The following morning my father walked into my bedroom.
“You’re not going to school or even out of this house until those bruises and welts have healed.” he shouted at me. “You will spend the whole day here cleaning the dining room and the rest of the house. If I come home and I find even the smallest speck of dust anywhere in the house I’ll thrash you so badly that you’ll end up in hospital! You stupid little bitch!”
Because of my father’s financial problems my mother was forced to work at the Post Office full time which meant that I returned from school each afternoon to an empty house. My parents expected me to make my own lunch and then do a number of chores about the house such as cleaning the bathroom, doing some simple ironing and washing the dishes from the previous evening’s meal. Later I was also expected to prepare the food for the evening meals.
My years at primary school were particularly uneventful as far as sex was concerned. I mixed naturally with the other children, both boys and girls although, quite naturally, I preferred the company of my girl friends. Although the subject of sex was sometimes brought up it was always mentioned with ignorance and innocence and mixed with a great deal of giggling and blushing. Some of the girls claimed to know all about the topic but quickly backed down when challenged to elaborate on what they knew and where the information had come from.
It was only in my last year at primary school that I became aware of sex and the strange effect that it had on me. Also, boys somehow became more interesting and some were even quite attractive to me. The giggling and blushing that had previously accompanied talk of sex amongst the girls disappeared and curiosity took their place. Some of my girl friends began developing relationships with boys that they were attracted to and spent hours talking to them and even surreptitiously holding hands.
By this time I had developed the physical features that would determine my appearance as an adult. When I entered my final year at primary school I was slightly taller than both my parents, had inherited my mother’s red-brown hair and eyebrows and my father’s blue eyes. Like both my parents my mouth was thin-lipped and wide but unlike my parents I had a prominent chin that my father said indicated stubbornness and arrogance.
I had also adopted my father’s anger although mine stemmed from my own helplessness at the physical abuse that I suffered and later from the sexual abuse that I was forced to endure. I had begun to hate myself for not doing anything about the abuse that I experienced and yet I knew deep down that there was actually very little that I could do to prevent it.
My body was also beginning to change and two small breasts with enlarged nipples slowly began to form although they were far too small to require the wearing of a bra. I had also sprouted a small mass of black pubic hair and hair in my armpits. A noticeable gracefulness began to transform my body, something that excited me, even though I didn’t quite understand why.
I found myself particularly attracted to a boy named Garth Gilmore but to my consternation he remained completely oblivious to my being, just as he was to all the other girls. Compared to the other boys, Garth was noticeably withdrawn and often quite aggressive towards the other boys and girls. He was quick to take offence and looked upon us girls with disdain.
Garth was slightly taller than me with thick black hair that hung down in a fringe over his forehead, dark brown eyebrows and dark green eyes. His nose was large and flat, his chin noticeably strong and his fleshy lips seldom smiled. At the time that I became acutely aware of him, I noticed that he suffered quite seriously from acne on his face. He was well-built but slightly overweight, with a thick neck and heavy sloping shoulders. According to the other boys at the school he was immensely strong physically. He never spoke about himself and all that I knew about him was that, like me, he was an only child and that he lived with his parents in one of the small grey mining houses at the edge of the buffer zone between Johannesburg and Soweto.
***
“Thank you, Cindy.” my lawyer said with an encouraging smile. “I want you to step down from the witness box for a while as I need to recall Doctor Thomas at this point.”
As I returned to my seat next to Garth, James Foster turned to Judge Bester.
“Your Honour.” he said. “I would like to recall Doctor Thomas.”
The judge nodded.
Doctor Thomas settled into the witness stand and nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his forefinger.
“Doctor Thomas,” my attorney said, “in your earlier evidence you listed the main causes of child sexual abuse as being depression, financial difficulties, lack of emotional support and a dearth of sexual gratification. But, how does a child sexual abuser go about achieving his sexual desires?”
“Child sexual abusers, unlike physical and psychological child abusers, have to create opportunity.” Doctor Thomas said. “Obviously they cannot inflict their will on their victims openly, so a surreptitious opportunity has to be crafted. In most cases this is a difficult barrier to overcome and can often foil the perpetrator’s intentions. However, the male’s sexual drive can be extremely demanding and abusers will go to great lengths to create a suitable opportunity.”
“And once the opportunity has been created?”
“The child sexual abuser then works on gaining his victim’s confidence.” the doctor explained. “This is done by assuring the victim that what is happening is quite natural and normal but also by introducing intimidation and threats to strengthen their behaviour. Flattery can also be a deciding factor.
"Secrecy is obviously also important and this is also achieved by intimidation and threats and sometimes by companionship.
"Blame can be very effectively used. Telling the victim that what is happening to her is her own fault because if she wasn’t “so sexy” this wouldn’t be happening, is a common ruse.”
“Thank you, doctor.” James Foster said. “That is all for the moment.”
The psychiatrist gingerly stepped down from the witness stand.
“Your Honour.” my attorney said turning to the judge. “I would now like to recall the accused, Cindy Bedford.”
The judge nodded.
I took my place on the witness stand.
“Cindy.” James Foster said with an encouraging smile. “We’re now coming to a very difficult stage for you in this hearing. I want you to tell the court when your father began to sexually molest you and what you had to endure. If at any time you feel uncomfortable and want to stop, please tell me. Remember that this is a closed court and everything that you say will be kept in strict confidence. Nobody outside this court will know what you have said here.”
I nodded and continued with my story.
***
One day, at the beginning of my final year at primary school my father came home from work earlier than usual. It was obvious to my mother and I that he’d been drinking. He walked into the kitchen where I was doing my homework at the kitchen table and my mother was standing at the stove cooking our supper. He sat down at the table.
“Alice, I’ve got bad news.” my father said. “The mine has run into financial difficulties and some of the staff have been retrenched. Fortunately I’m not one of them but my job has been reduced from a full-time job to a half-day job. My pay has only been reduced by a quarter though and I’ve been told that these measures are likely to only be temporary. It’s expected that the situation will return to normal in about six months.”
I looked up at my mother who stared at my father, her forehead creased by a frown.
“But the economy’s doing so well!” she exclaimed. “And the gold price is at record levels!”
I saw my father’s anger flare up.
“What the hell are you implying?” he shouted. “That I’m lying? That I’ve made up this story? Why would I do that?”
“No, no!” my mother replied hastily. “What I’m suggesting is that there must have been mismanagement at the mine for this to have happened.”
My father stared up at my
mother as he tried to comprehend what she had just said. I saw the understanding suddenly show in his expression.
“That’s exactly right!” he exclaimed. “That’s exactly what’s happened. There’s been mismanagement at the mine! Of course! The bloody directors have stuffed up the mine and now the workers have to suffer!”
It was obvious to me that my father was lying but I couldn’t imagine why.
“So, what are you going to do?” my mother asked. “Look for an afternoon job?”
“No.” my father replied. “If this situation’s only temporary then I’ll just wait until it corrects itself. I’ll come home and spend the afternoons tending to the pigeons. Some of them are showing signs of becoming winners and I want to spend more time grooming them and training them. Once they’re in prime condition I’ll enter them in some races. There’s a lot of money in pigeon racing.”
I looked back at my mother and noticed the perplexed expression on her face. It was obvious to me that she also didn’t believe what my father had told us but she couldn’t understand why.
On the first day that my father worked half-day I returned home from school and saw him fussing about at the pigeon loft. I made myself a sandwich and, still in my school uniform, began to do my homework at the kitchen table. At about half past five my mother returned and began cooking our supper. My father ignored us and went to the local pub to have some drinks. My mother left his supper in the oven.
On the second day, when I returned from school, my father was sitting in the lounge reading the newspaper. I made myself a sandwich and was just about to sit down at the kitchen to do my homework when my father called me. I went to the lounge and was surprised to find that the curtains had been drawn closed and the room was in semi-darkness.
“Come in and sit down next to me.” my father said, smiling. “I want to talk to you about something important.”
I felt fear and confusion well up in me.
“Dad, I’ve got a lot of homework to do.” I said. “Can’t I do that first?”
My father’s expression changed from friendliness to anger.
“Do as I say.” he said, his voice filled with menace. “Come and sit down here on the couch next to me!”
I desperately wanted to turn and run away but my muscles wouldn’t obey me. I knew that something bad was about to happen but I was helpless to prevent it. I could feel my heart beating rapidly as I walked slowly into the darkened room and sat down next to my father. My helplessness overwhelmed me and I gaped at my father, too frightened to do anything.
“Cindy.” my father said, staring intently at me with hard blue eyes. “I want to talk to you about something that nobody else must know about. It has to be our secret and if you ever say a word about it I’ll cut your face with a knife so badly that nobody will ever look at you again. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I stared at my father, my whole body filled with dread. My throat constricted and I gaped at him, too frightened to speak.
My father placed his hand on my thigh.
“In most families,” he said, “when girls reach your age they have a special relationship with their fathers. It’s quite natural and normal but most girls keep it a secret. There’s nothing to be afraid of, in fact, you’ll find it a wonderful experience and it will help you to understand what sex is all about and help you a great deal when you get married.”
As my father spoke he began to gently caress my thigh, moving his hand under my short skirt. The shock of what my father was doing numbed me. I sat rigidly next to him unable to move.
“You must understand that what we’re going to do is quite normal but it’s important to keep it a secret.” my father said. “You’re growing up now and this is something that just about every girl experiences. There’s absolutely nothing to be afraid of and I’m going to help you to understand all about sex. But if you say anything to anybody, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Is that clear?”
Still too shocked to say anything I continued to stare at my father, my helplessness crushing my whole spirit.
“You’ve grown into a very attractive and sexy girl, Cindy.” my father said, his voice growing husky. “That’s why this is happening between us. If you weren’t so sexy I would leave you alone and at the mercy of all the bad men out there but you’re developed into someone irresistible and you need me to help you understand what sex is all about so that you don’t get hurt.”
My father’s hand had now moved to my inner thigh. He caressed it gently and moved closer to me. The sour odour of his sweat and the stale liquor on his breath wafted over me and I almost gagged. He leant closer and began kissing me on my neck as his hand moved onto my crotch.
“Open your legs a little.” my father whispered.
I tried to stop myself but my fear and helplessness overcame my resistance and I felt myself slowly opening my legs. My shame and anger were almost physically painful as my father began to slowly knead my crotch. The sensation that I felt as a result of what my father was doing to me shamed me terribly and I forced myself to reject it. I felt myself build a wall against my emotions and swore that I would never allow myself to feel anything towards my father but hate and loathing.
My father sensed my resistance and leant away from me.
“I can see that I’m frightening you, Cindy.” he said. “So I’m going to stop now but you’ll soon come to understand that what we’re doing, and are going to do, is for your own good. It’s best therefore that you do what I want you to do and that you keep our secret to yourself. If you don’t, it could result in you getting badly hurt. So, tomorrow when you get back from school I’ll be waiting here for you and this time I want more co-operation from you. I don’t want to hurt you, I really don’t, but it’s up to you as to whether you get hurt or not. Now, go and get on with your homework.”
I walked to the kitchen and sat down at the table in a daze, struggling to understand what had just happened to me and what was going to be done to me in the future. I stared at the open book in front of me, the words blurred and indecipherable. My whole body shook and my breathing was shallow. I forced myself to calm down by breathing deeply. Gradually I began to relax and my hands stopped shaking. My mind cleared and began to function.
It was painfully obvious to me that I was in a hopeless situation. I had no doubt that my father would hurt me badly and deny any allegations that I made against him and it was highly unlikely that anyone would believe me if I spoke up. My mother would definitely support my father and there was nothing that any of my friends could do to help me. A terrible anger came over me as I realised just how helpless I really was.
I tried desperately to think of some way out of my horrifying predicament. Should I run away? Should I try to kill myself? Should I try to kill my father? In my heart though, I knew that I wasn’t capable of doing any of these things. At the age of eleven I simply did not have the capability to act so drastically.
Although I knew nothing about sex, I realised that, regardless of what I did, I was going to be sexually abused by my father and that it would be degrading and terrifying. What I had to do was decide how I was going to react. Fighting my father was impossible. He was much too strong for me, both physically and mentally and he was also far too experienced and cunning. My only option was to endure.
The more I thought about what my father was going to do to me and how helpless I was, the angrier I became. I had my whole life ahead of me and I had no doubt that my father was about to destroy it. Already I could feel that my life had begun to change. I was helplessly trapped and I knew instinctively that my life would never again be what it had been. I knew that a terrible burden was about to be placed on my life and I vowed never to accept it. I would endure but I would not change.
That night as I lay in my bed, I kept repeating to myself; “I will not react to what is happening to me and I will block out the memory of anything that my father does to me.”
But I couldn’t ignore the ang
er and hatred that I felt towards myself for my helplessness. My inability to do something about my predicament infuriated me but there was nothing that I could do to prevent what was being done to me. My father was too strong and too experienced.
From the next day onwards I returned home from school and even before I could have anything to eat, my father would call me into the darkened lounge. At first he merely petted me, rubbing my genitals and caressing my breasts. On the third day he slid his hand into my panties and stroked my genitals, slipping his finger into me gently and massaging me rhythmically. I blocked out the strange feeling of pleasure that this produced in me.
The following day, after he had fondled me for a few minutes, my father undid the belt of his trousers and unzipped his fly.
“Put you hand inside my pants and wrap your fingers around my cock.” he said. “Now rub the tip with your thumb and then slide your hand up and down.”
As I took hold of his penis I heard my father gasp with pleasure. I rubbed the slippery tip with my thumb and began to slide my hand up and down the thick organ. I heard my father’s breathing quicken and suddenly he let out a gasp and I saw a yellow mass of thick fluid spurt out of the end of his penis. Disgust flowed over me but I forced the emotion away. My father’s breathing slowed.
“Okay, that’s enough for today.” he said, his voice husky from lust. “We’ll do it again tomorrow.”
I continued to masturbate my father for the rest of the week. Over the weekend I spent a great deal of my time on my own in my bedroom trying to come to terms with what was happening to me and steeling myself for what was going to happen the following week. My hatred and anger towards myself grew but it also began to include my mother for not protecting me from what was happening to me. I began to avoid any communication with her.
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