When it has to be bedtime stories mine was erotic. Instead of looking forward to how the story unfolds and becomes magical, I was longing from sinful touches of his penis at my back. It was something forbidden, I know from the early morning remorse and the hiding in my eyes. But it was real, and I am longing for it again tonight and every night I stayed on the farm.

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That’s how it used to be before I enter my first grade at school. When I was supposed to play a dollhouse, I was there in the barn acting play house with my male playmates where a mom and a dad are doing all sorts of nasty things for children. And the last thing I remember was the blood on my underwear.

Nobody loves a woman who is not a virgin anymore. An eavesdrop I’ve had from my old folks’ unwitty chitchat that creates a strong foundation of a belief I have about myself. I am not worthy of anyone and nobody will love me, period. But what about the longings? I want it. I want to be love

woman covering her face with blanket

There must be some plan I have to plot like riding on my bike more often than I should. Or getting married on my menstrual period? Those things would both be a good excuse for my not being a virgin anymore on our first married night. Silly. Imagine a child having this kind of thought growing up?

The dirt was more in my head than on my body, though both were wired. Longing to be loved was a shame. I need to feel guilty to have what I want. I am not deserving of anything good; I am unworthy. But he says he loves me, unconditionally. How can that be?

To be continued…….