Hello everyone. My name is Sylvie Green. I am of half British, half American nationality. People tend to add an A at the end of my name, but it is Sylvie. I am 24 years old. I had been married to my husband, Robert, for 3 years. I have 2 daughters, Diana and Elizabeth, ages 3 yrs and 11 months. If my visit to my doctor portends my expectations, the girls will become big sisters, again.
I lived comfortably in an upscale neighborhood just North of Denver, Colorado. My husband is a graduate of Stanford University and UC Boulder, etching his career as a bio chemist. I didn't work, as my husband provided plenty for us.
But my fairytale life that any little girl would hope to have come true, was far from it. Rather, the facade I put up as a moral, ethical, upstanding, millennial wife, is so far from truth, my story will boggle your mind.
Currently, in divorce proceedings, my marriage ended on, off all days, my 24th birthday, which was Valentines Day.
But first I need to afford you the backstory.
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I was born to David and Gretchen McDonald on February 14, 2000. I'm 5'2 120 lbs, brunette hair and hazel eyes. I wasn't blessed in the breast area, only being a 32B. Some say I resemble Emma Watson, but with longer hair.
My mother was born in Ipswich, a smallish borough about two and a half hours from London. Her parents, Lord and Lady Whitmer, were not royalty, by any stature, but because grandmum was the Queen's personal accountant, they became a part of the royal family, in a sense, and were blessed to be knighted. Granddad, a Major in the Royal Air Force, was very well regarded. Mum, was an only child so therefore, was spoiled.
Mum, was, what one would call, a wild child. She was rebellious, didn't take too well to the life granddad and grandmum were giving her, so when mummy was 19, she left for America.
My Auntie, lived in Bozeman, Montana, so mum moved in with her, to help start her life. Mummy did find work as a receptionist, which she worked at till she died.
Anyway she met daddy, who is a biker. You know, like Hells Angels type, with the blue jeans and the leather vests, Harley Davidson motorcycles? At the time daddy was 30 and mummy was 19. Having always had an affinity for "bad boys", she and daddy started dating, and when she got pregnant with me, they got married.
Talk about two vastly different lifestyles. Mummy always dressed 'like a lady', having been brought up that way by grandmum. Like dresses, skirts, blouses, heels, holdups, or sheer to waist stockings (pantyhose, in American lingo). She was 5'4 125 lbs.
Daddy, on the other hand, smoked cigarettes, had tattoos all over his body. Most of my life he was in an out of prison for various crimes, like attempted murder, assault, battery, and drug crimes. So, in a sense, daddy is not a good man. He is, today at 54 years old, 6'6 and almost 300 lbs. I mean there are plenty of biker types who are the kindest souls. Not daddy.
He's overweight, and just not what one would call a 'hunk'. Daddy is very intimidating, and would hurt anyone for whatever reason.
Granddad and grandmum would send mummy money that would take care of our rent, utilities and other things. Once granddad passed, grandmum would continue sending mummy about $7500 US every month. Daddy learned of this and would use a lot on drugs.
Daddy was not a good husband, as he would beat my mother. He got her into drugs and all, but mummy had been successfully clean for 10 years until she died 4 years ago. It was about 3 months before my wedding to Robert.
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Robert, 27, is 5'8 150 lbs. and is the kindest person I had ever met. I met him, oddly enough, at a service station in Bozeman, as he was just driving through Montana. After swapping phone numbers and keeping in touch, we decided, a few months later, to forge a relationship. At the time daddy was in prison for violating his parole, so, being timid to do so, began a long distance relationship with Robert. Not long after, I moved to Colorado to go to college, and funny enough, Robert and his parents moved to Vail, a ski resort town. Daddy was in prison for 20 months so I tried moving on, positively with my life, hoping having someone special would let me break the cycle.
I always told myself, if I'm ever blessed enough to find a man who would love me, I would be completely honest in everything I did. Problem is, what Robert didn't, and wouldn't know is, I have a sexual relationship with my father.
Yes, I know, what the heck? We are related, but I have never partaken in any aspect of being a biker. I was raised just like mummy was, dressed 'ladylike' and was raised with kindness and manners to all.
Our sexual relationship began when I was 18, not by choice. Soon, it developed into my 'everyday' that i ultimately got used to, as it was expected of me. If he was not in prison, our incestuous relationship was full bore, but him being in prison, was a welcoming respite, as I could actually live like any 'normal' girl. When he would get released, he'd come home and that night I'd hear him beating her in their bedroom.
"David! no!! stop!! you're hurting me!" was practically an everyday occurrence followed immediately after with, "Oh yes David, fuck me, god yessss!" highlighting the nature of our homestead.
When they were finished, mummy and daddy would walk out of the bedroom, mum pulling her pantyhose up and fixing her dress.
Daddy, right behind her, would tell her, "Get dinner started bitch!" and then go outside and smoke or work on something in the garage. Mummy always had her eyes toward the ground when daddy berated her, so she never made eye contact with me, as she went to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Then at bedtime I would hear them for another couple hours
Soon, it turned into me also joining in. No, I was never hit by my father, but he would use my mother to gain my compliance. When I got home from school, I would hear the same beatings, then extremely rough sex in their bedroom. They would come out, mummy made dinner, we ate. After dinner, daddy would tell mummy to clean the kitchen, while we went to my bedroom to have sex.
