Age 7

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There were so many new things happening in my life. I was getting a baby brother, a new house and a new school! I remember the name of the elementary school but for some reason don’t remember the teacher. I do remember catching bees on the playground and getting stung repeatedly. I was also threatened to be spanked because I took my shoes off on the playground. Cliques and other girls were becoming more apparent to me. I was starting to notice what the other girls wore. I got made fun of because my clothes were not up to par. My mother bought me decent clothes but never name brand. Keds were popular and it was especially cool to wear them with stirrup pants. None of my pants had stirrups. I begged for a pair but the answer was always, “no.”

My brother was born when I was 7 1/2. The week that my mother had him I spent at my grandmother’s house. I was really starting to open up to her more. By this point I was a victim of full-on daily sexual gratification. Anytime that my mother was not home or went to bed early, I was all his. He never penetrated me, but would get off rubbing his penis vigorously through my labia. Every time he did it I would be raw. At bath time I would cry because the soap hurt so much. My mother still didn’t know anything was going on but still didn’t bother to question why her daughter’s genitalia hurt so bad. She must have assumed that I was sensitive to the soap. Three years in and it was just getting worse. I knew more about sex than any 7 year old should know.  I began to always feel awkward. Any time I would say something to another child they would tell me that was gross. I didn’t really know how to talk to other kids. I was so consumed with sex at home that it was practically all I knew.

My parents had a lady down the street babysit me after school. She had a little boy in my same grade. One day, I had the great idea of showing him what I see in my dad’s movies. His mom walked in on us in his closet with our pants off. I’m sure she just assumed that we were playing a game of “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Typical childhood curiosity. Unfortunately, that’s not what this was. On another day, I told him that I wanted to kiss him like my dad kissed me and I attempted to French kiss him. This event I actually don’t remember but she reported it to child services. I didn’t find this out until much later. This call did not prompt a single visit from child services nor warrant a phone call or anything. Needless to say, the mother was alarmed enough that she decided she didn’t want to babysit me anymore. My mother still had no reason to question anything.

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