Elizabeth the 333rd

Let’s Talk About Sex

I’m going to jump right into the end of my marriage as it provides points of reference for the stories I’ll share. I’m an honest person and will not skimp on the whole horrible truth that was my life.

When my marriage ended, my husband became violent, not that he hadn’t been in the years I was with him, but his abuse was primarily psychological, with a coating of an illusion of power, so he didn’t have to do anything.

He told me often, ‘I will ruin you for other men.’

I’d reply honestly, ‘If I leave you, it won’t be for another man/person.’

During the leaving process, he trapped me several times in a small room, and punched the walls and bed so close to my face and head that I could feel the whip of the wind just prior to its connection. The last time he tried beating me into staying, my teenage boys had to stop him from hurting me.

They should never had to have endured that, but the last time he abused me, he raped me. I’d left about two months earlier and after some talking, he told me to come back and he’d find somewhere to stay. I hesitantly agreed. For those two months he’d walk through the front door each afternoon and say, ‘You thought I was leaving today… didn’t ya?’ Then he’d walk out to his shed.

I was a mess. I jumped at every noise and I couldn’t stop shaking because I was in limbo. I had my own room, that he would sit in, in the middle of the night, watching me sleep. He had me locked in that house, because he had the keys. If I wanted to go to the shops, I had to leave the back door unlocked. That all came about because I’d had enough of the sex. I was tired.


I didn’t see my husband very often in the first five years. He’d get up before me to go to work, then go to the pub, and after closing, he’d get home after I’d gone to sleep. Once we were sexually active, apart from eighteen weeks post births, and possibly three months when he’d go away with his mates, we had sex every night for seventeen years. He’d wake me after the pub, climb on me and pass out halfway through. I cried a lot.


So, one afternoon, before the end began, I sat him down and told him if I say no, that means I do not want to have sex–he believed if we weren’t having sex, I must’ve been having it with someone else-he said, ‘That’s fine, just tell me and I’ll stop.’That night when we went to bed, he rolled over and grabbed me, I said, ‘No,’ and he rolled away, sat up on the edge of the bed, got dressed and left the house.

I heard his car squeal away, and that was it for me. I grabbed my two youngest, my eldest had already left, and put them in the car and went to see a friend at the time. I called and told him where I was, but I didn’t know that a cockroach, who was a fair weather friend, had been calling him bad mouthing me, and he’d obviously called his brother who’d been caught by his wife messing around, so she sent him to the shops one morning and had the locks changed before he got back.


For twelve years I worked closely with a lawyer for my husband, who’d been hurt at work. The reason the court case took twelve years was because the union lawyers assigned to his case, tried to take something under the table. It was picked up because when I was reading the paper work for a payout, I noticed that every lawyer who’d signed and agreed to the payout, on his behalf, had done so the day before they even saw us for the meeting.

The second push back was because the company, who regularly went into administration, only to re-open the next day under a new name, took on a new insurance company. As my husband was still trying to do his job when they took over, the fight came down to the two insurance companies, who kept saying the other had to pay. So, the cockroach got wind that the payout was about to come through.

He called my husband and asked him for a loan, a business loan. The man never worked an honest day in his life, so was told no. He then, apparently, started to phone my husband and was telling him that when he got his payout, I’d leave him and take it all. So when he found I’d left that night, like he did, only with more style and grace, he had someone come to house in the early hours of the morning and had all the locks changed.


So the final day in the god awful house, his brother stopped by. I didn’t hear him pull up, and when he looked through the back door, I shit myself and my entire body trembled. He asked where my husband was, I said, ‘Out at the shack.’

‘Are you all right?’ he asked, and I moved further from him and said yes.

He left and went to see my husband. Thirty minutes later, I was out in the back shed, my two youngest were in the lounge watching television, and my husband pulled up. He pushed the back gate open and saw me. I was trapped. He walked to me, grabbed me by the wrist and started dragging me towards the house.

I fought him, but he dragged me along, my feet had gouged two tracks in the ground. When we reached the back door to the house, he twisted my arm and said, ‘Shut the fuck up,’ and pointed to the kids watching television with their backs to us.

I should have said something, made a noise, anything, but all I could think about was my children. He dragged me to a back room, threw me on a single bed, smacked my head against the wall and raped me. When he was finished, he threw my underwear at me and left the house. I heard him drive away, and quickly raced to a filing cabinet where I’d hidden twenty dollars.

When I heard his car pull back in, I felt like a kangaroo caught in the headlights. I was trying to get out through the back door when he cornered me again. He threw twenty dollars at me and told me to get out.

‘What about the kids–‘

‘Don’t think you’re taking them,’ he said and took me by the arm, walked me back through the house, and out the front door.

My children became alerted to what was happening, when they heard him yelling at me. He opened the door to my car and threw me onto the front seat.

‘Fuck off!’ he said just as my eight-year-old daughter ran from the house.

‘Mummy,’ she was screaming, crying, but he grabbed her and started to tell her, ‘Your mother doesn’t want you. You have to stay with me.’

He looked me in the eye, my heart was breaking, I was in shock, and I didn’t know I had any legal rights when it came to marital rape. if I’d known, I would’ve gone straight to the police. I had to drive away just so he’d stop torturing my children… but his lies never stopped. He messed my children up in ways I couldn’t even have imagined, through pure bloody mindedness more than anything else.

I spent the night in my car, on the beach, then went back the next day with the cops. He hated cops more than he hated me, and with an officer watching on, he grabbed my arm, dragged me next to the room he’d raped me in and told me I could take my daughter, if I didn’t get the cops involved. I made him say I could take her so the officer heard, then made him call the school. I said, ‘What about my boy,’ he said, ‘No way. I’ll lose the pension.’

That man actually told my son, several times, he was only keeping him so he didn’t lose the pension, so when my ex-husband died late last year, and an aunt of mine went to the funeral to, ‘Represent the family,’ I have to say it made me feel ill. I feel ill every time I think about it.


I don’t know what his brother said to him that day–he’s not a nice man–but whatever it was, I was raped, and lost my boy because of it.

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