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(Gracias, Shade)
"In my town people was very religious, especially my father was
a very pious Christian, and had a strange way of raising mi 5 siblings and me.
We were four girls and two boys. We had to wear long skirts and covering
blouses, the same as my mother.
The punishment ritual was as follows: at night we met in the living room for
reading the Bible, and if one of us made an error we had to stand and confess.
Then we had to take off all our clothes and kneel in front of a picture of Jesus
and we were flogged with the “vaqueta” ( “leather”, it was a sheath for machetes
and working knives) on the back. What was worst was that we had to count the
lashes, and they were actually painful.
My father flogged us for anything; he considered everything immoral and
devilish, and he also hit my mother, he was an extreme male chauvinist.
I remember of a Sunday when I didn’t go to church because I went to the river
with some girl friends. When I came back home, he took me by my hair, he made me
take off my clothes, took his “vaqueta” and flogged me without pity on my back,
but considering it an actually serious fault he made me stand and flogged me for
the first time on my buttocks and even in my vagina, I cried in pain and asked
for mercy but he kept it hard until stopping.
He took me to the barn and left me there crying, alone and in the dark. This was
when I was 14.
Shade"
Published: 06/21/06
(Gracias, Silvia)
"Hi, I’m Silvia and I want to tell you about the beatings I got from my father.
I was flogged frequently for my earliest years until I was 18 with a braided
leather whip with three points with knotted ends called a
sanmartin that my
father has hanging behind my house’s kitchen door.
The routine was always the same: I was flogged in my bedroom, at the edge of the
bed and on the bare buttocks, on which he spread water for the sanmartin
“working the miracle” of correcting me (or so he said). The lashes were nine,
he said that for the Father, for the Son and for the Holy Ghost, repeated three
times.
Once it was for fighting with my brother, whom I hit and let bleeding from the
nose.
After caring for him, my father took the whip and a water jug,
took me by the arm got me up to my bedroom and closed the door. I was already
crying, he told me that I was never going to do it again for the rest of my life while he
put down my pants and underwear and put me over the edge of the bed. He took my
hands on my back with one of his hands, while he wettened my buttocks, and
immediately he gave me the first lash (Father) the made me jump and scream for
the terrible pain, and so he followed with the second (Son) the seemed harder,
and the third (Holy Ghost), yet harder. Each lash seemed harder than the one
before, and he continued until the ninth.
He left me crying and trying to rub my poor butt, untouchable from the marks I
had for more than a week.
Silvia"
Published: 06/21/06
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