I was 10 when he said my grandmother could no longer buy me Easter dresses because he wanted to do so.
I was 11 the only year he did. That same year he wanted to buy my bathing suit and my first bra. He continued to be interested to a degree when or if (“if” because now he rarely bought me clothes as the privilege of new dresses belonged to another) I got new clothes. He was interested only if I tried things on for him.
I was 13 when he chose to start staying in the room while I changed.
I was 14 when he stopped me “between” clothes to look at my changing body. I was 14 the spring I got such a bad sunburn that I stayed home from school and he “helped” by rubbing baby oil on my skin to soothe the burns. There were not burns on my breasts. That did not seem to matter. I vomited.
I was 15 when I tried to confront his behavior as wrong and I wanted it to stop. I was rejected. I was 15 when I became invisible. Telling the truth did not matter. He could not abide truth. I was a pariah. I was invisible. I was 15 when being visible became more important than being abused. I was 15 when he saw me naked again. I was 15 when he compared my nipples to my mother’s. Every time I bought new clothes with my own earned money, I was a voyeur’s dream.
I was 16 when I began to try new tactics to protect myself. I bought new clothes, took them home, and then quickly left the house again or made up excuses for not being able to “share”. He changed his tactics also. I was 16 when I came home to porn playing on the living room TV because he “forgot” to switch off the feed to that TV. I was 16 when he would purposely change the channel to show porn so that he could casually discuss what appeared on the screen. I was 16 when he allowed men at his job to believe I was his girlfriend.
I was 17 when I gave away my virginity to my boyfriend, and his reaction upon finding out was so weird that I am still not convinced that he did not set it up.
I was 18 when he asked me directly if I was sleeping with my “would-be” husband and when I said “no” his response was “wow! It doesn’t usually take as long with the second as it did the first”.
It doesn’t end there but my life changed directions drastically and I moved out. I was 18.
That was a lot harder to relive than I expected. Please forgive me while I go throw up…