I have to begin by saying I’m not exactly proud of having to admit to having been a victim of domestic violence; seeing as how I’m a big boy (6-1 in my sox, strong, and with several martial arts to my credit).

Meet Yula (pronounced Yura). 40. A Korean beauty. In NZ with 3 kids looking for a way to stay. I end up being the ‘very’willing dupe.

I discovered, albeit some eighteen months later and several half-hearted considerations of suicide, that this ‘beauty’ was actually what is known as a socialised psychopath; ergo, a Hannibal Lecter with self-preservation instincts denying her the ability to simply squash out the life of any who disobeyed.

Yura set the hook in my lamentably niaive mouth, tugged gently for three long and unbelievable months, then hauled back hard when it wass clear the hook had gone down well past my throat.

For the following fifteen months I was subjected to almost constant emotional violence of a level and type I found so incomprehensible that I was rendered incapable of breaking the spell. This was interspersed with rounds of physical and sexual violence.

One night, I stood with my butt against the kitchen bench, hands by my sides, as this ‘creature’ went at me with her claws, ripping skin an flesh off my face and chest.

Why? Simple. She had finally decided that my grand-daughter was ‘competition’ for my affections. At the time GD was coming up ten.

Apparently, my ‘crime’ which sparked this bizarre rage was me electing to spend the day with GD and half her school, when they were earning a few bucks for her school as extras on a movie set. Yula had a slight cold and I ‘should’ have been attending to her, not that “snot-nosed little bitch of a kid”, as she described her. She wanted GDs address whereupon she could visit and quickly despatch this child to a better place…better for Yula at least.

This attack went on for nearly fifteen minutes. I didn’t raise a hand in defence, despite the fact I could quite easily have reached out with one hand and snapped her neck.

Inevtiably I called the Police. Turns out they were far too busy dealing with a whole bunch of domestic violence problems to attend on me.

By and by, her rage flickered out. I invited her to leave. She burst into crocodile tears of remorse.

I’ve had quite a sheltered life, devoid of such eople as Yula, so tears to me are a source of concern. I go into Ivanhoe mode.

Twenty minutes later, the sobbing had stopped and a subtle question regarding GD’s address was repeated as a kind’ve question. I refused to divulge, the monster returned.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, she finally left and disappeared for three days…for me, three days of hell.

You see I was so in love with this woman that nothing could colour my stupidity. I was a slave in all senses of the word.

The sexual violence had its genesis in her self-proclaimed sexual affair with her father. I gather she gave him a great deal of oral sex and was proud of it. Albiet she started at age ten.

And so, I would arrive home (I work fairly long hours on occasion) at around nine/ten. All I wanted was a drink and a quick meal then sleep. But she would turn up and without so much as a hello, would kneel before me, ferrit out my utterly (can’t be bothered, oh for Christ’s sakes’ give it away, flaccid penis) and start sucking.

If I failed to erect then I got the speech about not being a real man. If I did erect then she took great pleasure in leaving me in that state, with the advice that I could always sort it out for myself later.

I caught her, several times, doing this to her own eight year-old son. She told me it was Korean custom. She even wrote me an email attesting tht ‘fact’.

I told her that I would report her if she didn’t stop. That got me another skin-stripping episode.

A few months later the boy was observed requesting girls at his school to ‘suck my dick’. The school called CYF. Yula threw me under the bus asserting it was all my fault. CYF agreed because I’m a male and females don’t do that shit, eh?

But the physical and sexual violence (only very lightly touched upon above) was naught in comparison to the emotional violence I sustained at the hands of this utterly cruel woman.

I can’t possibly relate it here and make any sense in just a few lines, save to say that of all the trials I have been through in this life, nothing has ever been as bad.

But I couldn’t simply leave. I was infatuated to a level which denied my considerable sense of reason.

An observer would ask, ‘Why don’t you just leave? Tell the bitch to fuck off’.

Easy for an observer. Almost impossible for a man suffering from micro Stockholme Syndrome.

In the space of eighteen months, this poisonous creature ruined my business, damned near ruined me, and left for Korea saying, ‘I don’t like this country anyway.’ and a stain on my integrity which still resides of the CYF computer.

None of my friends or associates had seen anything other than the stunningly beautiful (albeit acted) side of Yula. All looke at me, when I tried to explain what was going on, like I’d lost the plot.

I eneded up writing the first half of a book about this journey. Forty thousand words, and still I hadn’t really scratched the surface of the damage this woman had done to me and her own children.

I gave a CD copy to CYF. Were they interested? Nar! Just the words of a deranged man with ‘child-molester’ written all over him.

I handed this CD to one Wendy Hardinge (CYF Waitakere) alnong with a copy of the email in which Yula admits that ‘touching’ her son is Korean custom.

I then went on to assert that as the ‘investigation’ of my part in this had turned into a neutral, that the record of it should be expunged from the computer.

This sick bitch, now in unwitting alliance with the sick bitch who had caused it all said, ‘Oh no. We can’t do that. Your record will be on our system forever. You see, Mr (David), she said in a lowered and conspiritorial voice, head nodding in agreement with her own perceptions….’We may not catch ‘them’ the first time. Maybe not even the second. But we always get ‘them’ on the third ‘information.’

Ergo, sick Wendy didn’t want to see sick Yula. She just wanted to ‘get’ another vile male. And she is one of the women, along with tubby Lizzie, vapid Sandra, and snake-eyes Bowden, who are paid to protect children.

Oh they did a fine job protecting the little boy from his mother!

But hey, the mother was a woman. Thus beyond reproach. Me? I’m just a man. Beyond consideration.

And that’s it, isn’t it? We men are beyond consideration because the women have all the seats in the front row of the victim’s hall.

Cheers
David.