Friday, 17 August 2012

Re-reading Courage to Heal

Then one afternoon when I was just waking up from a nap, he sat down next to me on the side of the bed. He put his big heavy fingers in my pants and began rubbing my clitoris. I had no idea what he was doing. He asked, yet sort of told me, "It feels good, doesn't it?" All I knew was that I couldn't say no. I felt powerless to move. I said "yes."

That is the experience I can relate to most. Except it wasn't when I was waking from a nap. It was a game of hide and seek. Hiding under a bed-sheet. He started stroking my thigh and went further up every time. He rubbed me through my panties and I pushed his hand away. He laughed and let it go. 

He made me and my sister touch tongues. I felt disgusted and so did she. She started crying and I tried to be older and mature. I wasn't a baby. I was cool. I didn't mind. I did it. I encouraged her. 

All our games were physical. Wrestling WWF style. Bull fights. Pushing our foreheads against one another till one of us was defeated and collapsed under the other. Guess who won.


Fingers inside me. Fingers pinching my flat chest. Then a wet dick pressing on my vagina. Can't remember if he went inside me. I remember him ejaculating on my vagina. 


I remember being unable to talk to my mother. Never really told her what he had done. Couldn't. Told her he touched my waist. My thighs. Unreasonable to blame her then? Unreasonable to expect her to take it seriously? Yeah. Unreasonable. 

(Current thoughts after re-reading: I did write her a letter. I told her we had had sex and I didn't want to get pregnant or get AIDS.)


If I don't actively make myself think, I'm empty. 

Feeling like I have sexual problems with Darren because it comes with added intimacy. It isn't just sex. There is the potential for one or the other of us to get to be hurt. That's what makes it difficult. Detached sex feels more comfortable to think about. 

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