Everyone Has Their Story. He're's Mine.

I was scared, alone... My mom had just gotten out of an abusive marriage, and I had just gotten out of foster care. I was eleven years old, and excited to be back home with my mommy. Unfortunately, we immediately moved into her new boyfriend's house.
We didn't move into the greatest neighborhood. It was a trailer park in a white trash hick town. I hated everything about it from the start. I didn't like our neighbors, even before I had any idea what they were to shortly do to me. I didn't like my mom's boyfriend, or his two kids. He had a son who was eight, and a daughter who was seven.
I was sheltered as a child, and emotionally and physically abused. I had gone through so much trauma. I didn't know it was wrong. Our neighbor, our babysitter, openly tried to touch the seven year old inappropriately in front of me, along with his own nine year old sister. For reasons I don't understand, it didn't seem to phase me...
In no time, he realized I was "safe," and noticed my rather mature body for my age. I was eleven, easily passable as thirteen, and he was about fourteen. He knew just a bit of my recent trauma, and I suppose he assumed I'd be an easy but older target.
First, he just kept making me watch what he did with the other girls. I don't know why I didn't do anything about it. I was young and it seemed normal. The girls didn't appear to oppose to it. They were willing, from what I could see. I guess that's what made the difference for me.
I remember the first time he touched me. I was with him and the two girls alone in our house. It was summer and we had been playing outside in the sprinkler. I was wearing a blue and orange bikini with a striped skirt. I guess it was too much for the pervert to handle. Nonchalantly, he slipped his hand under my skirt and kissed my lips. I was terrified, but I didn't want anyone else to see that. I felt my body tense up and pushed his hand away. He sent the girls to take a bath and go to bed. I remember praying my mom would come home. I had been taught to never disobey those in charge, and he was my babysitter...
I was afraid. I tried to tell him, "No. I don't want to," but he shoved his tongue down my throat and made me... I didn't want his hands on my body. I couldn't stop him. Before I knew it, he had my skirt pulled off, and was pulling at my bikini, touching me and licking me all over... I still have nightmares. He knew I didn't want it, even if I couldn't say so. He knew I was too young to know if I wanted it or what it really was. He knew enough about my particular situation to know my vulnerability. He selfishly took my body as his, for his pleasure. It's mine. My virginity. My innocence. My body. I was a child. He had absolutely no right to do anything to me. That's something I'll never get back, and I have to live with it for the rest of my life.
He held me down on the couch, pulled my bikini bottom down to my knees and pulled himself on top of me. Tears ran down my face as he shoved his tongue in my mouth to silence my sobbing. Answering my prayers, I heard a car pull up in the driveway. My mommy had come home! He was speedy. He pulled up his pants (before penetrating me) and said to me "I'll show you a real ******* tomorrow," as he ran out the door to greet my mom. I ran to the bathroom and got in the shower, turning the water as hot as it would go, in a pathetic attempt to wash him away. I turned up my music to drown out my sobs. I didn't want anyone to see me like that. I felt humiliated, ashamed, defiled...
Anyone who's been molested or raped should understand this... I felt guilty because of the feelings I had. No matter the circumstances, if your body is touched a certain way, you're going to have a physical reaction, no matter how much you object to what's being done to you. I thought that was equal to consent. If my body had these natural arousal reactions, I must like it, right?... Wrong. Regardless if it's consensual or not, it's going to happen, and you can still say no.
To this day, about six years later, I see it as my own fault. If I'd have gone to an adult earlier... This could have been prevented. A year or so later, when I finally went to my mom, she told my grandmother. My grandma told me on the phone, "I'm disappointed in you. I thought you knew better. You let this happen." It's true. I let it happen. I have no one to blame but myself.
dpbg dpbg
18-21, F
1 Response May 22, 2012

Don't blame yourself for being the victim. It's like you said, you were too young to know it was wrong. You girls should start playing baseball or something, so if that bastard makes a move it won't be a baseball that bat will hit.