Sadistic Sisters Rape Boy
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Sadistic Sisters Rape Boy
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As my bedroom door creaked open, I quickly clenched my eyes shut.
Laying silent under my doona, I did my best to not move a muscle as my heart raced.
Please leave me alone tonight, I thought.
"Don't pretend you're asleep," a familiar voice said, and laughed wickedly.
There was just three years between us, but he wasn't the protective big brother you'd hope for.
To my mum, Janet, and dad, Mark, he was the perfect son. He did well in school and was always so polite at home.
Almost every night since I was just five, Brandon would creep into my bedroom and strip me half naked under the covers while our parents sat downstairs watching TV.
"Please don't," I begged him. But he carried on anyway.
He forced me to perform sex acts on him and then, once he'd got what he wanted, he'd scurry out of my room to avoid being noticed.
"Tell anyone and you're dead," he warned.
My earliest memories of being abused by Brandon started from when I was three.
"Touch me there," he'd demand, pointing at his penis.
I especially hated family holidays.
Pulling my hand down his pants, he'd then pull down my pyjama bottoms.
"Now it's your turn," he'd say with a smirk.
Trying to push him away would only make things worse.
He'd cover his penis with plastic bags or socks to conceal the evidence after he'd finished.
I didn't fully understand as a child what Brandon was doing to me, but I didn't like it and was desperate for it to stop.
"No-one would ever believe you anyway," Brandon laughed afterwards.
My sister, Emily, who was just 12 months older, didn't seem to attract his abuse.
But one night as I was being subjected to one of Brandon's assaults, she walked in.
"Emily!" I cried, hoping she'd scream for our parents or pull him off me.
But she just walked out in silence.
Brandon even went to the same school as me.
I couldn't control how much I hated him and would lash out at the dinner table over the smallest of things.
Brandon hid himself from everyone else.
Mum doted on Brandon and it made me sick.
Most weekends I'd wake up early and head downstairs to play computer games.
We had two lounges, one for us kids and the other for my parents to watch TV.
But I would only get a few minutes peace before I'd hear footsteps on the stairs.
My stomach dropped. It was Brandon.
"Take them off now," he demanded, pointing at my pyjamas.
But no matter how hard I tried, Brandon would always do exactly what he liked .
He was much stronger than me and could pin me down, he'd even hold his hands over my mouth so I couldn't cry.
And now he had a new way to sexually abuse me. He'd insert hair brushes and mascaras into my vagina.
"I know you like it, really," he laughed as tears ran down my cheeks.
Dad and mum - they didn't know it was happening.
I dreaded family holidays, the abuse was daily as we were constantly together.
He'd target me when everyone else was asleep or in another room.
But I'd been groomed since I was three and had no idea how to tell someone about his abuse.
Years passed and I became increasingly withdrawn.
I struggled to make friends and my confidence hit rock-bottom.
At just 12 years old, I spent most of my time alone in my bedroom.
As I got older, Brandon's abuse became less frequent.
He'd still try to sneak into my bedroom, but I was finally old enough to push him off.
Whenever our mum turned her back, he'd grope my body and smirk.
By the time I was 18, I'd had enough of living a lie and pretending we were the perfect family.
Me (right) as a teen with Brandon and Mum.
I snapped at Brandon, now 21, over something trivial, which surprised my parents.
"You don't know what he is," I sobbed.
With Brandon out of the home, I began to tell Mum and Dad the truth.
"He's sexually abused me since I was three," I blurted. "Emily even saw it for herself."
I couldn't bear to look at the devastation in my parents' eyes.
Mum ran to the toilet and threw up.
As the awful details emerged, my whole family were left in complete shock.
"I'm so sorry, Olivia, I didn't know what was happening when I saw him on top of you," Emily cried.
For years I'd assumed she was in on it, but the reality was she didn't know what to do – we were just kids.
Mum took me straight to the police. The following day, Brandon was arrested.
But our ordeal wasn't over. Our extended family was divided.
Some thought I was a liar, others said I'd asked for it and had exaggerated.
I was a wreck, but Mum, Dad and Emily supported me.
Eventually, my brother, Brandon Hutchinson, now 25, was sentenced to nine years after being found guilty of indecent sexual assault, sexual activity with a child, two counts of indecent sexual assault on a child under 13 and three counts of rape of a child under 13.
I finally felt like I could put my past behind me.
Looking back I can't believe I managed to get through my childhood, but I won't let Brandon ruin my future.
I've got myself a great career and even though Brandon will be released later this year after serving half his sentence, I'm so relieved I've told my family.
I'm sharing my story in the hope it will encourage other victims to speak out and stop people like Brandon from ruining anyone's life.
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I’d hidden a dark secret from my family for over a decade and now had to speak out.
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A true horror story: The abuse of teenage boys in a detention centre
The prison service and police knew of his interest in young boys. So how did Neville Husband get away – for decades – with the horrific abuse of teenagers in his care?
Kevin Young: ‘It was the worst of the worst. I thought I was going to be killed.’ Photograph: Gary Calton for the Guardian
Original reporting and incisive analysis, direct from the Guardian every morning
© 2022 Guardian News & Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. (modern)
"M y name's Kevin Raymond Young and I'm 52 years old." There's something desperate about the way Young says it, as if he's clinging to the wreckage of his identity. Young was 17 when he was sent to Medomsley detention centre in County Durham. He'd already had a tough life – taken into care at two, sexually and physically abused by those who were meant to look after him – but this was something different. As soon as he starts to tell his story, he's in tears.
His experience of Medomsley in 1977 has shaped, or disfigured, his life ever since. He was convicted of receiving stolen property – a watch his brother had given him; the first he had owned. The police asked if he knew where it had come from. No, he said. Could it possibly have been stolen, they asked. He thought about it – well, yes, possibly. He was sentenced to three months' detention.
The morning after he arrived at Medomsley, Young was lining up for breakfast when he was picked out of the queue by Neville Husband, the officer who ran the kitchen. Young later discovered that Husband had asked for his file – he wanted to know everything about him; most importantly, whether he had family who were likely to visit him. Young was one of a handful of new inmates sent to work in the kitchen with Husband.
"There are two things that are important to successfully sexually abuse somebody," Young says. "By successful, I mean without being prosecuted. One, anonymity or silence – if you can't carry out your act without people knowing, you're not going to be at it very long. The second thing you need is a victim who's 'reliable'; a reliable victim is someone who's already been abused to the point where, if they do speak out, who on Earth is going to believe them? And who on Earth is going to believe Kevin Young, the pauper's son, who has been in and out of care, who's a knife-wielding thug, a bully?" That is how a number of care home reports described Young, but he insists he was a quiet, over-obedient boy. "The truth is, nobody would have believed me."
Abuse might be too mild a word for what Husband did to Young over the next two months. "I was raped repeatedly, tied up and ligatured [around the neck]. It was the worst of the worst." That day after Young arrived, Husband took him to a storeroom above the kitchens that he had converted into a lounge. He locked the door, took out the key and stuffed the keyhole with tissues. "I thought I was going to be killed," Young says. "I was told by Husband that you could easily be found hanged at Medomsley, and that that year, six boys had already hanged themselves."
Young insists there wasn't just the one man abusing him. "He was so sure of himself that he was able to take me out of the prison against my will and to his private house just outside the prison gates. He was married with one child. In his house I was blindfolded, ligatured and made to lie on the stairs. Then three or four others raped me as well. I could see them from the bottom of the blindfold. A rope was put round my neck and turned till I passed out. Husband was an expert at it. He was a big, stocky, powerful man."
Perhaps the most horrifying aspect of the Neville Husband story is that the detention centre, the prison service and the police all knew of his interest in boys. In 1969, eight years before Young was jailed, Husband was arrested at Portland borstal in Dorset and charged with importing pornography. The material seized included sado-masochistic images involving teenage boys.
Astonishingly, the charges were dropped. Husband admitted showing the material to boys in his care, but argued that he was interested in child pornography only because he was conducting research into homosexuality. Details of that arrest were written on top of his employment record and went with him throughout his career. He moved to Medomsley, the smallest detention centre in the country, where he abused boys aged between 16 and 19 until he was moved 16 years later. From accounts given by victims and former staff, he may have abused boys every day of his tenure there.
Dr Elie Godsi, a former senior psychologist for the Home Office, gave evidence in the civil action brought by Young and other victims. "This is one of the worst cases of sexual abuse I have come across in 17 years of working for the Home Office, and with some of the most prolific sex offenders in the country," he said.
Today, more than 40 years since Husband started abusing teenage boys, more and more damaged men are coming forward to reveal how he ruined their lives. Some have been paid compensation, but they say that's not enough. They want to know how he was allowed to get away with it for so many years, and why the police and colleagues in the prison system failed to notice his abuse or act on their suspicions.
Kevin Young came out of Medomsley on 17 June 1977, a day before his 18th birthday, and went straight to Consett police station, the nearest to the centre. "I explained to the officer that I'd just been released from Medomsley, where I'd been subjected to a constant series of assaults by one of the officers and others I couldn't identify. I showed him the marks on my neck where I'd been ligatured the night before. I was told it was a criminal offence to make such allegations against a prison officer because I was on licence. They were basically threatening to take me back to Medomsley, so I scattered pretty quick."
After that, Young did his best to block Medomsley from his mind. He tried not to think about it, never told anyone about it, and got on with his life. After a short stint in the punk rock group the Angelic Upstarts , he became a successful businessman, owning 22 cafes and a number of furniture stores. By 1996, he says, he was worth close on £2m and was running a security firm with his girlfriend.
One night they were chasing a couple of store robbers in the centre of York, where Young now lived, when he skidded into a man of the church near York Minster. "He was there with his full carry-on, his big hat and all his gear. When I banged him in the chest, it knocked the wind out of him, and as I was falling backwards, his spit was coming down on me. I looked up and there he was. And in that split second I was back 20 years ago, with him on top of me."
Since leaving the prison service, Husband had trained and qualified as a minister. The shock of seeing him after all this time sent Young into meltdown. He collapsed. "There were people lifting me up, saying, 'Are you all right?' and my girlfriend was shouting, 'What are you doing? We need to be going. There's a chase on.' I was just frozen. I didn't know where I was."
How could he be so sure it was Husband after all that time? "Course I knew it was him. I could taste him." What does h
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