This Is the Story of a Whore

How I Was Labeled for Life

It’s come to my attention, apparently I’m a whore. Who knew?

It’s funny, that’s the word everyone comes at me with....

I remember the first time someone called me a whore. I was in 2nd grade.

I lived in Illinois. I couldn’t have been too old. Maybe six or seven. My grandma was married to this wonderful guy. (Using a fake name so I don’t get sued or something.)

I’ve never written it down. I’ve never told exactly what happened.

Well “Jeff” had a thing for the younger ladies apparently. And I guess I was just young enough. (You guys asked for raw just btw.)

If you’re someone who’s been blessed to encounter me sexually (I’m a whore so I’ve got thousands of bodies right lol) this will explain so much.

Sexually some things I can’t do. I get flashbacks. But I want to really explain in full detail what happened, maybe I can let go.

Look at me stalling. Hahaha.

“Jeff” came home from work, I remember being home from school for some reason. My mom and grandma were at work, Denny’s to be exact.

I remember I couldn’t stand him. He came home in an awfully good mood. And asked me if I wanted to go upstairs and see something he was making for my grandma. He was a carpenter. A really good one at that.

Mamaw was my whole world. So I said yes of course.

I remember him taking my hand. It didn’t feel right. He never touched me. We avoided each other. I knew he didn’t like me. I just don’t know why.

We walked upstairs and he plopped me onto my grandma's bed. It was super tall and right in front of a giant four pane glass window/door with a balcony.

I sat there swinging my legs and he pulled the black out curtains closed over the balcony. I thought it was weird. But kept my mouth closed.....

I wanna puke.

I remember his rough hands push my hair out of my face. He smelled like drywall and sawdust. He leaned in real close, told me to lay down and close my eyes.

It was a surprise right. So I listened.

Everything got way darker, there was a pillow on my face and he was pulling down my pants.

I know that’s wrong. But I’m terrified so I don’t know what to do. Everything starts getting fuzzy. I can’t breathe and I feel like I’m dying.

He pulls the pillow off my face... I’m crying.

I can see he doesn’t like that.

I’m telling you there was a noticeable change in that man's eyes when I asked what he’s doing.

Everything went black. My face burnt. He slapped me.... hard. (Flashback material. Don’t fucking slap me.)

“Don’t ask questions. Keep your mouth shut. You little whore.” That word. I knew it was bad. I knew what it meant and I knew it wasn’t me.

He puts a hand down on my chest. Hard. Holding me down. I can lift my head enough to see him kneeling by the edge of the bed, hand still on my chest.

He starts licking me. As a little kid I’m so confused. Why would anyone want to put their mouth on something I pee from?

He keeps going. I’m crying and so confused. He’s biting me and then puts his fingers in me. I scream in pain. He slaps me again. So hard I see stars. He grabs me up by my hair and pulls me close to him.

I can smell the blood on his hands and I wonder if I’m dying. He whispers, “Keep your fucking mouth closed or I’ll put you in a trash bag and throw you in a river.”

He slammed me back down to a laying position. The last thing I remember is him looking up from between my legs, smiling with blood on his fingers and lips... and he said “Mmmm. Tastes better than your grandma’s.”

This is where the tears start.

I let out a cry. A body shaking sob. He hits me again. So hard I’m knocked out.

When I wake up I have a pounding headache. I’m on the couch downstairs. Fully clothed.

I look around and “Jeff” and Mamaw are in the kitchen. He offers me some food and I stare at him in disbelief. I’m trying to figure out if this is all a dream. For a moment I believed it was. Until I went to pee and blood was everywhere.

Looking back I should have rushed out. Told my Mamaw. But instead, I flushed the panties and cleaned myself up. Knowing I was now a whore.

I never told a soul till three years later. Just two people. Tayden and Grace.

My grandma ended up divorcing him so I kept it a secret. Not like I’d have to be around him anymore.

I still see him in Walmart. I pass his house on the way to my parents. I’ve never told police. It’s been too long to do anything about it.

It’s been almost a year since I told my mom.

Kept it in for 14 years.

She kept asking me to pull over to see him.

I told her I don’t want him around my daughter.

She screamed that I need to stop hating him for cheating on Mamaw.

It just blurted out. “He fucking molested me Mom.”

Somehow she still managed to make herself a victim when I’m the one that got fucked up.

I’m not writing this for sympathy. I’m writing this because I’ve never told my story. I want people to know. It’s a very real thing and people go through it silently. Don’t say, “I'm sorry. I’m here if you need to talk.” I’m good. I’ve dealt with it for 15 years.

I don’t know how many times it happened. Maybe I have a mental block. I don’t know if he had sex with me when I was knocked out. So I never call it rape. All I know is I’m a whore. A label a grown man put on a six year old. 

Now Reading
This Is the Story of a Whore
Read Next
April 12, 2014