I was asked by a mental health therapist to write a story to help a client who had suffered from sexual assault.  This story is what came to me in meditation from a woman in America.  I hope it is helpful.

Our Special Secret

When I was a kid my ma and pa were strict as hell. They never spoke about sex. It was a forbidden subject in our house. My parents had six children and we were poor. My pa started interfering with me when I was twelve. He said Ma had had enough of him. He started very gentle like and what he did to me felt nice, but kind of scary, ’cause before that he would whop us and tell us not to be so dirty. I felt confused. I loved my pa, and when he started stroking me it made me feel real good. He said it had to be our ‘special secret’. In our house there never was much to go round and my pa would give me extra little treats to keep me on his side I guess. Well soon we had a real big secret together. I wanted the treats and he made me feel so special and nice, I thought I was real lucky. But I knew something was wrong and I wasn’t sure what. The secret became so important it seemed to become the biggest thing in my life.

One day my younger sister came to me and told me she was worried about Pa. He had started to do things to her that she didn’t like. She said a friend in school had a brother who did things to her and he was sent away for being a real bad person. My sister was afraid that our pa would be sent away.

I felt jealous of my sister and worried too. I told her to tell Pa not to do it. I said I would speak to Pa about it. I asked her if she liked what Pa was doin’ to her. She said she kind of liked it but it made her afraid. I said I would stroke her instead of Pa and because I was a girl it would be all right. So she told Pa about her friend’s brother and Pa didn’t bother her anymore. I started stroking my sister and found she was lovely and soft and warm, not like Pa, he was rough and hairy. I found the fear and excitement of doing something I knew was wrong was quite a thrill.

Eventually Pa died and I married. My sister and I kept our childhood secret. My husband was rough and hairy just like Pa. When my babies were born I loved to touch their skin. I touched them far too much and not in ways that a mother should touch her children. I was reminded of my sister. I knew I should not be touching them the way I did and eventually they were taken away from me. I never wanted to hurt them. I could not explain to anyone why I did what I did to them. Everyone thought I was filth and I guess I was. To me it was the only way I could find to satisfy my needs. I was broken up when they were taken away from me. I was so sorry that they had to have foster parents. I now know that I did a great wrong to them and to my sister,  just as my pa did a great wrong to me. I  hope against hope that they do not become abusers in their turn.