CB's story
I was 13 when I went to the minister and said I wanted to get confirmed. He told me I'd have to attend confirmation classes with all the others who were getting confirmed that year (about 15 or 20 of us). The classes were every week, from March until the end of September. Sometime during that year, he told me that I was his favourite kid in the class. That made me feel really special. I was starting to doubt that I was likeable, because I'd never had a boyfriend, and most of my friends were talking about theirs.
Through that year and the next, I got really involved in church stuff. It seemed that that was the place where I would be accepted, and where I could use my musical abilities. I sang in the choir, and played clarinet in the church band, went to youth group and bible studies and morning and evening church. During this time, I got to know the minister better, and I hero worshipped him. He seemed so assured in his faith, and I thought that he was close to god. He was always very affectionate with the girls in the youth group, and would hug them, especially when greeting them or saying goodbye.
Late that year, just before I turned 15, I went to church one evening and he wasn't there. The assistant was taking the service. Somehow it seemed different and I felt a bit empty, as if something was missing. I found out from the assistant that the minister was up at the rectory, so I went there to talk to him. He was in the garage doing some work, so i went in and sat down and talked to him while he worked. I felt really important and grown-up because I was having a conversation with a man 30 years older than me and he was listening to me.
While we were talking I saw people leaving the church to go home, and eventually even the assistant had locked up and gone. Soon after that I knew that my parents would be waiting for me in the carpark, so I got up to go. I went across to him to hug him goodbye. When I looked up at him to speak, he kissed me and squeezed my breast. He kept kissing me until I broke away and said I had to go home. As I walked out to meet dad in the car, my mouth felt all funny, and I wondered if dad would be able to tell if I'd just been kissed.
During that week, I wondered if it would happen again, so I formulated a list of questions to ask him, to provide an excuse to stay back after church until everyone else had gone. I let everyone else who wanted to see him go first, by saying I had several questions to ask. In the end, I was asking him the questions, and by the time I'd finished, everyone else had left. When I went to hug him he kissed me again, and then he taught me to rub his (erect) penis through his trousers.
After that I thought that he must be my boyfriend, and that we had a relationship. I knew I couldn't talk about it because he was married, but I thought he would get a divorce and marry me. I thought if he was doing that with me that he must love me, and therefore didn't love his wife any more.
The next time, he showed me how to get his penis out from in his trousers, and how to rub my hands up and down it. I don't remember exactly which weeks these were. My recollection is that we got together most weeks after church, when everyone else had left. Of course there were some weeks it didn't happen, but I don't remember the frequency.
It would have been only a couple of times later, while we were kissing and I was fondling him, that he said "kiss me". I didn't understand, because I was kissing him. Then he said "kiss my penis", so I knelt down and kissed the tip, and he said, "no, put it in your mouth". I did, and then he thrust himself right in. I had to try not to gag, and I tried to move my head away, but he had his hands on the back of my head and he started thrusting in and out of my mouth. I didn't like it, but I was afraid to tell him to stop in case he didn't like me any more.
From then on, that was the pattern most times we got together. Occasionally there were times when we snatched a few moments alone when there were other people nearby but not in the same room, and then we just kissed and fondled each other through our clothes. Once his wife walked in and nearly caught us. I was really embarrassed, but she didn't seem to notice anything. Another time, after church one Sunday, my mother got tired of waiting in the carpark and came looking for me. He went into the bathroom when he heard her coming, and I had to tuck my clothes in really quickly.
By the time I was about 16½ I was starting to wonder if he was really going to marry me, and I also was finding it really hard not telling my friends that I was in love. I thought if he wasn't going to marry me that it was wrong and I should break it off, but I was afraid to because I wasn't sure I was strong enough to be able to convince him if he argued. Just after I turned 17, I told him I wanted it to stop. He said "okay". I was really astonished and disconcerted by this because I expected him to argue.
After that, I tried not to spend time with him, but I was in a habit, and I also found it hard to be without the emotional security he'd given me. Five months later, I was getting really upset over my lack of strength to end it, and I talked about it to a friend. My friend talked with me for hours (a total of about 7 hours) before I finally gave in and said that I'd rather be without the minister than have the stress of doing what I'd made up my mind not to. From then on I found I had broken away and I didn't want him any more.
For years afterwards I thought I just had some bad memories about it all. It wasn't until I decided to go to the police, and that led to other forms of public exposure, that I started therapy and began to realise how much damage he'd done. Now I've found I have chronic PTSD, borderline personality disorder and other things that cause difficulty for me just living day-to-day.
When I complained to the church, I realised how little they care about victims, and how much they care about their colleagues. Even after he'd admitted the abuse, they still refuse to help. They're fighting my civil suit all the way. That just makes it harder to heal. I can understand one person doing the wrong thing, but it seems like a collaboration in the church to allow ministers like that to do what they want to and the church protects them.
I've tried going back to church, but it's too frightening to walk into one, and I have too many questions about god. I need to work on those alone, and work out what I think for myself, before I can venture back in. It's hard maintaining a sense of spirituality by myself, but I'm learning. It's hard, too, not to feel guilty about not going to church, because for years I was told that not going was a sign of "falling away from the faith". I still have difficulty with that.
It's 17 years after the abuse ended, 4 years after I first went to the police, and a civil suit against him and the church is still in process. I'm just beginning to feel like I might get through all this without suiciding, but I take life one day at a time. Some days are worse than others, and I'm still finding further areas of damage. My life will never be "normal". I have too many scars.