this is what happened to me...  it may trigger you.
this is not for pity.  it's just time for me to come forward and tell.

one perp was my father, and who knows how many of his friends.
i was very young... three.  how can anyone want to have sex with a three
year old?  well, he did, apparently.  for years, deep down I blamed
myself.  and why?  how can a three year old defend herself?
well... I trusted him, and should have known better than that.
he also loaned me.  to friends of his, who watched pornos with him.

he stopped when he thought I was old enough to remember.  but it was too
late... I remembered... yet the verbal sexual abuse didn't stop.
he called me his woman.  i hated that.  he told me what a great body I
had.  sure, men can't resist their own child's sexy figure, right?
i hated my body.  tried to hide it the best I could, but he still stared
like he was undressing me with his eyes.  he'd "accidentally" touch me
somewhere, or walk in on me while I was in the tub.  "oops, sorry."
once he took a picture of me in the tub.  the look on my face said
"get the hell out of here!"  I was seven.

i hated being a girl.  i thought maybe if I was a boy he would leave me
alone... now I know it wouldn't have made a damn bit of difference.
i tried to look like a boy, but it didn't work.  of course, since I 
looked like a boy, the children at school were merciless in their
treatment of me.  children ARE cruel.  even the boys would beat me up.
"we don't hit girls, but YOU'RE a dog"  they would say.

depression, loneliness, and suicidal thoughts were the order of the day.  
I first started wanting to die at seven. my first actual attempt was at
eleven.  many more would follow...

things took a turn for the worst when I reached puberty.  I was so scared
dad would mistake me for his wife and try to have sex with me...  he
always made crude comments about my developing body.  "knockers" he called
em. once he crooned "let's see you in a bikini."  at thirteen, I was hurt
in a car accident so I was in bed for a week-- when my mom would come in
to change my clothes, he would come in and just stare.  I protested his
sexual harassment (a term that didn't exist back then, mind you).  and I
got slapped for "talking back."  once he wanted to take a picture of me in
a miniskirt he insisted I wear.  when I refused, he said "thanks for
nothing, bitch."  my will did not ever matter, because I was worthless. 

I must stop here and ask... why was nothing ever done?  surely the
teachers had to notice something?  surely they wondered why I was always
distracted in class?  why I was "off in another world?"  why I looked the
way I did?  why I coudn't make friends?  did they not see the boys
beating the hell out of me?  did the neighbors not see my
father throw me on the concrete in broad daylight while cussing me out?
see, I HAD to separate myself from reality as a child.  I HAD to do this
to survive. reality was too painful...  but what was THEIR excuse?
I don't put my mother at fault, for she was abused worse than I was.
she was also the victim.  to this day she beats herself up for not ever
suspecting anything... but... it wasn't her fault... she was hurt too.

well, he left when I was 14.  but that wasn't the end of him...
he dragged us in and out of court, tried to get custody of me, harassed me
over the phone, stalked my mom, etc.

to make a long story short, when I was 16 I finally came forward and tried
to press charges.  not only were they dropped, the judge sentenced my
MOTHER to jail for denying my father his "visitation rights" (she had told
me I didn't have to see him anymore).  and it gets better... he signed
a restraining order forbidding me to get counseling, per request of my
father.  Judge's reasoning was "it was so long ago, it shouldn't matter
anymore."  this was in 1989. 

and after that... it was a closed subject in my family.  I'd bring it up
and they would change the subject. I guess I was supposed to forget it and
move on, but I never did.

fast forward to 1991, when I was a senior.  I dated this guy, John, who
only had one thing on his mind... over and over, he asked me, when can I
screw you?  when can I have sex with you?  of course, because of the abuse
and all, I always said no... until one day he gave me an ultimatum.
"either you have sex with me, or I tell the whole school you're gay."
"i won't make you, but you know what will happen if you don't."
my self esteem was so fragile, and that was a worst fear of mine... he
knew that.  so I gave in, but not because I wanted to.  it took me a long
time to realize, although no physical force was used... mentally and
emotionally yes it WAS forced.  i felt like i had no choice.
afterward, he said "i thought you said you weren't that kind of girl.  you
ARE a slutpuppy."  broke up with me.  i wanted to castrate him...

John passed this information to another guy I dated four months later,
Chris. "that's all you have to say" he said.  "and then she can't say you 
raped her."  so chris did the same thing...   after which, he told me what
a lousy lay I was, that i was disgusting.  broke up with me.
i wanted to castrate him too.

the next perp was around the same time, by a 36 year old homeless woman.
yes, you read that right-- a woman.  she hung out at the store where I
worked, and nice person that I am, I talked to her.  was that so wrong?
yet my parents lay full blame on me, because I talked to her.  they don't
know about John and Chris, but surely they would blame me... "you did
nothing to discourage it."