Some years ago, when I was 18 years old, I had my 'road to Damascus' moment. Three things happened to me over that long and (at the time) thoroughly unwanted long weekend.
The first is that I was raped. Brutally, without the slightest consideration for my feelings or welfare, with considerable violence and with utter contempt.
The second is that I ORGASMED from being raped. That shocked me, shook me rigid, made me disgusted with myself and made me realise all my feminist ideals were wrong. Not simply wrong in fact, but stupid and, above all, MORALLY wrong.
The third and most pressing result of my rape - or rather series of rapes - was that I became pregnant. I agonised over how to respond to the situation and in the end I took three decisions.
The first was to keep the child who became my eldest daugher, the first of four children.
The second was to lie to my parents and, rather than tell them I'd been raped, make out I'd gone to a wild party and fucked lots of men and had no idea who the father was. (A few months later I told my mother the truth but swore her to secrecy even from my Dad. She kept her word and not till my girl was actually born did I say she could tell my father the truth.)
The third was to move away from the family home in the East End of London. I stayed for a while with relatives of my Mum in Shropshire before, as a single mum, I was given a council flat.
I've lived in Shropshire ever since though not for some years in the council flat.
Five years later I met the man who became my husband. He understood me when I opened my heart and told him my story, my feelings, my confusion and so on.
My husband understood and for ten years now he has been the rock on which I built my new life.
Together we had another daughter, then a son and, last year, my second son.
I am utterly fulfilled and happy as his wife and as the mother of his children.
He understood the darkness within my heart, the longing to relive my rape in a 'safe' environment, the desire to be beaten and humiliated, verbally insulted and made to understand my own utter worthlessness on every level.
I suppose I'm a masochist, craving pain, usage, rape, constant degradation.
But out of it all a new way of looking at the world has grown.
I and my husband and a few people I've met online (and a couple of close trusted friends) have slowly evolved a radically different philosophy.
It's hard for most people to swallow, I know. I've got used to being called a fake, a nut, a sick bitch, a satirist and so on.
But I believe in what I write and even though at times I DO use satire or humour it's always to make a SERIOUS and SINCERE point.
I'm going to gather together my rambling articles and thoughts and collect them into a book (probably an E-book) which I'll hopefully get published.
All four of my children now have been born out of rape. My eldest came from a long torrid weekend in Essex, the others through my rapes by my husband. Although we also have tender and loving sex - most of the time, in fact - nothing turns me on so much as when he rapes me.
I'm so proud and happy that all my pregnancies came about as a result of rape.
If that offends and disgusts people, I'm sorry.
I can only speak the truth as I see it and speak from the heart of how I feel.