I stood my ground in the doorway, all I wanted was my pay so as to avoid any trouble when I got home from my Dad, and to hopefully, for once, make him proud of me.
Circumstance at this point wiped out my only wish as another I am assuming, permanent worker, came to the door to ask a question of Barney (Bernie) and in doing so pushed me a little further than I had wanted to be inside the van, at which point I was again told to go sit and wait for my pay on the bed. I again didn't follow instructions. As my employer was ending his chat with the second worker he left his table and proceeded toward the door where this other worker was now standing causing me to be pushed a little further into the van. This was not good.
Barney (Bernie) was now standing between me and the door, as he closed the door on completion of his chat with the other, much older than me, worker. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a $5.00 note and placed it on the edge of the sink and told me that was my pay as he continued to back me up toward the bed. I was told "not yet" as I went to grab the note from the sink to leave and then pushed onto the bed.
How do I remember all this?
I don't think a day has passed where I have not had to relive all this in my mind since the event!
Now I was beyond scared, I had no idea what was going to happen to me as this man, my boss, many other peoples' boss stood in front of me looking down on me, reaching again for my crotch, only this time I was able to see he was reaching for his own crotch also. It seemed to take him no time at all to get his dick out and start telling me to put it in my mouth. The more I resisted, the more force was used on me. I was crying as he tried to push himself into my mouth several times before giving up, at least momentarily.
The time of writing between the above paragraph and the below has been about 3 weeks because each time I come back to do it, I am becoming physically ill from the reading to start from where I left off as I did when I first shared the begiining of the end with you.
I was told to remove my pants. I refused, and I refused and I refused until this man decided to do it for himself. I was no match for him size or strength wise. I thought I was going to die. Once my shorts and underpants had been removed his fun started. He again started to fondle me and kept insisting that I play with his dick, that I suck his dick, that I entertain his carnal thoughts. I was scared, in fact I was so scared I couldn't cry out loud, I could only whimper, and put up a minimal fight against this man's desire to do as he wanted with me.
The order of activities might be out, but I am trying to include all that he did as fully as I can in the hope that my ordeal will help others to understand that they are not alone, and because I realise now that I was/am probably not his only victim and if another is to read this I would hope that they would take the time to contact me.
He held my head as he tried to put his penis on my mouth, I say on because everytime I relive this event and see it, I know that it is to big to go in. He was now fully erect. While he was holding my head he was pulling himself and then wiping his dick on my face. He seemed to get sick of that and returned to fondling me while still telling me to touch him. I can remember whimpering and being told to grow up.
He was starting to play with my bum now as well, not quite sure what he was doing with his hand there, but I can guess because it was really starting to hurt. I think he was trying to put his finger/s inside me. The pain started to become intense and only let up when he would grab my hand and place it on his cock. He rolled me onto my side/front at one point and tried to push his penis into me. That really hurt but even with all the force used, it would not go in, I don't think. I could feel something running/dripping around my butt. Until he was done with me and I looked back to where I was I did not know that it was blood.
I have no idea how long this was going on for but it felt like forever before he eventually held his penis to my mouth again finishing himself off with his hand onto my face and into my hair. I can even still remember the smell of it, although describing the smell for me is very hard because I am yet to smell anything even close to it since.
I was now told to get my money and to fuck off, and to keep my mouth shut for my own good.
I did not pick up my $5.00 pay, I just could not get out of there fast enough, the smell, the pain, the fear about what had just happened, and the extreme confusion in my mind. I left the showgrounds crying with my face and hair a mess, blood on the back of my undies, and this horrid smell that I was sure the world could smell on me.
In hindsight, I must have past other people on my exit from the showgrounds, crying, but I can't remember anyone stopping me or asking what was wrong or if I was ok, or the likes - oh well.
On leaving the showgrounds, I walked crying as far as Watsford and Conran Sporting Ovals where weekend adult soccer was played. Once there I had to take a break and lay down on one of the seats. My butt was hurting so much while I was walking, the fore and back movement of my legs was causing great pain, and my hair was feeling all stuck together as was the skin feeling tight on my face. I was able to scratch the tightness off my face, but I could not rid myself of the smell.
Eventually I found the energy to continue home to my parents home, avoiding contact with others as I went. Once there all I wanted to do was cry, which was something that I had been doing most of my walk home.
My Mum asked me how my job had gone, ignoring my crying, as I went to the lounge-room, which at that time in my parents home was just a walk through room that was never really used. My next big event for the day happened when my Dad returned home from work. He wanted to know if I had gotten paid. When I told him no, and tried to explain what had occured he cut me short and proceeded to smack me for failing to get paid. I can still remember the pain of that to, his hand repeatedly striking my already sore bum. His smacking became even more intense when he wanted me to return to the showgrounds and get my money and I refused to. My Dad had no desire to listen to me or to hear why I did not want to return to the showground. We did return to the showgrounds that evening. Dad did not seek out the man who did not pay me, and happily I did not see him there, nor for that matter, have I ever seen him since.
It Seemed To Me That No-Body Cared What Had Happened To Me!
In the coming days, that idea became even more ingrained in my mind as I tried to tell someone what had happened. I didn't know what had really happened to me, I didn't know why it had happened to me, all I knew is that it should not have happened to me and I needed help. I didn't even know what sort of help I needed. I was just so fucked up by what had happened.
During the course of the weekend following that Friday, can't remember if it was Saturday or Sunday anymore, but I did walk myself to the Lithgow Police Station, which in those days was located next door to the Court House on Bridge Street. To the best of my recollection this was the first time I had ever been in a Police Station alone, not that I can remember ever being in one accompanied either, and it was quite a scary place to be. I knew I needed/wanted help, I also knew what for. Speaking side was not so easy though because I did not know what it was called or how to even start to tell my story of what had happened. I remember being ignored for the most time, and when eventually asked why I was there because I did not know how to tell them or what to say to tell them, I was quite quickly put on my way back home because they did not have time and I was in the way. As you read on you will learn from emails I will publish with this site that not a lot has changed with the Police.
So now I have discovered my parents didn't care what had happened to me, with the exception of me not being paid, and the Police were not interested either, who or what else could I try ..... my school, my teacher.
My teacher, my school, my worst possible choice and the end of my young life as I knew it.
My grade 4 teacher took time out from her lunch break to talk with me and I must have somehow made her understand what had happened to me because she told me that she would do what had to be done. I was so wrong in thinking she had understood me and wanted to help me. Later that day I was kicked out of class by this teacher, the reason, she didn't like my laugh. What happened while I was out of the room is something I will never know, but when I was allowed back into the room I was called "POOFTA" by a fellow student called Darren, a student who was up until then one of my best friends. This comment had the whole room, including my teacher laughing. Laughing at me.
I had been raped, I sought help and now I was labelled a POOFTA for being sexually assaulted by an adult