Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids

Reason #187: Is this my forever sex life?

I was thinking about my sex life today. Actually, I was talking to my aunt about sex today, and it got me thinking about my sex life.

For me, the best sex I can hope for is the kind of sex that happens when I am not afraid.

Did you guys ever read “The Lovely Bones”? The book scared the shit out of me. It’s written from the perspective of a 13 year old girl who was raped and murdered. She watches from wherever she is, (not in heaven, not in hell, sort of in this weird limbo place), as her sister loses her virginity to her boyfriend that she loves. The dead girl thinks how different sex is for her sister, since sex for herself was all blood and horror whereas for her sister it is all love and flowers.

As I was talking to my aunt today, it became apparent to me that I was in a similar situation. For my aunt, sex was all love and flowers, and for me it is something to get through, something I know other people enjoy, something I think I should be doing, something that reminds me of my abuse and my abusers, something that I haven’t really found a way to enjoy yet.  This is, of course, why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  It makes perfect sense why sex wouldn’t be enjoyable for us, ever.  Our first experiences with sex were forced, not enjoyed, no matter how much these pedophiles convince themselves differently.  And now we are reconciled to a life of totally shitty sex, even when we love our beautiful sweet partners, as I do.

Is this my forever sex life now?  Or will I ever get to know of beautiful enjoyable sex?

Reason #183: It already did hurt me
July 6, 2010, 2:59 pm
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We had a truly lovely 4th of July.  The huz and I enjoyed being a family, and we made s’mores.  It was the kind of family I had always dreamed of being in, and now I am the mom in it.

We went to sleep on Sunday night, and at about 4:30AM, I felt something crawling on my face.  It was a carpenter ant.  As my regular readers know, I am terrified of bugs.  Being afraid of bug was actually Reason #7 on this blog of fucked up shit that happens to us when we get fucked as kids.

So, the ant.  The huz removed it, and then went to go pee.  I got out of the bed and stood there staring at the place of my last betrayal.  The huz came back in and sighed, because he knew we were in for a long night now.  There was no way in fucking hell I was getting back in that bed after what had just occurred.

That’s the thing about bugs.  They touch you without your permission.  I was sleeping and innocent and unaware, and then this bug touched me without my permission.  Without my knowledge, my say-so.  This bug used my body to get to where he wanted to go.  I felt betrayed.

I could not get back in the bed.

The huz started “the conversation“, the one designed to get me back in bed so he could get some sleep. He said “You can be sure it’s the only one.  Carpenter ants send out scouts to go see if there is food anywhere.  There are no more.  He was the scout.”

I cast a dubious look at the bed, searching, searching for more ants, for more betrayal, for more ways that I would get hurt in bed.  Then the huz tried a different tactic.  He said “You know, they are carpenter ants.  They won’t bite you.  They can’t hurt you.”

I said “It already did hurt me.  The damage has been done.” 

I was awake in the middle of the night because something touched me without permission, the way three people touched me without my permission.  The damage had been done. 

I eventually did get back in bed, and I laid right next to my husband, all of our skin touching.  I slept that way the rest of the night.  At least if the ant touched me, I would be next to him.  He would be witness to it, at least.  Needless to say, the next night was fitful scared sleep as well.

The next morning, I said to the huz “I hate that this happened.  Now I’m gonna be fucked up for a long time until I can relax enough to sleep okay again.”  The huz said, “I know.  It’s stupid, but I hate that fucking ant.  We were just getting to the place where we were feeling good and sleeping good, and now that is all fucked to hell.”

When I was a little girl, I used to play with ants.  I wasn’t afraid of them until I was taught about betrayal touches. That’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

Reason #181: Ancient Greece
June 21, 2010, 12:39 pm
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 You remember that colleague who argued with me about how some kids get fucked and are okay (when really none of us are okay)?  In that same argument, she also said: “It’s been happening all throughout history and it is still accepted in other cultures.” 

I like to call this line of thinking “the same bullshit that many pedophiles use when they tell themselves it’s okay to fuck kids.”

Whenever I hear people say that it is acceptable to fuck kids in certain cultures, I always think to myself “Yeah, and in those cultures, those kids are victims of rape, same as in our culture.”

Take Ancient Greece, for example.  The Ancient Greeks used to fuck little boys, turning history into cycles of pedophiles, and now everyone points to this type of example as ‘proof’ that some cultures think (or used to think) that fucking kids is okay.  The thing is, a lot of things used to be okay.  Like wife killing.  Or a modern day example, smoking.  Smoking was thought to be okay too until it was proven that it will kill you. 

The truth is, none of us were alive during Ancient Greece, so we can’t say definitively what happened there, but shit, I can take an educated guess based on the survivors of today.  And my guess is that they got as fucked up from their abuse as we do today.  Do people, like my friend, actually fool themselves into thinking this was not abuse??  That this was somehow the choice that those little boys would have made?  That just because adults said it was good for them, the kids weren’t fucked up from it?  Adults groom kids into sex abuse now too, same as they did then. 

If those Ancient Greek boys had access to computers and blogs, I bet one of them would be writing this as their 181st reason not to fuck kids too, because they too would have had 180 reasons before this one how the sex abuse fucked them up.

Reason #179: “Other Kids Get Abused and They Aren’t Fucked Up

A co-worker and I were discussing the issue of child sex abuse, and I told her that I feel it is wrong, no matter what.  She told me that a friend of hers is perfectly fine as a victim of child sex abuse.  Apparently, for her friend, the only time her grandfather was nice to her was while he was molesting her. This did not surprise me, since the only time my brother was nice to me was when he was molesting me.  And then she came out with this: “Child sex abuse doesn’t always have negative ramifications”. 

This is akin to this argument that all of us survivors seem to tell ourselves: “Other kids get abused and they aren’t fucked up.  Why am I so fucked up?” 

Let’s look at this argument.  First of all – where are those kids?  Have you ever met an abused child who wasn’t fucked up?  I haven’t ever met one who hasn’t had trust issues galore, and other negative shit as a result of being a survivor.  I have, however, met lots of non-abused grown up kids, and they don’t seem to have any of the same issues I do.  They trust, they love, they live.  Not me, and frankly, not any of the survivors I have met in my life.

So then I think to myself “Okay, maybe they don’t have phobias and fears and what not”.  But really, how well do we know people?  Most people who know me would never know about my long list of shit (Exhibit A: every reason in this blog), so to them, I would seem like one of those kids that got fucked and is okay.  Clearly, however, I am not okay by any stretch of the imagination.  So, maybe her friend is fucked up and my co-worker doesn’t know it.

Then I think about “What does ‘okay’ mean?”, because okay for me is vastly different than what okay means for you.  Does ‘okay’ for my co-worker mean that her friend is not locked up in a mental institution?  They don’t lock you up for having trust issues.  If you are unable to trust your husband or anyone else, then you’re probably not ‘okay’ in my book either.  Plus, have you ever met a survivor who doesn’t have a completely distorted world view?  I know mine is completely distorted.  Even though only a few people hurt me in life, I think everyone has the potential for hurting me.  For instance, I was once riding in the car with my uncle, and I was so afraid he was going to pull the car over and rape me that I couldn’t breathe.  (He’s fine, not an abuser, and he has never harmed me in any way.)  When the car ride was over though, we both got out of the car, and we both appeared ‘fine’.  I was so fucked up by the experience that even though nothing happened, I resolved to never be alone in the car with him again.  I am sure he thought I was okay too.  He probably still thinks I am okay, just like my co-worker’s friend, since I don’t share this shit with him or most people.

Part of me wonders if my co-worker’s ‘friend’ is actually herself.  Lots of people use the ‘my friend’ thing when shit gets too uncomfortable for themselves, and I am sure that if it is her, she doesn’t feel close enough to me to tell me that she enjoyed her grandfather molesting her.  This is part of the normal child sex abuse paradigm though.  Think about it – all children need love.  If the only way her grandfather was nice to her was while he was molesting her, then I am sure she does look back on this time with her grandfather and think it was okay.  However, I can say for sure that my co-worker is not okay at all.  She is not well-liked, and she has not exhibited a great deal of empathy whenever we speak about troubling situations with other humans.

On behalf of me and other fucked kids, I would like to put an end to the argument that kids get abused and don’t get fucked up.  We have no idea if this is true or not, no study has measured “Are some of them okay?”  At the same time, no research has found that fucking kids is a good idea, since every single study on the subject has discovered that we get fucked up in some way from you doing this to us when we are kids.

The whole argument is akin to saying “Some women get raped and they don’t have PTSD”.  Is this true?  Yes.  There are women who don’t get full-blown PTSD as a result of rape.  But should you go around raping women?  No.  Even when they don’t get PTSD, they are still fucked up, and it is still a wrong and heinous act, much like fucking kids.  No matter what arguments you propose that make it okay for you to fuck kids, it is not okay, it is never okay, and it is always wrong. 

I think the worst part of this argument is that it makes me, as a survivor of incest and child sex abuse, question myself as to why I am so fucked up.  If other kids get fucked up and they are okay, how come I am not okay?  Then I remind myself that they aren’t okay, that I’ve never met any fucked kid who is okay, and that this whole argument is a lie to begin with.  It’s enough to be met with denial from outsiders, I shouldn’t have to argue it with myself too.  And I bet if you asked any one of us fucked kids if there are times when we minimize our experiences or call ourselves crazy, they’d answer yes.  That is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. 

I am worried about this post, because I am afraid it will be received wrongly.  But it’s my blog, and this is another reason that the sex abuse has affected my life, so I am posting it.

Reason #176: My Vagina

There’s something wrong with my vagina. For the past few days, my vagina has been having hot-flashes. I don’t know what else to call it. You know how women who are going through menopause experience hot flashes? I am not going through menopause, but the lips of my vagina are experiencing hot flashes.

It is causing me some worry. First of all, something might be wrong. Second of all, I might have to see the gynecologist, and as my readers know, seeing the vagina doctor is hard for survivors of sex abuse. Too many people have already seen my vagina, and even though the trip to the gyno would be consensual, it always involves crying.

It’s not burning exactly, it’s more like a very deep warmth on my labia.  It’s uncomfortable, but what is more uncomfortable is not knowing what is wrong. 

This weekend, I was panicking about it a little with my husband, trying to figure out what was wrong, running around looking for a mirror to look at my vagina.  He asked me if I wanted him to look at it.  He’s a sweet guy, and he truly wanted to help.  I said “No, we don’t have that kind of relationship.”  The truth of that statement made me so sad that it brought tears to my eyes.  I don’t have the kind of relationship with my husband where he can see my vagina.

I have never allowed him to perform oral sex on me.  Never.  My brother did this to me, and I just can’t allow my husband to do it.  I hated the sensation when my brother was doing it, and just thinking about it now makes me feel so disgusting that I want to vomit and shower.  I said no when my brother wanted to do it, and I said no some more.  I said no again.  He finally talked me into it, probably because I realized that I didn’t really have any choice.  He was bigger than me, and if he wanted to use violence to solve my ‘no’, he could have.  But he didn’t have to – I finally agreed. 

Maybe I just wanted him to love me, and stop being so angry and hateful with me all the time.  The truth is that when he was molesting me – that was the nicest he ever was to me.

I dissociated while he was molesting me, pretending to be the wall.  I am the wall, I am the wall, I am the wall, I chanted to myself while he was molesting me, his head between my legs.  I am the wall, I am the wall, I am the wall.  I have no idea how many times he molested me.

I don’t want to be the fucking wall with my husband.  I want to be in bed with him, enjoying us together, saying yes because I actually want to be sexual with him instead of saying yes to having my body used without me in it.

Now my pussy is having some sort of physical problem, and I am at a loss as to what is wrong.  I can’t see it for myself no matter what mirror I use, and I can’t allow my husband to look at it for me.  I just don’t feel comfortable with his head between my legs the way my brother’s was.  This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

Reason #174: Rape Dreams on Mother’s Day
May 11, 2010, 12:18 am
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Saturday night into Sunday, I dreamed that I was in my home and couldn’t figure out how to get the dogs in or out.  I knew I was in danger, but couldn’t figure out how.  A woman appeared with a friendly smile, but something about her made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.  I immediately didn’t trust her, and tried to hit her with a baseball bat.  That’s when her male friend came in and began raping me.

I woke up from this dream, and my husband said “Good Morning!  Happy Mother’s Day!  How did you sleep?”

This is not my first rape dream, or even my secondNot my tenth, not even my hundredth.  This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  We have dreams where we are being violated, because we know what it is to have our body and soul violated.  The bad dreams don’t stop just because it is a holiday or a special occasion, or because you have a sweet husband laying beside you. 

One of the things I struggle with in this blog is whether I should post the same issue twice.  For instance, I have posted before about bad dreams and how they plague us survivors.  Part of me feels that each reason should be a completely new reason so that no asshole can invalidate what we survivors are going through by saying “No, you really only have 173 reasons not to fuck kids, not 174, because one of them is a double.”  The other part of me feels that these reasons aren’t like baseball cards, where a ‘double’ is suddenly invalidated because you happened to have that card already.  Each rape dream is a reason you shouldn’t fuck kids, because each one is one I wouldn’t have had if that babysitter hadn’t done this to us first.  Each time I have a panic attack when my husband and I are in the middle of kissing is a new reason you shouldn’t fuck kids.

But I will ask you guys – what do you think?  Should each reason be a completely new one?

Reason #170: Scary-Ass Dreams
April 26, 2010, 12:26 pm
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I have a few things coming up in the next few weeks that are causing me anxiety.  “Normal” anxieties about life in general happen to a lot of people, and that alone would not be a reason you shouldn’t fuck kids.  Everyone gets anxious about shit in their life.

When I get anxious, I have rape dreams. Either I am raped as an adult, or I am raped as a child, or I am watching someone get raped.  For me, the kind of evil that is rape is the scariest thing in the world.  Thus, when I am anxious, I dream about what I consider to be the scariest thing in the world.

Being afraid of rape – this is not necessarily a reason you shouldn’t fuck kids either.  Most sane people are afraid of rape.  It is used as a scare-tactic and control device in times of war – that is how scary it is.  It is evil, it is betrayal, it is the worst of humanity.  So, being afraid of rape is normal.

Fucked kids take this fear and live it to a whole new level.  We know what it is to be betrayed in the worst of ways, and we know for sure that people are willing to betray us in the worst of ways.  This knowledge – this living knowledge – causes us to fear life in general.  Every day holds the possibility of rape, and the nights are even worse.

I have had scary-ass dreams before, as a result of surviving child sex abuse and incest. When I dream about it, even sleep isn’t safe. But I am afraid to get up too, because I already know that life-while-awake isn’t safe either.  That is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  The scary dreams have a very real basis in what has already happened to us, and while most people can wake up and say “it wasn’t real, it was only a dream”, we cannot.

I had another night of rape dreams last night, and now I am afraid to face the day.

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