I am not sure where to begin. Born in a small town in New York to older parents. My mom was from Scotland; she grew up the unwanted child. Living with her Grandmother and her Aunts because her parents couldn’t be bothered with her. My father was a first generation Italian American who was the youngest of 3.
When I was 6, I was sitting in the living room watching some game show on TV. My mother was having an argument on the phone with my dad. She slammed down the phone, came into the living room and told asked me if I wanted to go with her or stay with my father. I told her I wanted to go with her. She told me to pack my stuff we were leaving. The guy who was painting the house “John” pulled up in his beat up old van, which he had named Bertha. Mom loaded up garbage bags full of our belongings. I said goodbye to my best friend, handed her my favorite doll, which she promised to bring to me as soon as we were settled and with that my mother, my brother and I were on our way. All my toys, pictures, etc…….left behind.
We camped our way down the east coast. It was a lot of fun actually, although I missed my Dad …they wanted me to call John Dad but I didn’t want to. We spend the summer at a beach house in Ocean View and than moved into old World War 2 housing in Va. Beach so that I could start school. My mother informed me that my last name would no longer be the name I knew, it would be Paquet. She enrolled me in school as a Paquet, Johns name. John was an alcoholic. When he was drunk he was mean. My brother taught me how to slow down my breathing so that it would appear to anyone watching that I was sleeping. I escaped a few beatings that way. My father had apparently spent a lot of money to find us. Once he did, he left us alone. Not long after, my brother who was constantly in trouble for no reason at all, got in trouble for stealing from his paper route, John and Mom decided that he should go live with my father. I was 7 or 8 maybe? Didn’t see or hear from him again till I was 16. (I later found out that he was raised in foster care on work farms. His life was awful and he still managed to grow up to be a great guy.)
The day the bus left with my brother the sexual abuse started. Simple at first, laying in bed with him with my underwear on and letting him touch me….it escalated……….further…….but, you don’t need to know all of that.
My brother being ripped away from me left a huge void. I didn’t have a protector, I didn’t have a comrade in the chaos that was my life….I began making friends with a succession of boys solely because they reminded me of my big brother.
Eventually we moved from the WW2 housing to a trailer in what was actually in the beginning a nice neighborhood. It was mostly military families so my friends kind of came and went. I was never allowed to have friends over, or have them spend the night. The reason I never told my mother about the sexual abuse was that John told me, that if I ever told anyone, he would kill my mother. I was a kid so I believed him.
I want to emphasize that when John was sober he was an awesome dad. He taught me how to fish, how to paint, how to hammer in a nail. Unfortunately, he was an alcoholic so those moments were few and far between. Not long after my brother was sent away, my parents decided to go on an all night fishing thing, or something. They left, the sitter never showed up. They came home, found out that I had survived and from that point on, I was left alone.
Two important memories I want to mention. Because both had a major affect on me.
One was that John was a house painter and injured his back badly. He was forced to lay flat on his back and not move for several months. My mother had to get a job. We may have been on welfare, I don’t have any idea. Point is the typical, Christmas was here, and we didn’t have money for anything. My mother took what money she did have and went to the store to get groceries. While she was gone there was a knock at the door. It was someone my mom worked with. They had taken up a collection without her knowing. They brought in and decorated a Christmas tree. Filled it underneath with Gifts and brought us bag after bag of groceries. It still makes me cry.
The second it that I was gone from the house as often as possible, I was always off on my bike with my friends. Playing Lassie or Star Wars or one of the other myriad of escapism games that I played. I also started babysitting at 9 for spending money. The second memory is that my friend, Patricia Beth Bolton, was nabbed coming home from the book mobile. She was raped, sodomized and beaten to death and left in the woods that were behind the field next to my house. The brother of a man whose children I babysat on a regular basis committed this atrocity, his name was Andrew Clozza. This changed everything for the rest of my childhood. No more roaming around at will alone. I became a latch key kid.
Because I was being molested, I had less than zero interest in boys. In 5th grade someone asked me if I was a lesbian. In 6th grade it somehow came out that Paquet wasn’t really my last name and I had to switch back to Dipalo. It was horrible and confusing and the teachers treated me like I was trying to pull one over on someone. They had a drug awareness day and I burst into tears during the assembly because I realized that John was an alcoholic and that the funny smell around the house was Marijuana. A teacher removed me from the assembly to a room alone so that I could cry it out.
Around this time, something happened and I somehow let it slip to my mother that I had woken up to find John in my bedroom. My mother flipped out (apparently she had her suspicions that something was going on?) She and John had a huge fight. He left (ended up he was having an affair with her best friend anyway, they ran off together.)
My mother was DEVASTATED.
She honestly loved him. Probably the first person she loved more than herself. She cried a lot, clung to me. Most of her married friends pushed her away, I guess out of fear that she would stalk their husbands. She finally pulled herself together and put a personal advert in the paper. She started dating. She would bring the men home and make me go watch TV in her room so that way they wouldn’t try to have sex with her. I was up to all hours, only wanting to go to sleep. Eventually she started dating a piece of scum that she decided she liked. He moved in. His name was Eugene. Gene for short. Gene would call my mother and tattle on me if I did things like watched TV before I had done my homework. Than he came up behind me one day and put his hands over my breasts (which has just appeared the summer before Junior High, much to my embarrassment.) He told me that if I allowed him to do that whenever he wanted, I would get whatever I wanted. I wanted him gone. I turned into a raging bitch. My mother asked me what was wrong with me. I told her what Gene was doing. Her response? Wait for it…. “But you only have to put up with it for a couple of years, I am going to be alone for the rest of my life.” Gene said either I go or he leaves. He went.
My mother’s next winner was a redneck with a 16-year-old son. She married him the summer before I turned 13. They went away for a WEEK. I was left alone with a fridge full of groceries and a number to call in case of emergencies.
The Vaughan’s came with their own hell and insanity. Jr, was a 16 year old stoned, sex crazed, socially inept, emotionally stunted idiot, who glued pornographic centerfolds to the walls in our shared bathroom (he was forced to take them down) and than as I got older, drilled peep holes into the bathroom walls so he could watch me bath and pee without me knowing. He would sneak into my room at night and take my Pajama’s off . I thought I was safe so I was sleeping deeply. Haven’t slept that deeply since. I was suspicious that something was going on, and using my brother’s handy trick, laid a trap. Caught him coming into my room. Went and woke up my parents. My stepfather said I asked for it. My mom came home the next day with 2 deadbolts and a locking door handle for my bedroom door.
My stepfather and his son were both addicted to Marijuana. Addicted as in, when they didn’t have any they were absolute hell to live with and turned to Alcohol. My stepfather put his fist through my bedroom door once after he called me something along the lines of a mother fucking bitch and I told him he should know all about Mother fucking since that’s where he had gotten all of his experience.
When he moved in I started paying $25 a week rent to live in my own home. I still had an array of chores that I had to perform as well as going to school and working part time at the hair salon. (I was 13 btw). Jr, a school drop out, paid $20.
Holidays were never that warm fuzzy thing you hear about from your friends or see on TV. We’d get up open presents, cook a meal, and than everyone one go to sleep while I cleaned up the kitchen.
Birthdays didn’t mean parties….actually from 13 years on if I wanted a cake, I had to bake my own. It usually meant getting taken out to dinner. Or perhaps everyone else going about their lives, coming home late at night and giving me a cat…….or something. We never took family vacations. Once pop came we did go do the occasional something, but I usually had to pay my way and buy my own dinner or jump through a lot of hoops to get him to do it for me.
This was my childhood. I don’t want pity. I am not trying to one up anyone about who had the worse experiences. I wouldn’t change one detail about my past because it put me on the path that led me here. I love my husband; I love my kids but more importantly I LOVE ME.
I went to my first Science Fiction convention when I was in Jr. High. I later became friends with the 14year old who had come up with and organized the entire thing.
At 16, I started working 2 jobs and going to school. I worked at Pizza Hut for the summer and in the fall. I began working for Revco. All the while working at the hair salon. My friend Ann, threw me a surprise 16th birthday party, the surprise being that no one that I knew came.
My stepbrother was giving me a ride to work one day on his motorcycle and I wouldn’t tell him something he wanted to know, so he drove around deliberately to get me lost and make me late for work. At one point he stopped the bike and asked me to tell him my secret. I got off of the bike. He asked me where I was going and I pointed to the nearest house and said that I was going there to call my mother. He said but you don’t know where you are! I told him that I was sure whoever lived in the house did. He took me to work. I never let him do it again.
I met Ann in my creative writing class. We became tight and with her, I started going to Science Fiction conventions. I know that you are laughing at me but when you are a teenage girl with no self-confidence and a lousy life a sci fi convention is Magical. You leave reality at the door, pay your money and can be whoever you want to be. You even get to choose a name for your con badge. There is a greater ratio of males to females than in normal life and the hot/not ratio was even more in my favor. At Con’s I was a Queen. I made tons of friends, most of whom I still have to this day. I was the belle of the ball and everyone loved me. I was cool, fun, talented and Beautiful. It was awesome. It was almost like a drug, I guess. An escape. I had my first kiss at a con, met my first boyfriend at a con. I gained a circle of friends that slowly built. I became the mother hen. If someone was down, I rallied the troops to cheer them up. If someone needed friends, I introduced them to my world of friends. I did everything possible to keep the friendships growing.
I lost my virginity on the 4th of July at a food lion store. Fireworks literally went off. I was 17 and a high school graduate and I did it to keep from losing my first boyfriend, Dean Robb. It was one of the worst experiences ever. He told me that I was so good at it he couldn’t believe it was my first time. I think he thought it was a compliment. We broke up on the following Mother’s day because I had finally gained enough self confidence while he was out to sea to realize that he was just as bad for me as my family. Always tearing me down, never building me up. Always telling me everything that was wrong with me. Never telling me what was right. (A side note about my mother- she was the type of mother who bought me clothes a size smaller hoping that I would lose weight, I think was a 12 at this point. She was the type of woman who chastised me if I gave her a gift that she didn’t like. If she gave me a gift, which I didn’t like or it didn’t fit, she would return the item and buy something for herself. She was the type of woman who never went out of the house unless she was dressed to the nines. She always wore designer clothes even though she did ferret them out off consignment stores more often than not. If I looked good, she made herself look better. I got my ears pierced she did as well. She knew that she was smart, and knew that she was beautiful, but also knew that she was getting old and was a bit vain so it was eating away at her. I, in turn, rarely wore make up. I wore clothes that made me feel comfortable and that for the most part hid my femininity…although as I started to feel more comfortable with myself that changed a little bit. I am not hung up on what I look like, mostly because my mother was and it ate away at her. Age ate away at her. I didn’t know how old she really was till I was 16 and wrestled her driver’s license away from her. This is also about the time that I found out that she wore dentures and had since she was a teenager AND that she has been married before my Dad and had 2 grown kids old enough to be my parents).
Dean showed up on Mothers day with roses for my mother and instructed me to get dressed and grab my purse we were going out. I told him I wasn’t because it was mother’s day and when he got into a snit I ditched him. I had been dating another guy all summer anyway whom I had broken up with before Dean’s ship had come in. (That guy, Terry Lee…. was one of my best friends and for a couple of years roommates. He stopped talking to me a couple of years ago because his girlfriend now wife was jealous of our friendship.)
So…finishing up high school. My counselor told me not to take my SAT’s because I probably wasn’t going to go to college anyway and I didn’t have the math I needed to pass. My parents weren’t paying for college and my stepfather wouldn’t cosign any loans. I was going to go to community college but something went wrong with that plan and I ended up going to a stupid expensive business school that hadn’t gotten its accreditation yet but thought it would come through before the semester started. Mother co-signed with out pop knowing which was awesome because when she died the loans were paid off automatically.
So, now I am in college and working. But I had FRIENDS tons of GLORIOUS FRIENDS.
I would go to class and than go to work…now at a Hotel Gift Shop and maybe a front desk gig at this point I don’t remember. I would get off at 11:00 meet my friends at the beach and skinny dip and than go party till I had to get some sleep so I could start the entire cycle again. Than with the money that I made at work, on the weekends we would travel to cons or rent hotel rooms and have more parties. People came to my parties!! It was awesome…and not so much………..because I was so freaking messed up inside. I would get really depressed and think about killing myself. I felt like the Great Gatsby, I would throw these parties and than not want to be there. I still do that now. Robert and I will have a house party and I will not hang out with the folks. Honestly, I was an intelligent young woman; I knew that the majority of the folks who came to the parties I had at the hotels weren’t there because of me. They were there because a lot of my friends had cool friends and I was on the fringe…. never really feeling like I was a part of it. My home life still sucked. I had bought my own car. Were doing my own car repairs with the help of my stepbrother. Everyone else was at a real college. I had my core group of good friends. It really wasn’t them it was me. Outsiders wanted to be me. I’m not being cocky; it’s true I have had several people tell me lately that I was the glue for our group that everyone always seemed to flock to me. Their perception of me and mine are totally different.
I’m not worried about you judging me. If you were that sort of person, I wouldn’t be sharing this stuff with you anyway….and even if you were to pass judge, doesn’t bother me anyway. I don’t have any regrets. Thanks for all the love by the way………….
Everything your asking is a little complex. After Dean, I wasn’t without a sex partner ever. Sex was fun…beyond that for me it was a way of feeling, if only for a few minutes like someone cared about me. I had regular boyfriends, I had a couple of one night stands with folks who became friends…..I had a friend who I called whenever I felt the need to have sex. It was fun. I came to a realization at one point that I didn’t want to be “that” girl. So I stopped having sex and started dating a Virgin….I wanted to go a year celibate. Than I had sex with the Virgin and it wasn’t fun so I eventually broke his heart. He’s now married to Ann, my best friend from High School.
Than came the fateful day when a bunch of friends and I were at a con in DC. We decided to hit an adult bookstore. Which is a story in itself actually. When we returned to the hotel, the 5 of us I think it was went out on the balcony and i had my first orgasm. After that sex became really fun.
There is a book called Courage to Heal that actually gave me nightmares. It’s written for adult survivors of incest and sexual abuse. It suggests in that book..I think it was that book…..that when we are forced to have sex when we are kids…we feel guilty enjoying it as adults. Subconsciously we always feel like we are doing something wrong I guess. It suggested that light Spanking or Bondage would release that guilt…
So Jim was the guy I was dating who was into bondage. It was Bondage 101. Nothing Scary………tied me up…spanked me….it was fun. There was a dark element at a lot of cons where the B&DS&M crowd was on the fringe. You could always buy stuff there. I had a leather thong sort of thing and fur lined leather handcuffs. LIght easy and fun..
Than I was in a long term relationship with Bill. The first long term relationship I had ever been in. 4 months into our relationship, my mother had 3 brain anyurisms and a stroke…she died 3 months later. I went into a tail spin. I felt lost, abandoned and alone. I was 22 years old and for all of the hell my childhood had been my mother had been the one constant. She loved me as much as she possibly could have. I was the only child she raised to adult hood. Bill was in the Army by the time she died. He didn’t even take off to come to the funeral or to try and help me in anyway. That should have been a wake up call huh?
Anyway, Bill was cheating on me for almost our entire relationship, but I was too blind to see it because i was in a tailspin over my mother. So much so that soon lost my job. My friend Terry took out a small term loan to help me pay my bills until I could get on my feet…(again, no help from Bill…although I sent him money regularly through the army and when he went to college…for 8 years I helped him out…can you say SUCKER?) Sex started not being so much fun with Bill…our relationship was odd..not healthy. When I Finally realized he was cheating on me, I broke up with him. I was 29.
That was when things started to change a bit. I didn’t go to cons any more. I couldn’t afford it. Was working 4 jobs and living in a small one bedroom apartment near the beach…I dated a couple of guys because i was too bored to commit suicide. But I no longer felt pretty. I had gained weight after my mother died. Some guys that I had met up with were actually a bit mean to me…I moved into a 2 bedroom apartment with Bills sister because her husband left her after she finished paying for his college and she couldn’t afford her rent. So she paid utilities, moved into the second bedroom and than her dates were mean to me. She had sex with a friend of mind who she knew i lusted after…
I was blah…than Steven became my friend with benefits. Sex was fun again, I felt GOOD, I felt attractive. it was awesome. I knew that we didn’t have a future neither of us were each others type….we were just having fun.
Than I met Hubby. Dude, he was so angry, so troubled. He was cute, had an adorable little butt and a sexy voice. He liked me for me. He liked me chubby. He became my newest project to help. He and his friend Devd basically lived at my apartment. They were always there. He did little things. He fixed things. He bought a padded toilet seat that matched my shower curtain…said that way my bottom would be warm and cozy when I had to use the facilities. He praised my cooking. My body. He encouraged me to reach out and grab what I wanted out of life. He gifted me with cooking lessons. He was also a HUGE jerk…but he was cute. Sex was Good and fun and frequent. He made my pulse race. We fought, he tried to break up with me, I fought to keep him. He needed me to keep him from fucking up his life and I needed the electricity that came from being with him and the acceptance that he seemed to have for me. God, he was SO angry. He was so Rude. His friends were asses too. Our sexual relationship tanked when we went to take our trip around North America. He wanted to tie me up and spank me and I said sure. We were having fun, but he got way too intense. He was spanking me WAY too hard. He ignored our code word. He betrayed my trust. He also started smoking copious amounts of pot when he got out of the Navy. I didn’t have a good history with pot, even though I had been known to supply my friends with some when I was younger…another attempt at acceptance. I hated him stoned. Sex on the trip became less and less frequent, because I didn’t want him touching me stoned. He may have been stoned during the incident, I don’t remember.