usefulness as a spy in Ron's camp came to a close one day when Ron called me and asked to speak to Mike.  Ron knew Mike had jumped the fence and was on my side.  I can only imagine how frustrating that must have been for him, but it certainly made the potential for violence escalate.  I needed someone willing to protect me, and Mike was the only one volunteering for the job.  I equated safety and protection with love.  It is clear I had no idea what the ideology of love consisted of and what it meant.  Although I didn't love Michael as I loved Gordon, I thought there were other types of love which included the need to be safe. 

I was so desperate for his protection, I willingly gave up my pussy to him though I didn't love him and had no real attraction to him other than security and safety.  It was the first time I began to realize pussy didn't have to be about love at all.  Amber was right.  Pussy was merchandise to be negotiated.  Men wanted pussy, and women traded it for a number of reasons.  I was still unwilling to admit (even to myself) that I didn't love Mike.  It is only in hindsight I can clearly see I used my pussy to garner safety for myself and my children.  I didn't know it, but Mike only provided safety against Ron.  It didn't mean he was safe.  In the coming weeks, I was to learn a great deal more about Mike's own divorce.  His wife Kim was probably not the slut he made her out to be. They had a son together name Joey, and she was keeping him from seeing his son.  This touched a nerve with me, as I could not imagine Ron keeping my girls from me.  My girls were my whole life.  They were the reason I kept on living.  I would have certainly killed myself had they not needed someone to protect them.   

Mike's divorce proceedings from Kim were even more acrimonious than mine were from Ron.  At this point, I had no idea Ron was harming the girls during visitation.  I naively believed all of Ron's violence and anger was directed at me.  When Mike told me Kim was on the run from him to keep Joey from seeing his father, I believed him.  When Mike stalked Kim to find out information on her, I accepted this as a normal part of getting divorced because that's what Ron was doing to me.  My view of normal was shaped by how I was treated by my father and by my relationship with Ron.  Mike had never raised his voice to me, much less laid a hand on me, so when Kim accused him of domestic violence, I believed Mike when he told me it was all a lie.  When she pressed charges, I believed Mike when he told me she was being vindictive.  I was still very much into denial about spousal abuse.  Though I was going through the same thing myself, I believed Mike and blamed Kim.  It was an easy sell.  I wanted to believe Mike was the victim.  It created a bond between us since I felt like a victim myself.  We broke up after Mike was sentenced to two years in prison and he left to serve his sentence.  Now I know it is very difficult to get a two year prison sentence from domestic violence.  I truly believed he was being set up by his ex-wife.  My counselor had her work cut out for her.  I had narrowly escaped becoming Mike's next victim, all because I wanted to be safe.  Being in the midst of domestic violence myself, I couldn't see it when it was right in front of my own eyes.  It wouldn't be until years later that I realized Ron never raised his voice or laid a hand upon me until after we were married. Though I was selling my pussy for safety, I was far from being safe.