Author's note This is as true a version of my abuse as I can produce. I have removed some of what happened to me so it was readable, but it is still going to be tough for some people. Please consider your own state of mind before reading, as it may trigger.

I am 9 years old

I am nine years old. It is Visit day, and I used to be scared of them. Sometimes I was even angry. But now I feel nothing. Nothing but what HE has told me to feel. I do nothing except what HE tells me to do. I am only a toy, and as I must make sure to remind myself in so many ways that this is, after all, all my fault.

My instructions before each Visit are very clear, and I follow them without thinking. Thinking is something people do, and as I said, I am only a toy. I must prepare myself as HE has told me to before I enter HIS door.

At one time, that was a hard task for me, but not now. The flickers of shame and disgust at myself I experience are permitted, so long as they don’t prevent me from completing my task.

My mother smiles at me as she drops me off. She has no idea what goes on inside. Nor can I tell her. How could a nine-year-old boy tell his mother he is evil?

It has been two years since my first Visit, but I cannot recall most of them, except in short flashes. I do know that today’s Visit is supposed to be special. something that HE has been preparing for since HE first learned what I am.

HE brings me into HIS office, and sits me in a chair. This little act of normalcy is important, in case my mother suddenly returns for me. One thing I remember from one of the early Visits was hoping that this time, talking would be all we did. I know better now. Toys do not hope , they only serve.

HE gives me my dose of medicine, and I remember the first time HE gave it to me. I was a little reluctant to take it, but Mother had told me to trust the doctor, and I knew doctors gave you medicine to make you feel better.

HE had told me it would help me relax, and it does. I feel sleepy and I began to tell him things I had not told anyone, not even my Mom.

I told HIM that I felt more like a girl than a boy, that I wanted to grow up to be pretty just like my mother, and I could not imagine ever being like my father whose suicide had brought me to see HIM.

The next Visit, HE gave me the medicine again and , HE asked me if I had worn my mother’s clothes. I say yes. HE brings out a pretty dress and asked me if I wanted to put it on. Because of the medicine I can only say yes.

I felt very pretty in the dress. I was still sleepy, but I felt good, maybe better than I had ever felt in my life. HE took some pictures, and then HE told me to change back into my own clothes before my mother came back.

It was on the very next Visit He showed me what happens to bad little boys who want to be girls. When HE was finished I bled, and HE said I had bled like a girl and I was no longer a virgin.

But then I am back to the present, because I must concentrate on pleasing HIM like a good toy must. HE has told me I had seduced HIM and must follow through and not be a tease. I call myself a sissy slut. I had not known those words until HE taught me what they meant.

I also must admit I enjoy our Visits. I also say I seduced HIM by being a sissy slut, and that its all my fault because I wanted to be a girl. How because of that I am only worthy of being a toy. How I would punished if anyone knew how bad a boy I am. And how that would hurt my mother. I cannot hurt my mother.

As our Visit comes to an end, I put on my clothes again and repeat what I had said again and again until HE is pleased. HIS pleasure is my pleasure. That is how a toy should think.

When HE first started having me do this, the medicine HE gave me helped me see them as true, and I can say them with conviction.

I wait for my mother to come for me, and when she does, I return to the empty state I am between Visits. Only during Visits do I feel anything at all.

I not know that soon I will not be seeing HIM anymore.

I also do not know that the desire to be a girl will remain and grow within me until I have to let it out.

I do not know the guilt I will feel when it does, until I unlearn what HE taught me.

I do not know that I will forget HIM almost completely for a time.

I do not know I will ever hate HIM, or blame HIM instead of myself.

I do not know I will ever think of myself as anything other than a toy, an evil sissy slut.

I do not know I have not been alone during my Visits, that heavenly messengers have stood watch over me, and that they and God will comfort me as I face these memories.

I do not know that one day I will have to come face to face with the girl within.

I do not know she is loved and is going to be loved.

I do not know she is something valuable and precious.

I do not know she is beautiful.

I do not know these things yet.

Because I am just nine years old.