Evil paedo’s plan to get me preg­nant!

He was the only dad that Sammy, 30, had ever known, then he un­leashed his sick plan

Pick Me Up! - - CONTENTS -

As his hand slid up my skirt, I started trem­bling

My face close to the sketch pad, I con­cen­trated hard as I worked on my draw­ing – it was a pic­ture of a cute puppy.

‘Very good,’ my step­dad Peter Hayes, then 25, smiled.

Be­fore I knew it, he was sit­ting cross-legged on the floor next to me.

‘Here, draw the ears like this,’ he said, show­ing me how.

Aged 7, I loved draw­ing with Peter. We’d spend hours to­gether, just the two of us.

Peter had been in my life since I was 5. My bi­o­log­i­cal fa­ther and mother had split up when I was 4, and I didn’t have a re­la­tion­ship with my real dad.

Peter was the only fa­ther fig­ure I’d ever re­ally known.

If we weren’t draw­ing to­gether, he’d cud­dle me and read me bed­time sto­ries.

But, when I was aged

11, things changed.

One day after school, I was do­ing home­work in my room when Peter came in.

Mum was out and

I as­sumed he was just go­ing to ask what I fan­cied for tea.

In­stead, he sat on the bed next to me and be­gan touch­ing my legs.

Frozen, I didn’t say a word. What was hap­pen­ing?

As his hands slid up my skirt and into my knick­ers, I started trem­bling.

Out­side, I could hear the chimes of the ice-cream van. I fo­cused on that, tried to block out what was hap­pen­ing. Min­utes passed, then… ‘Don’t tell your mum,’ Hayes told me sternly, get­ting up and walk­ing out.

I was too young to un­der­stand what had just hap­pened to me.

So I bot­tled it up, didn’t tell a soul.

But it hap­pened again and again. Hayes would grope me in my bed­room after school, of­ten as the mu­sic from the ice-cream van chimed out­side.

I’d think about all the peo­ple buy­ing choc-ices, un­aware of what was go­ing on be­hind my bed­room cur­tains.

I longed to be out there with them. Free – away from him.

By 12, I’d learnt about sex at school and I knew what Hayes was do­ing was wrong.

He’s a per­vert, I’d think, my skin crawl­ing.

But he’d make threats to scare me out of telling any­one.

‘Just re­mem­ber the beat­ing you’ll get,’ he’d warn men­ac­ingly.

When I was a teenager, Hayes hated the idea of me hav­ing a re­la­tion­ship.

‘You’re too young!’ he’d shout. ‘I’d better not find out that you’ve got a boyfriend.’

Mum thought he was sim­ply be­ing a pro­tec­tive step­dad. But I knew the dark truth. Hayes wanted to be the only one who touched me.

One day when I was 16, Hayes and I were at home alone to­gether.

I was in the liv­ing room when he came charg­ing at me.

Forc­ing him­self on me, he bent me over the sofa.

Then he held me down and raped me.

Pain ripped through me.

‘Peter, stop!’ I begged, ter­ri­fied.

‘Shhh,’ he replied. ‘I want to get you preg­nant.’

Blood trick­led down my legs and, after he’d fin­ished, he went up­stairs to run a bath.

‘Get in there and clean your­self up,’ he or­dered sharply.

I felt so dirty and ashamed. I wanted to scrub away ev­ery trace of him from my skin.

After, I shut my­self in my bed­room, hug­ging my knees. I couldn’t stop cry­ing, shak­ing.

Hayes, the man I saw as a dad, had bru­tally stolen my vir­gin­ity.

And I was ter­ri­fied of his plans to make me preg­nant…

Mum’s bath­room mats were stained with my blood, so Hayes stuffed them into the back of my wardrobe.

‘I’ll have to buy you some new ones, love,’ he told Mum when she got home. ‘Sammy’s had her pe­riod and it’s ru­ined them.’

Oblivious, Mum be­lieved his sick lies.

A while be­fore, Mum had taken me to the doc­tor to be put on the con­tra­cep­tive Pill, be­cause we were told it helped with pe­riod cramps.

After that, Hayes would hunt for my Pills and throw them away.

‘Tell your mum you’ve been tak­ing them,’ he in­structed. ‘I’m go­ing to get you preg­nant, and you’ll tell every­one it’s a boy from school’s baby.’ He had it all worked out. His twisted plan gave me the chills.

I lived in fear of him and, ev­ery time he touched me, it was as if my body went into shock – paral­ysed with fright.

Then one night, when I was still 16, Mum and Hayes came home after an evening out drink­ing with friends.

Mum went to bed, but Hayes had other ideas.

‘I’ll be up in a minute, get your­self ready,’ he winked, as I climbed the stairs.

My whole body trem­bled. And fi­nally, in that mo­ment, I just snapped.

There was no way I was wait­ing around for Hayes to rape me again, so I threw some clothes into bags.

Min­utes later, I crept down­stairs and re­alised Hayes had passed out on the sofa.

I ran out of the front door, didn’t turn back as I made my way to Mum’s friend’s house.

‘What on earth?’ she cried, open­ing the door to me.

‘Peter’s been rap­ing me,’ I sobbed, blurt­ing it all

I wasn’t go­ing to wait around for him to rape me again

out to her.

‘You need to tell the po­lice!’ she cried, shocked.

She held my hand, as I phoned them. And she was so sup­port­ive when they ar­rived and I made a state­ment.

‘I’m not go­ing back home,’ I told of­fi­cers.

So the So­cial Ser­vices were called, and I was moved into a safe house.

Shortly after, I was told Peter Hayes had been ar­rested.

But I was so scarred by his abuse, I strug­gled to move on. I kept get­ting aw­ful flash­backs.

Ev­ery time I heard the sound of an ice-cream van, my nerves were shot to pieces.

Just hear­ing those chimes made me feel phys­i­cally sick.

In the end, it all be­came too much for me and I was put on an­tide­pres­sants.

Then in July 2006, Peter An­thony Hayes, then 37, ap­peared at Stoke-onTrent Crown Court.

At the last minute, he pleaded guilty to a string of charges, in­clud­ing in­de­cent as­sault on a fe­male and rape.

He was jailed, and it was a re­lief to know he’d spend years be­hind bars.

I re­fused to let

Hayes de­stroy my future, though.

So, while he was locked up, I started liv­ing my life again.

By that time, I’d met my boyfriend Joe, while out for drinks with friends.

I’d ac­ci­den­tally spilled a drink on him at the bar, and he’d seen the funny side.

We’d fallen for each other and, when I told him about Hayes, he be­came my rock.

As the years passed, Joe helped me to move on and for­get about Hayes.

But, one day in 2016, I re­ceived a let­ter from the parole board.

Hayes had ap­plied for parole.

I felt my heart pound­ing. He’d served 10 years, but it didn’t seem enough for what he’d done.

‘He doesn’t de­serve to be let out of jail!’ I cried. It brought ev­ery­thing flood­ing back again.

The rape, the touch­ing, the mu­sic from the ice-cream vans… It all trig­gered my anx­i­ety and de­pres­sion again.

I de­cided to write to the parole board with my vic­tim-im­pact state­ment, ex­plain­ing the ef­fect Hayes’ abuse still had on me.

Thank­fully, it was enough to keep Hayes locked up.

For now, he re­mains in prison. But his min­i­mum sen­tence has passed now, so I know he could be re­leased any day.

That’s why I’ve moved to a dif­fer­ent area.

I can’t bear the thought of bump­ing into him.

Hayes de­stroyed a huge part of my life, but I’m just re­lieved his vile plans to get me preg­nant were scup­pered.

When I have a baby, it’ll be with the man I love. Not with some sick, twisted per­vert.

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