The Destruction of Divine Woman and the Family

All This for an Orgasm?

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There was nothing.  Not even darkness.  Suddenly, I felt this weight upon me like a heavy lead blanket.  I could not move, and it was hard to breathe.  Then I felt something slimy forcing it’s way into my mouth, and I began to come back to awareness.  The room was dark and I couldn’t remember where I was, nor could I fathom what was happening to me.  I began to turn my head away from what I now knew was a slimy tongue trying to snake it’s way into my mouth.  It was cold and tasted of cigarettes, and alcohol.  I opened my eyes to try and get my bearings, and felt panic along with adrenaline begin to surge throughout my veins.  Then, before my brain even had a chance to register what was happening and I could begin to struggle or scream, a man jumped up off of me from the couch I was sleeping on.  He was saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”  Oh, that’s why I couldn’t breathe…that bastard was on top of me.   He walked over to a nearby chair and sat down.  It only took a few seconds.  I began to remember where I was, and then realize what had just happened.  Just as quickly, I sat up quickly to survey the room and if there was any more impending danger.  My head felt like it was spinning and the room appeared like there was a fog inside it, lit by the dim light.  Jaimie was passed out in his room, I could only surmise, but Mike and Corey were nowhere to be seen.

In my thirty-plus years on the planet, you would think I would know better than to pass out on a stranger’s couch after partying.  Actually, I did.  But this was no stranger’s house.  Or was it?  I had been seeing Corey for a month or so, and had been there to visit his Uncle Slim many times.  Slim lived with Corey’s cousins, Mike and Jaimie.  So, there had been several times that my friend Lynette and I had been over there to drink some beers with Slim, Mike, Jaimie, and Jaimie’s girlfriend, Sarah.

Slim was a tall, dark haired man with thick glasses, a few of missing teeth from his days of using meth, and was by no means, “slim.”   In fact, he was the opposite of slim, at easily 250 pounds.  He had always seemed like a nice guy to me.  Polite, accommodating, and funny.  How could he DO this to me?!?! Why???

I looked over to where he was sitting with his head down.  “I’m really sorry.”  He said again quietly.  I looked around, and everyone seemed to be gone except us.   I thought maybe Jaimie was asleep in his room, but I wasn’t sure anymore.
“Where are Corey and Mike?”  I asked accusatorily, as if they had disappeared on purpose.
“They went to the liquor store.”  He said, in a whisper.
“Tell Corey I went home.”  I said, as I jumped up and checked to make sure nothing else besides my dignity was missing.    “If’ he asks you why, you better tell him the frickon truth!”   I said, looking him in the eyes, with as much venom as I could muster.
“I’m sorry.”  He said again, as I rushed passed him, keeping a safe distance, so he couldn’t reach out and grab me, should he decide to do something else stupid.
“Sorry doesn’t cut it!”  I snapped back as I let the screen door slam behind me.  I got into my white convertible mustang and sped away.

I was on the wrong side of town, messing with the wrong kind of people; I told myself.  But I rationalized that Corey was a good guy who had a nice apartment and worked for a living.  Even if his cousin Mike bragged about being a gang banger, I hadn’t really taken him seriously, and I knew Jaimie had a meth problem, but was trying to straighten up for the sake of his two year daughter.  Slim had stated that he didn’t do meth either and had actually lost a lot of weight.  I wanted to give them the shadow of the doubt…not look down my nose at them.  Now, I wasn’t so sure.   I was never truly comfortable at Slim’s place, or being on the East Side; but as long as Corey was there with me, I did feel safe.  Now I questioned even that.  Where is a young girl or woman safe these days?  Even young boys in churches are not safe from sexual predators anymore!

It was the wee hours of the morning, and since I was on the East side of Pueblo, Colorado, I tried to stay on as many busy streets as possible until I was in a better neighborhood.  Gangs, crime, people getting jumped, and drive-by shootings weren’t prevalent (yet), but they weren’t non-existent either.  I felt sick as I drove up fourth street towards I-25, taking the necessary turns to get to the onramp and heading North, towards home.

My mind raced as I drove.  I was angry.  At myself for being so stupid as to think it was safe to sleep there; at Corey for leaving me there alone with that monster.  At men, in general.   Where do they get off?  What possesses a man to think it’s okay to force himself upon a woman at ANY time, for any reason???   ESPECIALLY when she’s asleep!!!

When Corey and I spoke again, he told me that Slim had indeed told him what happened and that he was sorry.  He shrugged it off like it was just a mistake; like spelling a word wrong or something.  Even Corey would come on to my sixteen year old daughter just a few short weeks later; and it was about that time I decided I didn’t care if I ever dated again.

I cannot count the times, nor even begin to tell you all the stories in which a boy, a teenage young man, and even a grown man have tried to manipulate or force me into doing something sexual with them that I didn’t want to do.

It seemed my whole life was this sort of game with boys and men, where they only wanted this one thing from me, and I use my evasive maneuvers and other tactics to try and avoid unpleasant conversations and/or situations.  There were a vast majority of them, it seemed, that felt entitled to something only I had the power to freely give.  They resented me when I did not.  Some took that resentment further, and made it clear they would just take it if I did not acquiesce.  A few did.

My mind flashed back to a day back in Lander, Wyoming where I was living at the time.  I had been out with a friend and we went back to her house where her husband was visiting with another guy who was there.  He was very attractive, but did not give me the time of day.  Not until much later that night, when he began to try and coax me, and then insist that I sleep with him.  In my immaturity and naivety, I gave in.  I laid there on the cold carpet of their living room, not exactly what you would call an enthusiastic participant in the event.  His attitude towards me was just as cold as the floor, as I lie there motionless, not making a sound.  There was no getting to know me first, no small talk, no kissing, no foreplay, and he doubtfully even knew my name.  I had already learned it wasn’t worth the fight, but I certainly didn’t have to give him any satisfaction.
“Don’t you move?”  He growled.
I said nothing, and continued to just lie there.  He finished his business and left.  The next day I went to a nearby lake with my friend and her husband.  He liked to race ice machines and some others would be there also.  And there was this guy who had coerced me the night before with another girl, actually dating her, and treating her the way he should have treated me.  It was hard not to wonder what was wrong with me, and why I didn’t deserve such treatment.  Was it because she was prettier than me?  It took years for me to understand it had very little to do with me, but rather, it was more about him.  It was more about his lack of respect for me, (and her-or women) and his thinking he could take advantage of an opportunity, and that I should not say no.

I had met men like him before.  In fact, my first husband was like that.  Never accepting no for and answer.  Often times, pulling my legs apart and forcing himself upon me as I struggled to get him off of me.  Never succeeding.

Or the marine I had met in California, who had offered to take me for a ride in his very cool car the first time I met him.
“They call me cheese.”  Darrell had said.  “Because my last name is Kraft.”   But instead of taking me for a ride, he took me straight to a place to park less than five minutes away. He began to question me as to where I lived and I told him, “Vista.”  That wasn’t a good enough answer.  “Where in Vista?”  He wanted to know.

I was immediately uncomfortable, so, I tried not to give him very direct answers.  While I never gave him an exact address, I did vaguely describe where I lived.  I told him I needed to get back to my friends.  He was a bit reluctant, but started the car up again and put it in gear.  I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Little did I know, the worst was not over.  Within a couple of weeks, he was pounding on my door and it was not a polite knock.  Sure, it started out that way; but I refused to answer.  How the hell did he find me???  I didn’t give him that much information.  Even if it wasn’t that hard to find the apartment complex, how did he know which apartment I was in??? He HAD to have followed me home!   

So, he then began to pound and yell.  Given that we lived in a small apartment complex, I was worried about him making a scene in front of the neighbors, so I finally let him in.  (I should have called the cops.)  My husband and I were separated, and now I wished that he were there.  He was also a Marine and out in the field anyway, so I couldn’t call him to come help me, even if I wanted to.   The guy came in and made a bit of small talk, but it was apparent what he wanted.  When he could tell that I wasn’t interested in what he wanted…let’s just say he wasn’t nice about it.  I was a tease and whatever else, even though I had never kissed the guy or given him anything to “tease” him with.  You can figure out the rest.  Afterwards, the asshole actually had the nerve to use my bathroom to clean up, and change his clothes before he left.  Thankfully, he never came back, but I worried for a very long time that he might.  I did see him again a few times; and had to relive in my mind the crap he put me through, as he would drive by with his friends smiling and laughing.  My husband and I reconciled for a short while, and I never told him what happened.  He would have killed him…maybe that would have been the best solution.  One dead asshole and the other in jail… 

There was the man I had met in my late thirties in Durango, and gone on a single date with.  He had hoped there would be more; but I knew I never wanted to see him again.  I’m sure he couldn’t fathom why.  Hmm…could it be the fact that he said he didn’t care if his wife cheated on him, as long as she let him watch?  He looked at me intently after saying it, so as to gauge my response.  Looking for some hint as to if I was “into that sort of thing” or not, no doubt.  I tried to look as unresponsive as possible.  After all, we were at least thirty miles from town so he could show off his ranch to me, and I still needed a ride back to my time share suite.  He was now divorced.  Gee, I wonder why!?!  I’m sure he thought that I should be impressed with his success, and therefore him.  The ranch was beautiful, no doubt.  But I was not for sale.

There are plenty of stories like this I could tell from my younger days and onward.  Sadly, I can also attest to the fact that this is something I believe many a young girl and woman has had to live through at least once in her life as well.  Many, many.

My mind races back to high school in Lander, Wyoming, when my best friend had been invited to a dance by a guy named Bobby.  He was sort of cute, I suppose; but his face was full of zits and pock marks and his blue eyes were framed by large blonde curls and thick glasses.  I personally found nothing about him attractive, but my friend did.  When she told me how he tried to rape her in his truck and she had to walk back to town from Mortimer Lane that night, I was even less impressed.  My heart went out to her as she told me what happened; and at the same time, I was secretly glad it wasn’t me.  Sadly, I think many women also experience this as well.

My mind then reflects on a night at Prime Time bar in Pueblo, Colorado, where a good friend divulged to me about how a gal she thought was her friend had actually SET HER UP to be raped by one of her guy friends.  She told her story with such confidence and bravery, I was impressed by her strength.

Sometimes, I think that men and their lust was actually why God flooded the earth.  Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but I can see a connection.  “And the Lord saw the wickedness of man was great in the earth and that every intention of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually.”

I had always wondered how bad it must be to be thinking about doing evil continually.  Like, all the time.  What could they be thinking about doing “continually?”  But then it occurred to me.  Men think about sex, ALL.THE.TIME.  We’ve all heard it before.  We’ve all witnessed it, and most of us women have experienced it.  They undress us with their eyes, imagine us naked, fantasize about us and having sex with us, and on it goes.  They go around saying they are just following their biological urges God gave them and how they were programmed to procreate.  How they “can’t help it.”  Yeah…it’s called self control.  Look into it.

There’s even an ancient writing from Mesopotamia (I believe it was, but don’t quote me on that.  It is an ancient writing though.) that talks about how humans were created by (gods, aliens, something like that) to be a slave race, for all intents and purposes.  And that these gods were annoyed that the humans were having sex like rabbits all the time, and hated all the noise they made while in the act, so they flooded the earth.

Sounds kind of familiar to me!  That could easily correspond to the story of Noah, in my humble opinion.  What’s more interesting, is that the Bible says that as in the days of Noah, so will the days of man be before the return of Christ.  Look at all the sexual perverseness openly going on now!  It’s practically being SHOVED down our throats by these heathens!

My mind races through all the men I had met in online dating sites, or even at work, and had sent me the infamous “d*ck pic” that I never asked for.  I was actually shocked every time; though I guess I should not have been.  This guy I worked with?  I asked him what he sent it to me for.  He said he thought he’d just send it to me to see what I would do.  I asked him if that really worked for him.  He said, “sometimes.”   Wow.  What woman can resists, huh?  Well, this one can.  I wrote back, “You should probably see a doctor about that.”

My mind then races to the many guys I thought had actually liked me, only to discover they were merely looking for a bootie call.  I got wise to them soon enough, too.  When they’d text me at midnight asking me what I was doing, I’d simply reply “I’m busy.”   Then not respond to any more of their texts.  If they texted me at two a.m. with “Hey, you up?”  I’d text back, “No.”  This really messed with some of them!  They would write back asking why I wrote back if I wasn’t up, and I wouldn’t respond.  Things like that.  The twisted part, is sometimes I actually felt like I was being mean, and had to remind myself that THEY were the ones being disrespectful jerks.

My mind goes round and round, and back & forth, between all the crummy experiences I had, and wonder what’s wrong with me.  (Because they really want you to believe it’s your fault.)  Part of me knew it wasn’t; but why all the jerks doing these ridiculous things to me?  Do I have a sign on my forehead that says “Be a jerk to me?”  But I remind myself that it really isn’t just me, and some of the stories friends had shared with me.    Then my mind goes back to time when one of my precious friends had her own story to tell.  Hers was far worse than mine.

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He was waiting for her in her room when she got out of the shower.  He was her older brother; but he did not have good intentions.  We were somewhere between the fourth and sixth grade in small town Kansas, when my friend came to me with this secret.  Her older brother was in high school.  She didn’t go into a lot of details about the struggle that ensued as he forced himself upon her; other than he tore her towel from her and threw her on her bed.  She did tell him, “This is wrong.”  Only to have him reply that he knew, “But it feels so good.”   I knew this was serious stuff, and had no clue what to do.  She made me swear I would never tell anyone that she and her brother had been having sex, and like the loyal friend I was, to this day, I never told her secret.

I don’t know what happened to Mercy. (Remember what I said before.  I change all names to protect the innocent; which in turn, unfortunately protects the guilty.)  I have often wondered what happened to her over the years.  What became of this incestuous situation.  What became of HER?  How much had this insidious attack  upon her affected her ability to maintain a modicum of normal life?

We moved to another state over a thousand miles away after she disclosed this information to me.   I never heard from her again. My attempts to find her with new technology have still been rather futile.  I think I know where she is, but I’m not sure.  In all honesty,  I don’t even know what I would say.

As long as I am being honest, which is what I strive to do in these blogs; I have to admit I could sort of relate and sympathize with my friend.  I was lucky that my brother would never even think to do such horrible thing to me, but there was a person very close to our family who did.

“Put it in your mouth.”  He had said, baring his tiny penis.  I had never seen one before, other than maybe my little brother’s at bath time when we were very little; so this whole interaction was baffling me.  He had taken me out into the field behind his parent’s house one day when we had gone over to visit.   I was only around 3 or 4 years old, and he was probably between 11 and 13.  He had excitedly told me that I should go with him and he had something really neat to show me.  So where is this neat thing he is going to show me?  I kept wondering.  All he has done is show me his pee pee, and I just want to know where this cool thing is. 

“No!”  I exclaimed.   “You’ll pee in my mouth!”    That’s what penises were for after all.  For peeing.  (As far as I knew.)   I was sure that he was trying to trick me somehow and wanted to pee in my mouth.  Why would he want to do that?Disgusting joke to play on ANYONE.  This is NOT funny at all.

“I won’t pee in your mouth.”  He said with a chuckle.  “Just put it in your mouth.”

The exchange went on with him begging me to do this, if even for just one second, and thank goodness I was “allowed” to say no.  He then switched tactics, asking me to just touch it.  The thing was ugly and the idea was gross.  Where is this cool thing he was going to show me?  This is not cool.  I feel scared and confused.

This, I was also in the process of refusing to do, when thank God, his mom yelled out, and called him inside.   I think maybe they saw what he was trying to do, but I was never sure.   I know I was afraid I was going to get into trouble.   In his defense, he was just a kid.  Yet, I am of the opinion he knew full well what he was doing; and I was far too young.  So I have a little trouble making much of a defense for him.  Of course, when I confronted him in later years, this whole incident was vehemently denied.

“I would never do such a thing!”  He had said.  Of course.   

Thankfully, nothing of real consequence actually happened.  I take comfort in that.  Yet, it still affected me.  What I don’t take comfort in is the sexual attack on young girls and women in general and it seems to have only gotten more twisted and perverse over the years.

I can’t tell you the number of times I have had a penis shoved in my face, in some form or another.  Unasked for, unsolicited, and unapologetically.  Most importantly though-unwanted by me.

As a child, there were several boys I encountered who somehow thought I needed to see their penis.  One of which was a little blonde boy I had met outside my grandmother’s home in the Denver area when I was about 4 or 5 years old.   He had offered to play house with me.  Oh, I LIKE playing house! 

Let me just tell you.  His idea of playing house, and mine were two TOTALLY different things!  He quickly pulled down his shorts and underwear, pulled up his shirt to bare his belly that still stuck out like a baby’s would; and told me I was to pull down my shorts and lie down.  I looked at his bare body from his knees to his shoulders.

“Why?”  I asked him, rather astonished.

“So I can lay on top of you.”

I ran back to grandma’s place.

Trust me.  I have no shortage of stories like this.  One time, my mom caught me and a neighbor boy in the dog house and he was in the process of trying to convince me I needed to remove my clothes.   He was a bit older than me, so this is far less forgivable.  I do believe there is a difference between a small boy who is merely curious about things and wanting to mimic what he has obviously seen his mom and dad do at some point.  But, my question is, why are so many little boys being allowed to see what their parents are doing?   Why are boys who are engaging in this type of behavior thought of as “cute” or looked at as a boy who is going to be a real “lady killer” when he grows up?

It only stands to reason that the more they engage in this type of behavior, and either get away with it or are not reprimanded for it,  (Which is again getting away with it.) they believe that this behavior is okay and continue with the behavior.  Most girls are raised to be good hostesses, mommies, etc., and to more importantly, be “nice.”   Combine with that the notion that sexual taboos are such a distasteful topic to discuss, a lot of young girls are victimized all the time, and just like me, rarely say anything about it.

Like I said though; there is a difference between two little curious kids, and an older person taking advantage of a younger one.  My next story is true.  I don’t think I will ever NOT remember it.  And this is a prime example of a much, much older person taking advantage of a younger one.  The most dangerous kind of predator of all, and his acts were far more egregious.

When I was in first or second grade we lived in Lakewood, Colorado and I went to Bear Creek Elementary School.  We had a male teacher named Mr. Ashcore (Not his actual name) and everybody loved him, because his class was fun.  A couple of days a week, we got to leave our “regularly scheduled programming” and go down the hall to his classroom, and he always had something exciting planned for us.  Viviane was his favorite, it was plain to see.  I call her Viviane because she reminds me of how Viviane Leigh must have looked when she was little.  Long, dark hair in ringlets with naturally red lips and rosy cheeks.  She was a cute as a Kewpie doll.  I imagine the red cheeks had a lot to do with how Mr. Ashcore would always tease her.  The rest of us kids would just laugh and laugh.

But one day I saw something that totally changed my opinion of Mr. Ashcore.  As we all sat on the floor in a group around him and he told us a story, he had allowed Viviane to sit on his lap.  He would do that sometimes, she was not always the only one.  (He would let several girls take turns sitting on his lap, and I later realized they were always wearing dresses.)  But usually, it was her; and this particular day I happened to see something that made my blood run cold.  I wasn’t very old, but I was old enough to know that what I was seeing was wrong.

Viviane was wearing a dress that day.  (Of course.)  She wore dresses a lot, actually.  I personally didn’t care for them, but that was just me. (Maybe that’s why I was never “special” enough to sit on his lap like some other girls, I have wondered.)  Of course, at that point, I had no desire to any longer.  For whatever reason, I happened to see Viviane’s white cotton panties were exposed and that Mr. Ashcore was running his first and second fingers along her labia over her panties very lightly.

I immediately looked up at Vivian’s face to see if she was actually ok with this.  She sat there almost beaming with all the attention she was getting; not just from Mr. Ashcore, but all the other kids who looked at her and her prized position upon his lap.  She appeared to have no clue.  I studied her face closely.  There was no indication at all that she knew what he was doing to her under that dress.  I knew this was serious stuff, and that even if I said something, no one would believe me.  Especially if Viviane didn’t even know.  I no longer liked Mr. Ashcore.

Flash forward to my early adolescent years and I was in the seventh grade and thought it would be cool to date and older boy.  He was a freshman, and 15 when we first met and attraction developed , but he had a birthday rather quickly and turned 16 and could drive.  I found that very cool.

Looking back, I can honestly say, that I don’t think my parents had any business letting me date a boy who was a freshman in high school when I was in the seventh grade.  I’m sure that they would just say I would have done it behind their backs if they had said no.  Maybe yes, maybe no.  Or maybe it was that he had us all believing he was a good, Christian guy.

Maybe he had good intentions, at least he professed to.  He  had even told me that even if I ever said yes to having sex, he wouldn’t do it; because I was too young.  Yeah…that never happened.  Not even once.  The first time I gave any indication I was willing to go along with it, he jumped on it.  (Or me, rather.)

So, there I was, just over a year later, and we have broken up, and I am now seeing a guy I completely adore.  But I was also scared to death.  I was in eight grade and he was in ninth.  We were much closer in age and much closer on a different level.  I was having very real feelings for him and he had never even pushed the issue of sex; but I also knew at some point it had to come up.  And what was I going to tell him?  I certainly couldn’t tell him I was saving my virginity.  I could not help but wonder if he had heard rumors I had been sexually intimate with my last boyfriend, even though I knew that I had not told anyone, I think people knew. (Or assumed, anyway.)  Would he expect the same thing from me?  What if I didn’t want to?  Would he be mad at me?  Would he resent me for sleeping with my last boyfriend but not wanting to jump into bed with him?  I really liked him a lot, but I didn’t want to be in another sexual relationship; at least, not quickly.  Would he be willing to wait?  I didn’t want to hurt his feelings or make him feel like I didn’t want him.  That wasn’t the case at all.  But I felt so dirty, confused, and ashamed. Not knowing how to talk to him about it, I did the only thing I knew how to do.  Avoid.  Run.  Emotionally, physically-in some aspects.  To this day I hate that things turned out the way they did with him and it still hurts my heart immensely.   Maybe he would have seen past all of the ugliness I had inside.  I just don’t know.

And this is the true tale that is as old as time.  I often wonder how any man can have a daughter and not be more concerned about how women are treated.  How they are ogled, and looked at as sexual objects, rather than actual people with thoughts and feelings.  While maybe not equal to a man on many levels, they should be valued just as much as they are.  It baffles my mind.   While I in no way advocate for a lot of the “equal rights” and feminist movement; I can certainly identify with some of their objectives, and for good reason.

I think many men actually DO want to protect their daughters-I know my dad did.  However, I am of the opinion that they go about it the wrong way.  They tell their daughters no and that they can’t date until they’re thirty and try to ward off boys who look like “bad news.”  That’s all well and good.  But even so called good boys are rather preoccupied by lust, cross the line, even if only “a little” thinking it’s ok, because it was “only a little,” and can do permanent damage to a young girls emotional state of mind.  I can’t understand why boys are not being raised to be GOOD MEN.  I just don’t get it.  It’s like they are allowed to be lewd and crude behind closed doors, as long as they APPEAR to be good guys on the surface; yet they know for a fact just how disrespectful towards women their counterparts can be, and go along with it.

Yes, there are good men out there.  Don’t get me wrong.  Thank God for them, and God bless them!  I am so grateful for the good guys I dated.  For that proof that not all men are like that, even though it may seem that way.  Yet they seem to be fewer and further between as the years go by.  And what concerns me most, is that even though a man may be a good guy who genuinely loves women, when they see or hear guys talk or act disrespectfully towards women?  They say nothing.  Nothing!  I’m sorry guys, but that is tacit agreement!  And it’s not okay.  Women can talk and try to teach a boy or man until they are blue in the face about respecting women and what that should look like, and most of the time, they will not listen.  They do not respect women, and therefore will not listen to them.  It takes a REAL MAN to raise and teach others to be a REAL MAN.

I think sometimes, men go along to get along.  Like, if they spoke up, they could get beat up by the so-called Alpha male/s or something like that. So they say nothing.  In that case, I would say that I think more of these so called Alpha males need to start standing up and speaking up about what’s right.  Because here’s the bottom line.  Any man who doesn’t really respect women?  Is a coward and is no man at all.  You are not the Alpha dog.  You are just dog.  And any dog can go around screwing anything that moves, humping pillows or fire hydrants.  A real man, is better than that.  And I think that’s what makes you act the way you do out of your own stupidity.  You don’t realize what an ass you are making of yourself.  But subconsciously, you know that we know you’re nothing.  So, instead of growing up and practicing some self control and establishing some real respect for yourself; (and others) you go around forcing false accolades that mean nothing.  It’s a vicious circle that never ends.  Because even though you have perceived conquest after perceived conquest, you never really feel like a man.  Not really.  Deep down, you know you’re not.  But you hate to look at that and have to admit that you had it all wrong.  How sad.  How truly sad.  Not just for you, but even more so for the poor girls and women who must endure your attempts to make you feel better about yourself.  You tear her down, apart, inside out, and make her feel just a crummy about herself as you do yours; and all she ever did was want to be liked by you.  You don’t even see how truly awful it is of you to do such a thing.  You think it’s funny, and something to laugh about with your friends in the locker room or at a party.  It’s not.  It’s not funny at all.

Child abduction and child pornography are becoming widespread across our nation, as are kidnapping of young adults-sex slavery, twisted/hard pornography, and all kinds of other perverted things.  Pornography with adults gets more violent and sick all the time.  I had a boyfriend once back in 2000, who showed me a video where men and women were naked and peeing in champagne glasses, and drinking it; and taking a dump on china and eating it.  I thought I was going to puke, while he and his friend somehow found humor in it.  I feel sick just recalling it.  (Obviously he and I broke up shortly after that.)  It’s getting really bad….just like the days of Noah, or even right before God rained fire and brimstone upon Gomorrah.

It all starts with a man thinking he is entitled to “get off,” despite how he may hurt someone else.  It begins with a lack of respect for women and seeing them as a means to an end, or a sex toy.  Not a person.  Or one that actually matters, anyway.  I sincerely hope that more men will begin to recognize how serious and pervasive this problem is, and start speaking up instead of giving tacit agreement.  Lives are being destroyed.  And for what?  An orgasm?  Really?

Men will spout that they believe women “like it,” especially when it comes to strippers and porn.  To that, I say hogwash!  Those few women that say they like it?  (And they ARE the minority of women.)  Are just playing your game.  They have been so bashed internally that they have no self respect left.  Their moral compass does not point due North, and they are not very capable of making healthy decisions.  They need to earn a paycheck, or they just so desperately want to be liked, that they say (and sometimes do) whatever they think they need to in order to get what they need.   This in no way means she DESERVES it.  It means she is broken and needs healing!

Can a woman like sex?  Of course!  This is not what I am talking about.  I am talking about women who allow themselves to be exploited.  There IS a difference.    And the damage can often be irreparable.   But no 8 year old girl says she wants to be a stripper or porn star when she grows up.   And no, she didn’t discover sex was just so awesome that she decided to no longer chase her childhood dreams.  Something was crushed inside her, and often times, it has been by a stupid boy or man.  Not always, but you get my drift.  She has “learned” that she is nothing by being told or treated poorly by people she has cared about; but she can get attention (substitution for love) that way, so she does it.  And yes, may even convince herself she likes it because she must justify her behavior somehow, and she does receive the attention she is looking for, after all.

I also think that despite the analytical side of me forcing myself to remember that it’s not about me, but these ignorant men, that’s part of why I put on so much weight (along with illness) and kept it on.  It has been to merely get men to leave me the hell alone.  At the age of forty, I had become sick and tired of it.  I did not want the attention or to keep playing games and practicing evasive maneuvers.  And this is not uncommon for women to do either, especially women who have been sexually abused.  They subconsciously know that men place a lot of value on how a woman looks, and let’s face it, a man prefers a woman who is thin.  She can be butt ugly, but if she has a body for sin, they don’t care.  (They call those girls “butter face.”  She has a great body, “butter face” needs help.)  I have spent enough time around men to know a few of these things.  It seems that as long as she ain’t fat, he’s more interested in her than the “fat girl” any day.  They say they care about personality, but that well, “looks are important to a man” so, they justify it by saying their shallowness is biological and they can’t help that either.  In fact, not much of anything is their fault.  So much of what is valued in our world, is based purely on a man’s point of view.

This feeds the vicious cycle.  It is destroying our children and our families and ultimately our country.  It really needs to stop, and men need to start raising their boys to be men.

I realize now that this is Mother’s Day.  And I think, this is a rather…difficult…topic to discuss on such a day.  But, what better gift to give a mother than to treat her and her daughters with dignity and respect?   Not just one day a year, but every day of the year.

Like I said before, while I by no means support the “equal rights” or feminist movement on many levels, I do understand where they are coming from.  I am baffled by men who get uptight and resistant to supporting women in their struggle for dignity and respect.  They spew the word “feminism” from their mouths with venom, as if someone gave them poison to drink.  It’s as if to say, “how dare you!”

Yes, there are many things a man can do that a woman cannot, and vice versa.  I do not believe we are equal, and it’s supposed to be that way-for good reason.  However, I think this equality movement is just like anything else that is being advocated for in these times.  It has been taken to extremes.  Yet, the core of this is a very real issue that is being scoffed at all too often.  They throw the baby out with the bath water and move on, talking about how “those women” are just crazy, or worse.  And to these men, I can only say this.  It’s your own damn fault.  If you truly believe that men should “be the head” and things of this nature, then you should have taken care of the women like you were supposed to.  Instead, you have snuck around in the dark, (or even broad daylight) impregnated us and left us to raise children alone, often times with no financial support to boot-because you equate giving money to a woman as an entitlement to sleep with her; and if you can’t sleep with her anymore, you think you shouldn’t have to give her anything-especially money!  Then to add insult to injury, you don’t want to pay her for doing the same work a man does, when she is trying to raise a family by herself?  You think a man should make more because he has a family to support.  Well, what is the single mother trying to do?  How does THAT work?  And it’s not ok to assume she deserves it.  To assume she should not have married a man who ended up beating her and/or cheating on her and leaving her with children to raise alone.  No woman deserves this!  (And we already know that boys growing up without fathers has had a profound effect on our society.)

Songs with lyrics that say, “If her daddy’s rich, take her out for a meal; if her daddy’s poor, then do what you will.  You got women, you got women on your mind.”  It’s such a catchy little tune, the message in it must be overlooked, right??  This not only reduces women to sex dolls, but implies it’s ok to treat poor women even worse!  And don’t even get me started on the misogynist rap music flooding the airwaves!  The crap rolls downhill like lava from a volcano, destroying and burning up everything in it’s path with no mercy.  Leaving nothing but hard, cold stone that will cut you if you aren’t careful; and it serves no real purpose.  It never ends.  Some dude even had the nerve to suggest in his “oh so infinite wisdom,” that women suffer from penis envy.  I had to laugh at that the first time I heard that one!  I believe this is in fact, their own fascination with the penis, and their envy of other males that they have projected onto women.  I am not inclined to think that (most) women actually envy men having a penis at all; but rather what having one represents.  The respect, the power to own and control your own life, to be listened to and taken seriously…the list goes on. To take this one step further, I think if any gender envies the other, men envy and may even resent a woman’s ability to create, nurture, and give life.  Leading a great many of them to become destructive in their hearts towards women and life in general.  They resent our very ability to see right through them so often times, and our ability to discern things much more adeptly on a spiritual basis.  Thus attacking our very intuitions and doing anything and everything possible to get us to stop trusting our own intuition and inner knowledge.

I don’t wish to seem like I am male-bashing.  (Though I am sure I will be accused of that by those with less character and insight to recognize whether or not I am actually speaking to them.)  If it don’t apply, let it fly.  But remember-you can always help, even if you aren’t guilty of being a contributor to the problem, and the help is much needed.  More men really need to step up against the destruction of our divinely created women who give and nurture our families.

There are many men I love dearly and are good men.  I do like many things about men as well.  I like the deep voices, and they way they smell.  (Most of the time.)  I like that they are so strong and many, many other things.  It reminds me of a poem I once read.  I don’t know who wrote it, or I would give credit.  But it goes like this.

I like men.
They stride about.
They reach in their pockets,
And pull things out.
They look important,
And rock on their toes.
They lose all the buttons
Off of their clothes.
They throw away things,
Then find them again.
Men are strange creatures.
I like men.

I always smile when I think of this poem.  I think it was obviously written by a woman who could see them as they often truly are, and possibly may not wish to be discovered.  Yet, there are so many things about men that we women see, and can appreciate, as demonstrated in this poem.  There are also, unfortunately, many things that still need work.

Many boys and men like to focus on Biblical principals and scripture to assume as position that is…not so much that they are superior to us…but that we are just a little bit inferior.  It’s not that we are weak, just weaker.  (And translated weak.)  Yet there is no contemplation of the true strength many women actually possess.  It’s much like the submissive in a S&M situation-since we are talking about sex.  It is the submissive who actually has the power, because they can make it stop at any time.  I think many an abusive male knows this, and resents that too.

It has been shown that women endure extreme pain during child birth that men could not handle.  Women endure innumerable hardships and are societally forced to be far more moral than men; and practice more self control.  This is a true testament to their real strength.  Yet, to many a man, the definition of strength often lies in their own muscles.

While scripture says that women should submit to their husbands, it also says that we should all submit to each other, not finding ourselves better than anyone.  The Bible goes on to say that men are to love their wives as Christ loved the church.  Yet, so many men somehow forget to acknowledge that Christ lived a life of purity, and then gave his very life for her.

I would also like to point out that the Bible goes even further to say that men should respect their wives, so that their prayers may be heard.  WHAT?!  Yes, it’s there!  Look it up.   It is so paramount to our heavenly Father, that if you want your prayers to even be heard, you are to respect your wives.  i.e. women, as most of us become wives.  Do you think this could possibly be because woman was created to be the spiritual aspect of God in the flesh?  Therefore, as she is spirit incarnate, in order to be heard by God spiritually, you must recognize and respect the spirituality she represents?   I do!  The woman was, and is divine.  She is the spiritual connection between man and God.  The spirit of God (or holy spirit) not only comforts, but provides us with a list of attributes that include the ability to communicate with him on a spiritual level, (could that include prayer?) teach us, and cleanse us.  The spirit is what connects us to God.  Yet we live in a physical world, and it is the man, or the physical aspect of God who is meant to protect that.  To provide the vessel, the physical needs, and things of that nature.  He is the head.  But that doesn’t mean “boss” when you really look at it the way I believe God intended.  (In my humble opinion.)

Yet, as I said before, I fear this will fall on deaf ears to many a man.  I believe that men can rise up to their true calling of God, if only….if only they would begin to raise up women to theirs, and protect that.  If you think about it, Adam was perfect when he was created.  He also had a perfect relationship with God.  So what did he need Eve for?  When God said it was not good for him to be alone, it wasn’t because he was lonely, or needed help tilling the garden.  It certainly wasn’t because he needed a maid, or a cook.  No, God’s purposes have always been far more important than that.  God put woman on the earth for man because he needed a mirror to reflect back to him who he was.  When you research this fuller, you will come to understand it.  She was meant to tell him the cold hard truth he could not or would not see; and he was meant to listen to her. (Not the other way around, as it often is.)  Not because it’s her job to boss him around, but to help be a spiritual guide to him out of love.  After all, she represents the feminine, or spiritual nature of God.  I truly believe that if and when this happens, the world and it’s people can truly begin to heal itself.

One thought on “The Destruction of Divine Woman and the Family

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