Rot in Prision You Perv

Just got some interesting news.  It has made me feel all weird and icky inside.

Last week, US Marshals arrested a sex offender that I knew a long time ago.  To me, he was “Daddy David.”  I knew him back in 1974-1975 when he was my teen-mom’s boyfriend.  I was only 4 years old.

Fuck man, I was just a little kid.

My control-freak mother thought it better to trap us in a physically abusive relationship with a child molester rather than send me off to live with my father.

I rarely ever got to see my father.  He had his own world caving in all around him, being drafted into the Vietnam war and losing his legs just a few weeks after getting there….and turning 21 years old a few days after that….facing the rest of his life in a wheelchair with disabilities extending beyond just the physical loss of his legs.

But people didn’t really know about PTSD back then….how violent outbursts aren’t a question of moral character but rather a delayed reaction of the terror and the horror that scarred their brain.

People didn’t support the troops back then either….the kids who were forced over there, but shunned when they got back and called “baby killers” when all they did was stumble over a trip wire and get sprayed with shrapnel while their body parts were violently ripped off.

How could a baby-killing man, with mangled hands, missing two legs and nearly deaf, how could he POSSIBLY take care of a little kid?  Where could he turn for assistance in making a claim that he would be the better parent?

Like, he might let me watch too much TV… or eat Chef Boyardee RollerCoasters while sitting on the good furniture… or run over my toes with his wheelchair! What if there was a fire?

And OMG, since he had a bunch of sisters and a brother and active healthy parents, there’s no way he would have enough help to be entrusted with custody of a child, right?

At some point, an overworked family court judge took one look at my hot, young mother and one look at my disabled, baby killer father, and the next thing I knew, I rarely ever got to see my father anymore and my mother draggged me off to California with her… so we could all live happily ever after with Daddy David.

Because living with a man who would punish me by sticking my head in the toilet if I didn’t flush and who would put his dick in my mouth even though I was freaking out that he might pee down my throat…..all that was okay, because, at least, I was with my mom… and that black eye she had was just because she walked into a door.

Anyway, thinking about my early childhood makes my heart physically ache to this day.  And I’m 40 years old.  It seems like I should be over it by now.

How the hell do I warn and protect my children from pervs like him?  How do I tell them that most of the time, the monster ends up being a caregiver or your best friend’s dad or a respected church elder?

Like, when I was a teenager, I had no strength to stand up for myself or my dreams.  So when my best friend’s dad/church elder/family friend, tackled and pinned me down, pressing himself hard up against me while sticking his tongue in my ear and lips and licking my face and neck, when he was done, I just got up and pretended it didn’t happen.  It was easier to be a pathetically naive, emotionally manipulated, immature 15-year-old and not tell anyone.

I want better for my kids.  If some beloved figure takes advantage of their naivety and vulnerability by suddenly turning into a smelly, old, perv-man, I hope they have the strength to fight back.  And I want them to have the security in knowing that if anyone violates them, they’re allowed to get so fucking enraged that they pick up a baseball bat and beat the shit out of that fucker because if they don’t, I might.

I will always have their back.

I will never tell them, “Well, it couldn’t have been that bad since you didn’t tell anyone right away, and… are you SURE you weren’t wearing tight jeans??” like was said to me.

How can I protect them from the night terrors and the anxiety attacks and the feelings of hopelessness? How do I deal with the baggage this brings to my marriage, to a man who is a rock and doesn’t take any shit from anyone, not even his mom…. or me sometimes, even when it’s deserved.

Whoever said time heals all wounds was lying.


There is an update to this story at – In Perv News: Number A668345

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2 Responses to Rot in Prision You Perv

  1. Jessica says:

    Thank you for sharing your story. I can relate to a lot of your experiences and struggle with some of these things myself.

  2. donald says:

    You are an amazing human being, a strong woman, a wounded girl, a great writer,
    a beautiful spirit, a strong voice for other women weak and scared from
    their secret abuse. My heart goes out to you, as I have a daughter,
    a wife, a mom… Rage on, sister, and accept me if you want 2 as the ally I hope
    to be. I watched my mom and our family taken down, hour by hour, by an abusive man, who also was abused as a child. Breaking the cycle of inter-generational abuse is a huge gift for your children, and you will know in your heart you have done something amazing. Living with PTSD is easier as it comes into the Light and science catches up.

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