His hands were very large and very rough; and I did not like them when he forced them down the front of my shorts. The calluses that covered his palms hurt “down there” as he tried to force his finger in my small girl place. His yesterday and today alcohol breath covered my face like a wet stinky fog as he forced his tongue deep inside my mouth with his lips locked so tight on mine I could not breathe. As he poked and jabbed with one hand inside my panties, the other was up my shirt twisting and pinching my very flat nipples. I was frozen in flight; afraid if I moved he would go further and hurt a lot more. Then, somewhere outside the edge of that wet fog, I dimly heard the basement screen door slam and he quickly straightened up. I could see him trying to focus his bleary eyes trying to see if it was my Dad coming around the corner or another girl child he could “love.”
This monster is the man we were told to call “Daddy Number Two”. He was tall—several inches over six feet—and very scary to an eleven-year-old short-for-her-age little girl. He had a very weird half-moon wire welded to one of his eye glasses lens frame to hold up his eyelid. It was droopy enough to interfere with his ability to see. Maybe it was that inability that caused him to never quite get his finger all the way into my small girl place. Instead he would just probe and poke around leaving me bruised and sore on the outside in his attempt to be inside. I knew I was not the only little girl he “loved.” He was trying on my sister for size, too. He constantly adjusted his glasses in order to catch more and more of that droopy lid forcing it higher and higher until that one eye looked like it belonged on a frog.
Every weekend it was duck-and-hide from this guy as he and his wife were my parents’ best friends. They were together for several years. This meant for several years, I had to hide or endure. I became proficient at hiding or averting by sticking close to my brother. The monster and his wife had no children so we, my brother, sister and me, were willingly offered as surrogates by my parents. And at first, we went just as willingly. However, it did not take long for that willingness to change for my sister and me.
My brother was singularly insulated from the explorations. Instead, he was allowed to enjoy fishing, hunting and frog gigging untouched by the monster. He was allowed to enjoy a lot of things untouched by any of the monsters that were my father’s friends. It is like they have this unspoken perhaps telepathic communication. Or maybe it was just as simple as a look, an expression in their eyes, a quiet signal or understanding just between pedophiles perhaps a secret language. Whatever it was, they came out of the woodwork after Slim popped my innocence cherry. A man that worked for the city, Peanut, came with Slim to my Dad’s house and pulled me onto his lap. I could feel his hard penis poking at my butt thru his work pants, but I did not know what it was. My Dad, walking thru the living room on his way to the bathroom, yelled at me to get off his lap. He knew what that bulge in that man’s pants meant, but he was angry with me and yelled to me what was I doing sitting on that man’s lap and to go to my room. I was confused. Slim sat me in his lap with that funny hard bump all the time. Dad never yelled at me then.
I told my Mom, of course. I had some idea that maybe she would tell my Dad and he would ride in to the rescue like Roy Rogers on his big horse. I visualized my Dad and his fists making quick mush of the monster’s face always with his frog eye smashed flat like the small animals I used to see on the side of the road. This was my dream. But that did not happen. I was called a liar because no one they were friends with would do that and if it did happen, I was the little eleven year old seductress ... I learned the word “whore” that day.
