When I was four-years-old, my cousin started training me to be a sex slave.
His name is Douglas LeMasurier.
And he ruined my life before I even had a chance to live it.
My very first memory is of me sitting in the big, black wheelie chair in the computer room of my grandma’s house, pressed up against the back of it as Douglas leaned over me, licking my chest while moaning, before looking up at me and asking me “Do you like it?”
Having no idea of what was really happening to me, I giggled and replied with “It tickles!”
Douglas smiled a smile that would one day haunt my dreams, and make me constantly wonder If I hadn’t sounded so pleased back then by what he was doing to me, would he have just stopped there?
Douglas eventually came up with a name for what he was doing to me. He said it was a game called “Practice Sex.” There were very simple yet strict rules to playing this game.
1- Never make loud noises, because adults would just come in and ruin all of the “fun.”
2- Never say a word, unless answering to a question and/or command.
3- Only move when told to move. (This rule was removed after about a year when Douglas felt that he had “trained” me well enough to for me to be able to pleasure him without receiving direct orders.)
And finally, and most importantly, 4- Don’t talk to anyone, especially adults, about the game except the certain people that he selected.
At first, I liked this game. I thought it was fun to play, keeping secrets from everyone and sneaking about was very fun to me, especially since I didn’t have many friends at the time, and the very few I had never came over, so the only one I really had to play with that was around my age was Douglas.
Though, as time went on, Douglas got more and more strict about the rules and started to get angry at me very easily and would yell at me constantly. It eventually became very normal for Douglas to beat at me, slam me against all different kinds of hard objects like walls and furniture, lock me up in cabinets and toy boxes and closets with the lights off for multiple hours, and to force me to play Practice Sex with him. He was no longer gentle with me most of the time, but very rough and painful. I started to hate playing the game, but if I didn’t play it with him he would beat me. I was terrified of him.
I wanted so badly to tell my dad or my grandma or my best friend Kiara about the things Douglas was doing to me, but the thought of what he will continue doing to me wasn’t nearly as horrifying to think about then what he would do to me after he found out I told someone else everything.
After a while, I started to see weird things and had nightmares almost every night, but, just like with Douglas, I was too scared to tell anyone about them. I worked hard to try and ignore these things - often something like a dead body mangled on top of a car or my teacher burning alive while she was teaching us - and never told anyone, not even Kiara, about them. I later found out that these were the beginnings of Schizophrenia, possibly triggered so early by Douglas.
But if I thought he was scary back then, I didn’t realize how demonic he could be when he decided to invite our younger cousin, Jerry, into our game. At first, he just made him watch while explaining what he was doing to me to him. I felt like a test subject, a frog to be dissected amongst a freshman science class. After a while of Jerry just watching, Douglas suggested Jerry to try to practice on me.
When Jerry said he didn’t want to do it, Douglas started yelling at him and slammed his head against the corner of my dad’s end table. Jerry’s head started bleeding and he starting wailing and screaming very loudly, breaking the first rule to Practice Sex. Douglas tried to get him to calm down by screaming at him to shut up, but it was too late. Within a few moments, Jerry’s dad and my dad had run into the room. Douglas made up a lie that Jerry had simply fallen off the bed and hit his head and forced us to go along with it. Later that day, he had punished us by forcing the two of us to drink the adult’s beer that he snuck out of the fridge.
I remember distinctly the horrible, bitter taste that filled my mouth and left a disgusting after taste in the back of my throat. I begged him to not make me drink the whole can, but he threatened that if I didn’t drink all of it that he would beat the living hell out of me. I drank it.
Even though Jerry didn’t seem to hate it that much, I dreaded every second that I even saw or smelled alcohol after that, and Douglas seemed to find some sort of pleasure out of seeing my face cringe in disgust every time he forced me to drink the alcohol. He did it more and more, to the point to by the age of six I didn’t care about getting hurt any more. I took the beatings, I locked myself up in my toy box for hours on end, I endured the dreadful games of Practice Sex, just so that I wouldn’t have to drink anymore of that forbidden liquid. And to this day, I still will do anything to never drink alcohol ever again. No beer, no wine, no vodka, no tequila, no martinis -- I won’t even drink spiked eggnog during Christmas time. Never again will I drink that noxious poison.
When I started to get used to the pain, not even reacting when he punched me or slammed me against the wall half the time, Douglas had to find a new way to hurt me, to scare me, to punish me. So he decided to invite his friends into our game. And his friends were nothing like Jerry -- they participated from the very beginning, and they had as much excitement and control as Douglas did.
The worst thing wasn't just that I had sometimes three or four guys on me at once, but that I had to please all of them at the same time and pretend that I liked it, even though it tore me down to my very core and made me feel weak and fragile. Luckily though, we weren't able to all be alone at once most of the time, and typically it just happened at my elementary school.
My second grade year, Douglas realized that the teachers barely payed attention to the kids in detention, which made it the perfect place for Douglas, his friends, and I to be able to meet up during school and have them force me to put on a show for them. He forced me to cuss and act out in class so that I would be sent to dentition, where he and/or his friends would be waiting for me.
Typically they would just masturbate as I unzipped my pants and flashed them my private parts, since it was easy to quickly cover up everything whenever a teacher walked by, but sometimes, when there were even less teachers then usual, they would hand me some practical school object and tell me to 'play with it.' I can't tell you how many times I gave a blow-job to a pencil before I even learned how to divide.
My dad and step-mom had their suspicions about Douglas -- though didn't realize how bad it was -- so I always suspected that one of the reasons they transferred me to a different elementary school my third grade year was because of Douglas. My fourth grade year we moved to another town and we barely ever saw each other after that, especially after his mom and Jerry's mom got into a big fight just before my grandpa and grandma died when I was in sixth grade.
It wasn't until I was in ninth grade that I would finally see Douglas again, the first time since my grandma's funeral, even though his mom and Jerry's mom had finally forgiven each other for a little over a year. At first I thought everything was going to be okay, that what Douglas did to me was simply just a phase he went through as a child -- he was only eight years when it started, after all -- but I was wrong.
He pulled me away from everyone else and told me to show him my boobs. Automatically, without even thinking about it, I flashed him. It was such a natural reaction to me, a simple gesture that I was told to do over and over again as a child, that even though I didn't want to do it, I couldn't stop myself.
Douglas's face seemed to morph, turning into the monstrous face he would always show Jerry and I when he was about to do something horrible to us. He stepped closer and closer to me, his breath coming out heavy. He caressed my breast with his cold hands, sending a shiver through every nerve in my body, and then leaned down to suck on my nipple. And then something miraculous happened, right before his hideous lips touched my bare skin.
I pushed him away.
For the first time in my entire life, I had resisted Douglas's actions. And I did it strongly.
Douglas stumbled backwards, looking at me in confusion, as I pulled down my shirt and bra before walking back into the room where everyone else was.
I felt so powerful, like I could take over the world if I wanted to.
For the first time, I didn't consider myself a victim.
I was a survivor.
And I still am.
I shared this story with all of you because I'm tired of hiding it.
My dad and I got interviewed for over an hour by Child Protective Services (CPS) a few months after I fought back against Douglas, and all they did was give me a teddy bear.
They never contacted us afterwards despite their promises to, and we ended having to learn from my therapist that CPS had dropped my case.
They never even brought Douglas to a judge.
And if CPS isn't going to do something, then I am.
Age as of 2013: 20-years-old
Birth Month: December
Natural Hair Color: Dark brown, so dark that it can be confused for black.
Natural Eye Color: Dark brown
Alternate Name(s) He May Go By: Douglas Bryant
Last Known Town: Arlington, Texas (He was born and raised there, so he is most likely still there)
Family's Names: Mother-- Jean-Marie Bryant; Step-Father-- Richard Bryant; Younger Half-Brother-- Charlie Bryant
Known History: Went to South Davis Elementary School, was often dropped off at Children's Courtyard (a daycare facility in Arlington), Went off to train in the army soon after graduating high school, but was sent back due to "childish behavior"