Goldfish

Years 11-14

I guess I always knew my father was a difficult man. I just never imagined him being the one to put my life on the line. At the age of eleven, I had grown up by myself for a large percentage of it and yet, I never seemed to let it bother me. My father would disappear during my early years of adolescence. He'd wander off for days on end and leave me to wonder when he would return, or if he would return at all. Ever since the dreams, I spent my days on edge, worried and wondering whether my father would deem me useless and disposable. it might seem odd to say that even though my father would disappear for weeks on end and I was left the safest I could ever be, I was unable to take a breath and feel that way. Ideally, I would spend three or so weeks without my father at home, without his violent tendencies; yet, I would never feel comfortable enough to put my guard down.

I believe it was at the age of 13 when my father stopped going out as much and began falling back into his patterns of violence towards women and homosexuals. This became a problem quickly considering he missed almost two years' worth of my development. The school I went to was a 6-12 school and though I do not take much pride in it, I must admit I developed

physically and mentally at a young age. When I turned 12 I lost my virginity to a senior boy. He was cute and toned and everything anyone could want. He wanted the young ones. I met him in the boys' locker after class one day and it didn't take long for him to strip me in the shower and show me what it felt like to be with a male. As boys do, he talked. A week later I was back in the locker room showers with him and five of his friends. They all took turns unloading inside me, something I was too young to comprehend the gravity of. In turn, I spent the year getting fucked by guys from 9th to 12th grade. In an instant, two of the high school teachers.

About three-fourths of the way through the year I met a guy, Mitchel, who saw something in me other than a fuck toy. He

cared for me and about me. He took the time to get to know me and would defend me from others who would call me a slut or easy. We began seeing each other and although I had guys asking to meet them in the lockers, I only had eyes for Mitchel. When I turned 13 and my father began to stick around, I knew it was no longer safe for Mitchel to come around. I knew if I cared for him and his safety I would have to let him go. My father was not an understanding man, and Mitchel would never get his approval. I understood that my father didn't have the best of luck

with love and that he had a sort of resentment towards those who found it... there was no way I was going to put whether or not that feeling applied to myself and Mitch.

I broke up with Mitchel after my father moved back home for good, and began meeting guys in the locker room. There were times where I'd walk out and find Mitchel walking by. He'd stop for a second and look at me, broken, and keep along his way. Honestly, it felt good. I liked the feeling of being in control and of having such an impact on those around me. It also helped that it kept Mitchel from coming to look for me. The feeling of being wanted helped keep me motivated and open for business. At least, until my father found out.

When I got home my father was waiting for me. I had reached 14 years of age and had been passed around the school for a few years by this point, it wasn't a big surprise my father caught wind of it. He was sitting on the couch with a belt in his hand, staring right at me as I walked through the screen door.
'Ya know what I heard today?' he asked as he stood up from his place.

'No daddy,' I replied, nervous about what was going to come next.

My father made his way towards me. 'I heard you've been letting all them little boys at school inside ya. I heard those around ya know to call you for a good time.'

It didn't take long for the belt to hit my face and cause me to fall onto the ground. Once on the ground, I was a goner. My father spent fifteen minutes beating me that day. I think that was the day I realized my father didn't see me like family. It took a few moments after the beating for me to uncurl from my fetal position and take a breath. My father stood near me, panting, downing a bottle like it was water. A moment later he was pulling me up from the floor.

A shock of pain traveled through my body, making me aware of every place my father had hit me prior to this.

I guess I always knew my father was a difficult man. I just never imagined him being the one to put my life on the line. I never imagined it would be him to strip me of everything I had and make me hate living.

My father pulled me over to a bed and threw me down like a rag doll. For a split second, I imagined myself on that table, guts out, blood dripping on the floor. My father proceeded to call me a slut. Asked if I like being used by all those boys in school. Tears rolled down my eyes, I knew what was coming next. My father began groping me, asking if I knew what a real man felt like. He ripped my shirt, exposing my breasts. I pushed him back, only to have my hands tied up. My father began groping my breasts and followed by sucking on my nipples. My heart sank as disgust flowed through me. Disgust at my father, but also at myself as I was being aroused by the thought of sex. My father pulls my panties off as he drops his pants and underwear. I cry as I stare at my naked father, erect in front of me and ready to go. I am shocked at the size of him, the thought of it turns my stomach.

I look at him in the eyes and beg him not to. He places his hand over my mouth and comes close. In a matter of seconds, I feel him against me, and suddenly inside. He thrusts forward and I scream through his hand. Tears roll down my eyes as my father fucks me on the bed. He continues for a minute before exclaiming, 'I'm close,' this is followed by a final thrust and he collapses on top of me. He collects himself afterward and unties my hands.

I curl up in the bed and cry as Christian walks away