Floating

After my “dad” used my hand to masturbate that first morning, it became the ritual for the next few months of winter when we could be hidden beneath a blanket. It may not have occurred every day, but it happened more often than not - until the day things progressed to something more. Things started to change sometime during the summer between fourth and fifth grade.

It’s not as clear to me when things moved beyond him just using my hand for his pleasure to him touching me. Because, in the beginning, he would simply touch me. Not that that is acceptable, but it seemed less harmful than what was to come. He would touch my vagina and breasts and comment on how soon I would become more of a woman and have bigger breasts and hair and how he was looking forward to when that happened.

There were times he would pick me up “like a sack of potatoes” over his shoulder and carry me into his room, lay me on his bed and get on top of me to start French kissing me. I hated when he would stick his tongue in my mouth. He used chewing tobacco, and it made me want to vomit every time he did this. I don’t recall ever kissing him back, but he continued to do this to me. I always thought this was the worst thing that could ever happen to me. I was wrong.

He eventually escalated to more than just kissing me and lying on top of me. Mind you, he was a big man, 300-plus pounds, so it felt like he was crushing me most of the time. He would eventually slide off of me, taking off my pants and underwear on his way. Then, he would either sit on his knees or stand next to the bed with my legs draped over the edge of the bed or lifted and wrapped around his head. Then, he would proceed to stick his tongue in my vagina and perform oral sex on me.

During all of these times, I never fought back or said anything. It was easier for me to pretend this wasn’t even happening to me. I would just lie there with my eyes mostly closed. I would open them every once in a while to see where he was and what he was doing, but I would shut them immediately if we happened to make eye contact. A part of me knew what he was doing was wrong, but I didn’t know how to get out of it, so if I just pretended like it wasn’t me, then I could get through it. I would literally imagine myself floating above my body and watching this girl have these things happen to her - over and over and over again.