Exploring Womanhood > Tough Issues > Rape & Sexual Abuse > Personal Stories
Rape & Sexual Abuse
Innocence Lost
I remember the summer when I was eight years old for two things. My
crush on my swimming teacher and my molestation by a neighbour.
It
was our first summer in our new cottage north of the city. My dad
had bought a new speedboat and I was learning to water ski. Our
days were spent playing in the sand and water on 200 feet of lovely
beachfront in a quiet bay. Our evenings were a happy combination
of BBQ'd meals and board games with popcorn and ice cream.
The
small peninsula was home to a great group of neighbours, some with
children, some elderly and kind. One of these elderly neighbours
had a dirty little secret that I wish we had known before I learned
the hard way.
It
was Tuesday morning and I was particularly excited because we had
gone to town the day before and I had convinced my mom that I was
old enough for a two piece bathing suit. It was multicoloured plaid
with a ruffle at the bosom and across the waistband. I was proud
and felt very grown up and pretty wearing it. Of course, as bikini's
go it was about as sexy as grandma's underpants, but I felt good
all the same!
I
went out on to our beach to make a sand castle and feed peanuts
to the chipmunks that lived in our woodpile. It was one of those
perfect summer days., warm and sunny with a hint of a cooling breeze
and the promise of a cleansing rain in the night.
Our
next door neighbours in the bay had a beach as well. Their beach
was below their cottage and there was a steep path to climb up onto
a promontory that looked out over the water. They had built a small
deck at the point with a couple of chairs and a small table. The
gentleman used to sit there a lot of the day, smoking and drinking
tea and doing crossword puzzles. He always smiled and waved at the
children and we all waved back. Since both of my grandfather's were
dead, he made me think of what having a grandpa would be like, if
I still had one.
On
this lovely morning, he was there, as usual, with his mug, cigarettes
and paper. I was feeling so good and I called out a cheerful hello
and waved. He waved back and I went on with my castle.
About
half an hour later, my mom called out that she was going across
the road for coffee and would be back soon. I was to come if I needed
her or if the phone rang.
Our
neighbour must have heard the exchange because a few moments after
that, he called out to me again. He asked me to come over for a
visit. I went without hesitation.
I
climbed the hill and walked onto the deck. He smiled and said hello.
Then he patted his knee and motioned me to sit down. When I look
back now I wonder why in heaven's name I would do such a thing,
but I know why. He was my elder, a kind and gentle man who made
me think of a grandfather. What could be more natural than sitting
on grandpa's knee? When I was a little girl, you minded your elders
and didn't disobey or back talk.
I
sat down and he began to talk to me about how lovely the day was
and general chit chat. His hands rested on the arms of the chair.
After a few minutes of this, I distinctly remember him saying what
a beautiful bathing suit I was wearing. It was strange because I
felt his breath on the back of my neck and suddenly his arms were
around my waist. He pulled me back against his chest and, while
I wasn't fully comfortable with it, I didn't fight him because I
thought it was just affection, like with Daddy.
He
continued to talk quietly and then, I noticed his hands had moved.
They were now stroking my arms and legs, long gentle strokes. Not
threatening but the tiny voice in my innocent brain was getting
louder. The stroking continued on and soon was also making circles
on my stomach and waist. Then up, up and moving the band on my top.
Then underneath the band, rubbing and stroking. It was hypnotic,
frightening and intriguing. I wasn't sure what to do, but to be
rude was unthinkable so I waited. The talking kept on and the stroking
moved down.
I
don't know when the word "wrong" began to make it's presence felt
in my young mind, but I can only surmise it was when his fingers
began to part the lips of my vagina and stretch towards places I
realized no one's hands should be other than mine. I felt a surge
of fear and nausea so powerful that it literally lifted me off of
his lap and launched me on to the deck with such force that the
waistband of my pants popped and his fingernails left a welt across
my hips as I heaved up and out.
I
mumbled something about having to go home and ran for the cliff
walk. Stumbling and panting, I raced for home and safety. I couldn't
cry, I was too shocked. When the shame came later, so would the
tears.
I
hid in my bedroom until I heard my mother come in. I was so afraid
he would come and find me and do it again. I didn't understand why
I was so frightened. I hadn't been hurt so why was it so scary?
When
my mother came looking for me, I told her what had happened. She
looked at me for a long time as if trying to decide if she believed
me or not. I had a vivid imagination as a child and was given to
making things up and this was serious. After a few minutes, she
said only a few words, "Stay away from him from now on, OK?" and
left the room to call my father. She shut the door and I didn't
overhear the conversation.
I
went into the bathroom and ran a bath. I scrubbed every inch of
myself from head to toe over and over again. I cried softly so no
one would hear me. When my mom came to the door I told her I was
fine. I knew she was standing outside the door but she gave me the
privacy I asked for. After I finished bathing. I put on baggy jeans
and a large t-shirt. I took my new bathing suit and buried it in
the kitchen garbage can. If my mother ever found it there, she never
said.
We
never spoke of it again.
I
am now over 35 and a mother of a little girl. I love my husband
dearly, but have not had sex with him since the night my daughter
was conceived. That was almost 4 years ago.
I
know my attacker is dead. I know it was not my fault. I know that
if anyone ever tried to do that to my little girl, I'd kill him
without hesitation. I am blessed to have a patient and loving man
in my life who has given me the space and help and support to try
and overcome this problem that affects both of our lives so profoundly.
What
I have learned is that, sexual assault does not have to be violent
to leave deep and lasting scars. It only needs to happen at all.
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