Yes

Consent due to coercion isn’t consent at all

“No”

Repeatedly and for years, my answer was “No” until a “Yes” was the only way to yield his fists from swinging for my face and into the wall.

The drive he had for sex was not just high; it was dangerous, and I was his voiceless victim, the perfect victim.

“No” escalated his desires. His anger raged until I gave into a temporary pivot.

A ‘successful’ weekend wherein he would be inclined to take his family out of the house for a little local excursion came at the expense of my body and saying “Yes” to engaging in sexual intercourse with him. There came many a Saturday morning when I took the courage and said, “Not today,” to his request, only to be found lying down, frozen on the bed, disassociating as he held my head down and demanded I arch my back higher.

As the saying goes, I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t. Furthermore, my children were also at the mercy of his mood, which was determined by whether or not his dick got wet.

The year was 2021, and I was the primary breadwinner, after moving to Sherwood Park in 2018 and being ordered by him to do whatever it takes to become a full-time dayhome. I woke up at 5:30 a.m. daily and opened my front door to six dayhome children beginning at 6:30; my children rubbed their morning eyes at the top of the stairs as they welcomed ‘ new friends’ to play with. He didn’t work, nor could he be bothered to be the co-parent and get our school-aged children ready and out the door; drinking alcohol, smoking weed and playing video games until 5:00 a.m. took precedence. Day after day, week after week, I was a full-time working, married, single mother.

I did as he told me, but now, the house held a volume that was too loud for his liking. Daily, 6-11 babies and toddlers were occupying my home. I loved my day-home families, and the children were an extension of my own. At all times, I poured my heart and soul into each child, transforming my day home into a preschool. I went as far as developing a program. It was not enough for him. He constantly berated me for not running my dayhome correctly; he could have done it better, or so he said while I served him home-cooked full breakfasts in bed each morning, along with an apology for the noise and his medications.

My dayhome closed at 5:30 p.m., but the work continued. Five children remained reliant on me; growling and growing bellies screamed at me. Dinner did not cook itself. The playroom required a clean-up, and the next day's teaching plans required my reviewing. On the never-ending evening’ to-do’ roster, homework, nightly reading and bath time remained along with laundry, kitchen clean-up, packing of school lunches, answering school emails and dayhome parent text messages. Twenty-four hours was insufficient; I was a walking zombie doing it all, but wait, he required sex, or his fists came out.

My body consumed him. The idea of a woman having sex with me controlled him. The desire to have other men pine after me aroused him, and after years of weaponizing it all, that “No” of mine to participate, and through coercion, became “Yes.”

The summer of 2021 was a fever dream. My baby had a blood infection, there were suicide attempts, drives to Saskatoon, a heat wave, and the desperation to save and make my marriage a happy one. Read about the summer of 2021 here:

How could I save my marriage?

What did he desire above all?

What would bring happiness and the removal of the eggshells I walked upon?

What would keep me alive?

The Sexual Exploitation of Me.

If I was going to do this, I had to go all in. I couldn’t fake it. I would become the sex maven he thirsted for.

I said, “Yes,” and he transformed into a different person overnight.

His demeanour was unlike anything I had witnessed; not even the birth of his children altered this significantly. He smiled, laughed and held me gently. He was proud to parade me out in public. Finally, he had a topic to discuss at length with me. He spent my money on the sex toys and attire he had been begging me to try for years. He filled spreadsheets with his goals and plans for the sexual exploitation of me.

After my long days concerning the dayhome and my family came to a close, he now demanded to create sexual content for the internet. He purchased an expensive camera and accessories to shoot with. He laid down blankets and towels and set up deluxe lighting. He then controlled me. He chose the toys, the clothing, and the tools; he directed, posed, snapped and filmed me. For the first time in years, he had a fire lit under his ass. He woke up early and, ‘got to work.’

I became masturbating material for members of Reddit and OnlyFans.

During the day, he edited the media assets he had captured the night before and conversed with people behind the screen who were enamoured with my body. Eventually, I became the engaging voice communicating with those who desired to fuck me to fulfil their kink. The eggshells I had been walking on for the duration of my marriage were non-existent for a short while until his goals and plans once again escalated, and I said, “No.”

Secretly, he had begun to set me up to meet with strangers to fuck. I want to clarify that I support you if you enthusiastically consent to participate in such practices. However, that is not the case here. I adamantly said, “No.” I did not want to participate in threesomes, foursomes and orgies. I did not want to have sex with a woman. I did not want to go to a bar and meet up with a random from the internet with the intent to fuck, and my husband watched. I am a monogamous heterosexual with boundaries; he did not respect me.

My “No” escalated his desires. His anger raged until a pivot.

“Bre, you can do custom videos for OnlyFans and get paid for them.” - At least I would be in the ‘comfort’ of my home; that's what I convinced myself of.

The orders came in. In a few days, the OnlyFans grew to over 300 members.

Gleefully, he read each customization and set up the room per order, and my exhausted zombie self, with a reluctant smile, fulfilled each one.

Depleted after filming, he grabbed me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he yelled.

“I am going to bed. I have to be up at 5:30, and it is midnight. I am exhausted.” I groaned.

“ What the fuck! You can not perform all of this and expect me not to get turned on and fuck you! - he seethed.

I knew better than to crawl under the duvet and sleep.

As I bent over the end of the bed, he held my head down and demanded I arch my back higher.

The alarm rang at 5:30, and the horrors persisted…

But so did I.

Days later, on August 5, 2021, he was arrested for Domestic Assault.