Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site

Life Goes On- True Stories

Miscellaneous By: SilverTonguette
Non-fiction



These are true.


Submitted:Dec 13, 2012    Reads: 409    Comments: 2    Likes: 2   


Hello, my name is Samantha Davis. I was born August 17, 1995, in the Mercy Health Partners Emergancy Hospital. I am the daughter of Eugenia "Davis" Riggs and James Riggs. I am my mother's youngest daughter, and my father's oldest kid. I have two sisters, Desiress and Erica. Skylor is my younger brother. I am from a small town in Western Michigan.

While, we don't know each other, I'd like you to know me. This my story, or what I can remember of it....

Beginning with my first memory.

Standing their in the woods, two or three other girls with me as we look at this teen in front of us. He said he wanted to show us something so we followed him, wanting to seem brave and cool. We were excited until we stopped somewhere in the woods, a clearing of sorts. We couldn't really see what was so cool about the spot until he whipped out his penis and said, "Suck it, or going to hurt you."

None of knew what to do. The other girls shrank away and I stood in front of them, the second oldest, so it was my job to protect them. I must protect them! I thought to myself. I didn't want the girls to get hurt so I ventured up to the kid. I looked at him, but I don't remember his face. All I remember thinking that I had to protect these girls from him. I was older, so it was my job!

I almost touched his penis with my lips before I stopped and screamed, "Run!" The girls took my warning and we sprinted away. The kid was zipping up his pants, but we kept running as far as we could get. We jumped over the swamp that separated us from freedom. I helped a girl, bringing up the rear as we ran. Everybody was crying, but I knew I had to keep a clear head if I were to get us to an adult.

We finally escaped the woods, with no sign of the kid behind us. I signed in relief but we still ran until we came upon one of our mothers. She stopped the car and rolled the window down. "What's happened?" And thus, our story began, recounting the tale, each interjecting what was missed, or correcting what was wrong.

The mother was infuriated for it was her kid who had scarred us girls for life. She told us all to go home, me to my house, and the other's to their's. We did as were told.

As you can tell, not the best memory a kid wishes to have as their first. I wish I could pick and chose my first memory, because I'd chose one of my family's Chistmas. Saddly though, humans were not gifted with that ability, but one day soon, science will find away to erase and change memories. Maybe I'll change mine, maybe I wont. We'll see.

This second story is one not unlike the first. My life has been a series of ups and downs, hatred and love, sorrow and happiness, good versus evil. I manage to paste a smile on my face and mean it in the mornings, because this my life, and I though I dont' love it most of the time, it's the only I have, and there are a lot of good times in my life that cancel out the bad.

Maybe I'll tell you the happiest moment in my life at the end to lift your spirits.

Lets begin with story number two, huh? I'll combine two short stories to make it easier for you.

I knock the front door of my friend's house. I man opens it and I ask if she is home. The guy says, "No, she's not, but I have some popcicles if you'd like one." I think about it, in the childish sort of way. I think, Mom said to come home if she isn't home. Mom wouldn't know if I stayed a little and waited for her, would she? So, with that reasoning, I looked up at the man.

"Sure, I'll have a popcicle." I walked into the house, feeling quite proud of myself. I had made a decion and it seemed really smart at the time. The man got me a popcicle and sat my on his lap and began to bounce his knee. I sucked onthe popcicle as he asked me questions, none of which I remember. All I remember is his penis growing harder with each bounce.

Even at such a young age, I knew there was something terrible wrong with what was going on. I painfully gulped down the popcicle and said, "My mom is probably wondering where I am. I should go."

The man said, "Are you sure you don't want another." I nodded and he put me down. I ran home and didn't tell a soul.

This story is at my mother's wedding.

I was holding hands with my mom's step-brother, dancing in my pretty white flower girl dress, having a ball. He picked me up and bounced me on his hip. Everybody was having fun.

He had to leave to smoke a cigarette, so us girls danced with ourselves. My dad, or uncle, came over to me and brought me into the bar. I sat on the counter and handed people their "red-solo-cups" of beer and laughed at my dad's jokes. It was his wedding too, but he was serving the intoxicated people. I felt like such a big girl...

Suddenly, my dad picked me up and shoved me in a doorless cuboard and said, "Be quiet!" I didn't say a word. Even as the seconds ticked to minutes. I couldn't have in there for more than two minutes but it felt like hours to my board little eight year old mind.

"Dad-" I whined, only to be cut off by a sharp, Shush!!!! So, I assumed the role of meek little cuboard mouse and waited. Finally, I wsa allowed free and danced with the girls. It took until I was about thirteen for my dad to tell me that my mother's step-brother had walked off the dance floor trying to hide a raging boner.

Three separate stories. All with a few things in common; me, penis's, men I thought were sweet, and childhood innnocence. Of course this isn't the end of the tales. There is two more like the three you just read. Yes, two more stories of boys being me to my innocence. And then, the worst story of them all. The reason I am typing these out after tweleve or more years. It is probably the reason why God has given me this gift of words.

Yes, I believe in God, even after this all. I believe in God and I believe in his son Jesus. It is NOT their fault that bad things happen to children and good people. Many people have bad things happen to them and lose their faith. I found my faith befor and after these incidents and I will not lose it because of further hate.

I sit ona church van, with his kid I have crush on, though I am younge. I don't know what love is, I don't know much about hate. I just know that I love going to church and this kid, Kim, is so sweet and cute. He smiles at me, and whispers, "Will you be my girlfriend?"

I say, "Yes, I will." He smiles still, the lips staying the same. He leans in again and places his arm around my shoulders and puts his lips to my ear.

"You know what you have to do now?" I say no. He says, "Let me show you, don't make a sound though." I don't say anything, even as his hand snakes down my back side and under my painties. I don't whimper as he begins to play wiith me. Not a word escapes my lips and he delves his fingers in.

I am afraid. More afriad than the other times. I begin t shake and don't say anything. The van stops at my house and Kim smiles at me. "Shush. Don't say anything." And I don't. I jump off the van and race inside my house, my sacuary. Nobody askes, "How was church?" And I am relieved as I hold my dirty secret inside.

That's that story. After this story is a particularlly grousome one. I warn you now, that you may not like it. But before I tell that one, I have another, more recent one. I'm not a afraid to share this one. This one happened at a friends house, with another guy I thought I liked. His name is Cody. They call him Number Four.

I lean against this guy, watching a movie with my friend and her boyfriend, also named Cody, but they call him Number Three. The movie wasn't really interesting, but I was relaxed, until Cody, Number Four, snaked his around around me and started to sneak his fingers under my panties.

My only thought is Um, no. So I cross my legs, afraid to embarrass him. Afraid everybody will laugh it off. He doesn't take the hint so I bring to his attention, saying stop. He doesn't heard, my I suppose and sneaks furtherin. I hunch my legs up and cross them.

That pushes his fingers out, but he doesn't take the hint again. He forces his hands down and I think I'm glad I haven't shaved in a week. Apparently that makes no difference to him. As he can only get my lips, he stopped and jump up. "I'm going home!" I annouce loudly and goes outside. I wait until Number Four comes in and tell my friends what he did.

"Why didn't you say something?" My best-friend asked.

"I did! I even crossed my legs!" After an argument I go home and call up my boyfriend and cry to him on the phone. I then proceed to the shower, turing the water on hot and scrub my self silly, till I'm blood red, and I shave everything.

Think that's bad? You think, How can it get any worse than this?! Trust me, it can get way worse than this. Are you ready? If you aren't, stop reading and drop my profile a comment.

As you read this, remember, these are true stories that happened to me. A lot of people I call my best friends don't know any of this. But you will.

It's easier to tell stangers isn't it?

"Let's play hide-and-go-seek!" he shouts. "Sam, you're my partener."

"But I want to hide." I reject, knowing what's going to happen. I put on jeans, anticpating what was going to happen at his house, while he 'babysat' me and my siblings.

"You will next time." He says. "Everybody go hide!" I watch in horror as they hide, not knowing what is about to fall upon me. I look at him and he has the sick smile on his hideous face. He sits down on the couch and unzips his pants. He puts something on his penis as he pulls his penis out.

He undoes my pants and slides it in. This is wrong! This isn't right! I begin to cry. He tried to shush me, but I can't stop. I cry and cry until he quites. We play somemore, with me always being his partener, always repeating the horrific act over and over and over. Multiple times a night and month.

He always said it was secret. He always did everything the same way. Penis. Lub. Pants off. Penis inside. Over and over. Then a bath, with him watching and washing my legs. It always stung and I always cried, unknowing what will happen if I told. I was always afriad.

Though there wasn't much description, I'm sure the image is real enough in your mind. I'm sure you don't need details. Do I want to hurt him? You have no idea. Do I want revenage? More than you'll ever know. Do I wish it didn't happen? No, I don't wish that. This next story will tell you why.

I sit my friend's bookshelf covered in food, holding my "Obama Phone" in my hand. I send a text, 'Gotta to go play a game with them. Bye.'

'Do u have time for a question?' is the reply.

'Sure.' I text back and wait. And wait. And wait some more. My phone vibrates and I close my eyes, pressing the button.

I open my eyes. 'Will you go out with me?'

Can you guess my answer? It was yes. Oh my God, it was yes! That was three years ago January 8, 2012. I'm still in love with him, and he with me. I wouldn't be who I am today without those moments. I wouldn't be the girl that the best boyfriend in the world is with. He wouldn't be inlove with me, I'd be a foreign landscape to him, uncharted territory.

I wouldn't have a reason a to smile in the mornings or a reason to laugh at funny chokes. I wouldn't have a reason to be healthy and stay in school with good grades. I wouldn't want to better my life if it weren't for him. If it weren't for those things.

I wouldn't be tell you that if you were raped or molested, that you need to tell somebody before it's too late. It was for me and my rapist is walking the streets. If those things didn't happen to me, I wouldn't be trying to reach out, I wouldn't be writting this, saying it's time to do something about what happened.

LIFE GOES ON, but for it to go on, you need to tell somebody who can help you. Do it today. If not for yourself, for your kids, so you can tell them, "I got help." And the word will spread.

Help me spread the word to get help if somebody was raped or molested. This is my true story, what's yours?





2

| Email this story Email this Miscellaneous | Add to reading list



Reviews

About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.