So I'm finally doing it. I'm going to make an entry that confronts one of my worst demons: when I was willingly being molested by my dad because I had enjoyed it. This was something I had struggled with a great deal before I even realized because I felt overwhelmed with guilt for liking my father molesting me, but I’ve overcome it enough to write about it. I was also admittedly fearful about posting this before of people interpreting my words as me looking back on it fondly or applying blame to me as I have for it being consensual, but people can make whatever they will of this. I’m beyond caring now, so here it goes…

If you've read my entry recounting the very first time my dad gave me oral sex, you'll get an idea of all the conflicted feelings I had from the physical pleasure and the mental distress I had simultaneously felt. I would still go on to feel conflicted over the years, but regrettably, by the third time or so he did it to me, the pleasure had overridden the distress. The inner conflict was still present, but it became a guilty pleasure for me, which I'll elaborate on later. When it would happen though, I would always just live in the moment and enjoy it.

Every week, my dad would find an opportunity where he could have me alone. When he did, he’d always initiate it by telling me to lower whatever bottoms I was wearing and get into a certain position. I always knew what that meant. I wouldn't say a word and just did as he said. He usually had me sit on the furniture for him, be it on one of the sofas or one of the chairs. Sometimes he'd have me stand while doing it, I guess whenever he didn't feel like kneeling down. But whenever he'd have me get ready for him, he usually just went right to it. Sometimes he'd kiss and lick the inside of my thighs before proceeding to my vagina, but he didn't start giving the rest of my body a whole lot of attention until I was a teenager.

Whenever he would start, I would just lay back and enjoy every moment. I still vividly remember my child and preteen self moaning, leaning my head back with my eyes closed and letting my body react to the intense feelings of physical pleasure I would always experience. Sometimes my dad would stop for a moment to ask me how it felt and I would always answer with enthusiasm, telling him how good it felt. But he’d usually just stay focused on what he was doing. I’d occasionally look down at him and he’d always either have his eyes closed or just be looking at where his mouth was. His hands would usually just be on my legs or waist holding me in place for when my body would tremble and writhe around. I had an orgasm every time. Each time I did, I would always get a feeling of contentment. I loved how good it made me feel. I’d feel happy, satisfied and very relaxed afterward.

After making me cum, my dad would usually just pull my bottoms back up for me then sit with me and hug me until I settled down. Then it was just right back to normal. If we were in the living room, I’d go back to watching TV. Sometimes I would feel tired afterwards so I would take a nap and sleep soundly. It became a normal routine for us. Whenever the opportunity arose, he would just get to it and once it was done, it was just back to our lives. We didn’t really talk about it outside of when he’d molest me. It was always directly before, during, or directly after. One thing my dad liked telling me periodically was that this was his way of showing how much he loved me, by making me feel good in the best way. The way he said it was like making it seem it was normal, that other fathers are doing this to their daughters.

While I always agreed that what he would do was the best feeling I ever experienced, I never believed it when he’d tell me this was some sort of affectionate thing. I believed he believed it and he could very well have! But I knew our relationship was not normal at all. Of course it wasn’t. In no world is it normal for a child to be sexually active as young as 8 years old! But before I even had any knowledge of what “sexually active” even was, I knew it couldn’t be right at my age. Sure it felt amazing, but sometimes, I would feel disgusting after it was done. After all, my own dad was licking my private parts. When I would really think about it, it just grossed me out. In turn, I felt gross for letting him do it and for enjoying it! I would also think something along the lines of “It feels good, so I don’t care.” I would just kid myself with that though.

I did care. I cared very much. No matter how much I enjoyed it and for how many years I did, the thought of how wrong it was always lingered in the back of my mind. That eventually manifested itself in the overwhelming guilt and shame I would feel at age 13 and onward once the gravity of how wrong it was finally hit me. Whenever it would happen though, any reservations I had would be forgotten the moment my dad would tell me to take my bottoms off. I’d eagerly take them off and spread my legs for him even if I might’ve been reflecting on how sick this was a moment ago. I was seduced. Despite knowing it was wrong, it just felt so good. My sexuality was fully awakened. I couldn’t help but yearn for the feelings of sexual pleasure and I hated that I did.

I never wanted it so much that I would initiate the molestation. I didn’t need to because he was doing it to me once a week, sometimes more. I can’t remember ever wanting him to do it to me. Like thinking “Oh, mom’s gone. I hope he makes me feel good again today.” I could have thought something like that, but if I ever did, I really don’t remember. But speaking of my mom, I was complacent in keeping it a secret from her, obviously. My dad told me what we had was something private and disclosed that he does it to my mom too and because she doesn’t ever tell me, I can’t tell her. I can’t remember what I made of that - if I believed it or not. I must’ve not paid it a whole lot of thought. What I did believe was that it would stop if I did tell her or anyone and I never wanted it to stop.

For over five years, my dad molesting me was a consensual act that I very much enjoyed. Very regrettably so now. Even after I understood that I was a child who was taken advantage of by a grown adult who knew better, I still hated myself for enjoying it. I’d feel more anger toward myself for it than towards my dad, even. If I could go back and be the one to walk in on my own molestation, I’d want to hurt my child self before my dad. Thanks to therapy, however, I’ve now come to terms with it. I thought this entry would have been hard to write about, but it was easier than I expected. A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have been able to. I actually tried making an entry about this on more than occasion but didn’t have it in me. I’m a lot stronger now and have finally done it. I feel better now that I have.