Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids

Reason #209: Beating up the little girl inside

The other night, my husband and I were in bed, and he started kissing me.  As my regular readers know, we are having trouble trying to fuck each other, and the kissing was a really welcome surprise.  Anyway, so we’re kissing, and a picture of my brother flashed into my brain.  I quickly pushed the image away and told myself I am with my husband, I am safe, everything’s okay, and BAM – there’s my brother again.  Dammit.  So I push his image out of my mind again and beg myself not to fuck this up for us, that it’s been so long since we have kissed like this, and BAM – there he is again.  ‘Okay,’ I tell myself ‘He’s not really here.  It’s just me and my husband. Please, please don’t fuck this up.  It’s been so long since we have kissed like this’ and BAM – there’s my brother again.  At that point, I stopped kissing my husband.  I yet again fucked it up for us.

My husband realized what was happening and said in a quiet, soothing voice, “Everything’s okay.  It’s just us in bed, just two adults relaxing.  We only do what we want to do and when you don’t want to do something, we stop.”

His hand was still on my hip, and I was laying there trying to breathe, but it was dark and I was afraid and I kept staring at him and trying to will his hand away.  He realized what was happening and took his hand away, gently.

“I’m sorry” I said. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, baby.  Like I said, nothing’s gonna happen that you don’t want to happen” he said.

So we talked about it in our marital therapy session this week.  She said that I have a “sex map”, that we all have “sex maps”, and that my road always goes to that scene with my brother.  She said that the more times it happens like that, the more times it is imprinted on the map.  She said that I keep trying to will it away, but she explained that instead of trying to be a hero with this, I need to listen to myself.

Then she said some pretty interesting stuff.  She said that these flashbacks and scary thoughts are really my body’s way of warning me.  She said that when the sex abuse happened to me, I didn’t have a choice, and now I am in a situation where I am about to be sexual again, and this is my body warning me that last time this happened it was bad.

She told me I need to stop beating myself up over this every time I fuck up our intimate times.  She said it nicer than that, obviously.  Whenever I say ‘I fucked it up’, she says “You didn’t fuck it up, the trauma fucked it up, and you’re reacting to the trauma.”

Anyway though – this is the part that stuck with me – she said “When you beat yourself up like that, you think you are going to beat yourself into not ‘fucking it up’ again, but that’s not what happens.  When you beat yourself up, I want you to imagine beating up that little girl inside you, the one who is trying to warn you about the bad stuff. When you beat yourself up like that, you are really beating her up.  She’s trying with all her might to protect you, and you keep beating her up for it.  Instead, you need to open yourself to listen to the message, not beat yourself up for getting the warning signals.” 

Then she said that in our next alone session, she would teach me how to find out what my body was trying to tell me.

Reason #165: Campfires and S’mores
April 11, 2010, 4:41 pm
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The other day my husband and I were driving in the car and talking about how much we are looking forward to the upcoming summer.  He said that this summer we should totally have campfires and make s’mores.  I thought it was a great idea!

I said “Man, I would love that!  That’s exactly the kind of home and family I want our son to grow up in.  The kind of family that has campfires and s’mores, and he’ll have such happy memories.  It’s exactly the kind of home I-”  And then my voice broke, and I stopped talking, and blinked back tears as I stared out the car window.

I was surprised by the sudden rush of emotion, and nothing embarrasses me more than when I cry in public.  I try VERY hard to make sure this doesn’t happen, and yet sometimes it sneaks up on me, and then I have to work so hard to make the tears go away before they come out my eyes. 

My husband said “Why’d you stop talking so suddenly?”  I let a minute pass while I comported myself again, and then I said “It’s exactly the kind of home I would have wanted but didn’t have, where parents were involved enough with each other or me to have campfires and s’mores.”

I have talked before on this blog about my overwhelming need to protect my son from the kinds of horrors I experienced as a child.  It seems difficult for me to be able to experience life as his mother without re-experiencing my feelings about life when I was a child.

In the car, talking about summer, with my husband.  Perfectly fine conversation until it gets fucked up by my history of sex abuse coming out to greet me.  Reason #165 why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

Reason #53: Using my words
February 27, 2009, 5:48 pm
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I have this thing with the huz where if he is able to verbally express his feelings, I congratulate him and encourage him by saying “Good for you for using your words.”  When we fight, it is generally because he didn’t use his words and he explodes about some other shit and then we have to work our way back to what originally upset him.  He’s gotten really good about using his words though, which I think is awesome.  I think we should all use our fucking words.  Which brings me to the point of this post.

Last night, the huz and I were kissing.  He started getting into it, and since we don’t fuck each other, it’s been a while since we last kissed so passionately.  I could see he was getting really into it and probably wanted to kiss some more.  I quickly said “I don’t want to go any further than this” a little loudly.  He immediately said “Okay, no problem.”  Then he just held me for a while, because he’s a sweet guy.

This morning, I said “Last night was nice.”  I meant it sincerely.  When you haven’t fucked in a while, the intimacy that we had last night (kissing) was nice.  The huz said “It was nice, and I thought it was really great that you used your words when you were ready to stop.” 

I looked up at my husband’s face, trying to discern if he was making fun of me (because “use your words” is usually my line to him).  He could see what I was thinking, and said “No, seriously baby, I am glad you used your words before you got all fucked up.”

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  No husband should have to say some shit like that to his wife.  He was speaking from experience though, and I was glad he said it.  I just wish he didn’t have to.

Reason #10: We Have No Idea Who is Kissing Us
September 19, 2008, 3:16 pm
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Last night, my husband leaned in for a kiss. And we started kissing and kissing. I got wrapped up in it, in the feel of his lips, in the passion of kissing, in the beauty of kissing my sweet wonderful husband who I love so much. It’s been so long since we have done that, since I have felt like that. Maybe this could even lead to some sex.

And then I got lost in the physical feeling of being kissed, of kissing someone. Wait, I am kissing someone. My lips are on SOMEONE. Who is this? WHO IS THIS? Someone’s lips are on me! Who is this? WHO ARE YOU, WITH YOUR LIPS ON ME? G-d dammit, who is this? I open my eyes frantically trying to remember, is this my husband? How old am I? What were those fucking techniques the therapist taught me? Look at my hands, look at my hands, hands always show your true age. I can’t see, G-d dammit, I can’t see, it’s dark in here. Please stop. I am afraid. Please stop! I can’t speak. My voice is lost like it was all those many years ago. And I abruptly pull away. My husband says “Baby, are you okay?” And I can’t answer him, even though I hear him, because I am too far away to stop what is happening inside me now, and I can’t bring myself back even though I am trying so hard.

I am lost now in a terrifying world of my brother’s tongue on my vagina, of my father’s head on my breasts, of the feel of hands on me. I am afraid. What is happening, what is happening?!? Please sweet husband, please bring me back. I am scared where I am, and right now it seems like there is no end to this, and I am a little girl again with hands on me and I don’t want them there. I never wanted them there in the first place. And then, terrifyingly slowly, I come back, and I am an adult in my adult body again and I am staring at my husband who has waited for me ever so patiently. But the moment that started all of this is just so completely lost. And I get upset and start crying, because I want to just be able to fucking kiss my husband without my brother and father and babysitter entering my head and fucking with me again, even though I am not in that little body anymore.

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. We have scary flashbacks of what you did to us, and it feels like it is happening to us all over again. It’s not enough you have to fuck us once, you have to fuck us for the rest of our lives too?

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