All My Fault...

Looking back on what was not identified as abuse...

I can still remember the first time my boyfriends father touched me...

 

I didn't react. I didn't know how to. As I walked along side my future mother in law, I felt a cold hard hand creep up my skirt and briskly touch the top of my thigh and the bottom of my bum cheek. I automatically walked a little faster. dumbfounded as to what was actually happening. I was to come to the realisation later that my boyfriends mother had been aware of this disgusting act. Not only was this grown, well established woman aware but she was not at all surprised.

 

As any young woman in her twenties, in love and living with her boyfriends 'trusted' parents would do; I pretended it hadn't happened.

 

The evening of my birthday was a rather solemn event and my boyfriends parents treated me to some drinks to lighten the mood and allow me to celebrate my birthday. Indebted by my gratitude I let my guard down, and a momentary slip of vigilance resulted in the most unexpected of consequences.

 

I can still remember the cold wetness of his tongue on my face, searching for my mouth. The strength of his body pinning my slight frame to the cold leather of the family sofa. I can smell the strong, putrid stench of whisky on his rasping breath.

 

His forbidden fruit was not to be bitten however as with my overwhelming anger, came the strength of ten woman and I set myself free, running straight to the bedroom I shared with my boyfriend at that time. Shaking with anger the words fell out of my mouth. The whole story. With this release came a sense of relief. I couldn't keep it a secret any longer. My boyfriend stared at me for what seemed like a very long time. His eyes bore into mine with an expression i could not read. Was it love? Was it protective compassion? I was just beginning to get my breath back to a steady, calm rhythm when the first slap came.

 

My second attempt at salvation did not bring any more success. My boyfriends mother peered into my red, tear stained face with old, tired eyes. "Yes of course" she said, "That's just what he does". Her manner was so nonchalant and the calmness of her tone sent little pin pricks up my spine. "I saw him try to touch you before" she said. "I watched him do it a few times" Her calm smooth voice was hauntingly quiet. And with that she just shrugged her tiny, defeated shoulders and departed to her bedroom for the night.

 

Blame is a basic mechanism of human psychology. We must be able to place blame on someone in order to rectify our personal situation, manage guilt and deal with individual responsibilities. So maybe I should have been more understanding when my boyfriends father came clean and told his son the truth. My boyfriend explained to me that his father was not to blame. I was a beautiful young girl. ripe and sexy. How could he be expected to control himself?

 

Now I must make it clear that my behaviour, mannerisms, clothing or intentions were never in any way; provocative. I was innocent. I had never even considered myself to be pretty, never mind beautiful. So there it was. The biggest compliment of my life so far. I should be grateful...

 

What if I did dress provocatively, I asked myself. What if my friendliness was misconstrued as flirting? Would the perverse actions of my boyfriends father then be more justified? The message was loud and clear. How dare I be me. How dare I be a woman and question the right of men!

 

This is not a story from long ago, in the bygone years of inequality between a man and a woman. Neither is this story being told by a woman repressed by a particular religion or culture. This is the story of a woman who belongs to the liberal society of the modern United Kingdom, today! Where men and woman are thought to have equal rights and woman are not mere possessions of men. Or are they? Is the liberalism of our society today effectively empowering woman, or is it further objectifying them behind a smokescreen of hypocrisy? How far have we really came?