Journey The act of traveling from place to place 5

Journey The act of traveling from place to place 5 Journey The act of traveling from place to place 5

Status: Finished

Genre: Non-Fiction

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Non-Fiction

Summary

The father I had none was long gone

Summary

The father I had none was long gone

Chapter1 (v.1) - Journey The act of traveling from place to place

Author Chapter Note

The father I had none was long gone

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: October 06, 2011

Reads: 404

Comments: 1

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Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: October 06, 2011

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By hair2nv

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AFTER THE WAR, WAS A STORM…………………..

That summer after my “father” had returned home from the war, I was 8 years old. He as not the same, something had happened to him. He was more withdrawn and angry; he was not the same friendly man I had met years earlier. We all had changed for that matter, mentally and physically. I was changing, my body was changing, and so was my way of thinking. My body had begun to fill out, for the first time in my life I needed a bra, I grew a foot and my hips, and buttocks began to form into a nice round shape. I wasn’t the only one who noticed the change; my “father” had also noticed it too.

In the beginning he would just make lots of out of the way comments. “You are growing into a nice looking young woman.” Mind you I am only 8 and he is referring to me as a woman. He would make sure that when we were getting in and out of the tub that he was somewhere nearby so he could see us enter and exit the bathroom. I can remember countless nights waking up with him sitting next to the bed, watching me sleep. This became his nightly routine. For months he would just sit and watch me sleep, he would just watch with those deep, dark, sullen, and sad eyes. I knew what he wanted even as a child, with the smell of cheap liquor on his breathe I could smell him from across the room, his eyes piercing through me, even in the dark.

That is when I learned how to tell a perfect lie. That is when I started pretending; afraid to move.

He was not the first man to look at me like he had no business, with that slick wayward look as if I were a woman with woman sized breasts and a behind that you could sit a tray on. My mother’s boyfriends and other male relatives had had that same look in their eyes. Men had always told me or my mother that I was a cute, black, little girl and that I would grow into a fine woman. So he wasn’t the first and even at such a young age I could tell that he had bad intentions.

Then he began to touch.

In the beginning he would just pinch or squeeze one of my breasts and say how soft and perfectly shaped they were.

The war had changed him in ways that were unthinkable.

He spent most of his days when home alone in seclusion and a many of his nights drunk on the “line” with his drunkard friends. The “line” was where the drug attacks and whores hung out and now my father was hanging out among them. The days got longer and my “father” got drunker.

It wasn’t long before the sexually abuse started; he first started out wrestling me down when we were alone and rubbing his nakedness up against my behind and breasts. Then he escalated to touching my private parts and sticking his finger inside of me. I knew it was wrong and wanted to tell someone, but he told me from the beginning that no one would believe me. “You are a child,” he would say and he was right.

I was being molested by someone who was supposed to be taking care of me. Someone I knew as my “father.” What had happened to the man who had taught me to ride a bike?

What had he seen in those foreign countries that had made him such a predator?

As if he were still in the trenches of Vietnam, he would do lots of sneaking and whispering. Waiting until everyone was gone to bed he would leave the house as if gone out on one of his binges and leave in his little red dodge truck. He would park it down the street and walk back, climb in the window and perform oral sex on me and my little cousin. We would be too afraid to scream but now that I am an adult I can’t imagine not screaming or at least fighting back. He would then climb back out of the window and leave like nothing ever happened.

He would catch us in the house alone and pull his nakedness out and wag it at us and sometimes he would even masterbate in front of us. I can remember getting my hair pressed on some Sunday mornings and we had a big wide recliner like chair in our living room and he would sit in that chair while we were getting our hair pressed and play with his nakedness so we could see. I always wondered how my other mother could not see him. At one time I thought she may have caught on to what he was doing to us because we started going to the baby sitter.

Ms Flo was her name and she made us feel very secure. She prepared afternoon snack for us and made sure that we got our homework finished. Ms. Flo was such a loving lady, she was about five foot eight inches tall, and she wore wide rimmed glasses with a bifocal lens. She had hair that was the color of a nickel in the sunlight. She lived alone and was a retired school teacher. I felt close to her, so close that she was one of the first people that I told about the abuse.

“Father” soon started calling her and telling her to send us home. He would take us to the bedroom that he and mother shared and perform oral sex on us. I started locking myself in the bathroom. I thought he was nasty as hell and wanted nothing to do with him. The older I got the more defiant I became and no one ever asked way but he knew why. I started sleeping under the bed to avoid having to deal with him watching or touching me at night time. My cousin and I would sometimes sleep in the same bed arguing about who was going to sleep on the end knowing that he would get them first.


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