Part 4 - The Sexual Abuse
The summer after I turned seven my family moved to another town. This was to be my first move since starting school. Thankfully, I had a wonderful teacher that year. He was a Christian who often had us gather around him to sing songs to his guitar accompaniment. He read us stories and made learning fun - something I had not yet experienced up to that point.
My family's new home was in the Ozark hills of Missouri. We lived in the middle of a wooded area at the end of a long drive, which I would walk down each morning to catch the school bus. On the bus, it didn't take long for the driver to realize she had a rowdy bunch of kids, and within the first two weeks she developed a plan for arranged seating in alphabetical order. I got stuck next to a teenage boy whom I'll call Jack. The school I attended had junior high mixed in with elementary aged kids, and Jack was the all-out school bully. No one messed with him. In fact, he'd flunked the eight grade twice before, and may have flunked it again the year I knew him. The bus driver had given up on him, and because Jack's last name began with the same letter as mine, I was assigned a seat next to him, with him on the aisle. Jack was all fun and games, with one of those grins that any adult could see meant he was up to no good. Tall and scrawny, he'd been in more than his fair share of fights, and usually came out on top.
A few days after meeting Jack, he told me I was pretty and asked if I wanted to be his girl. Being the shy seven-year-old that I was, and knowing that nobody messed with Jack, I agreed. Soon after, Jack began to abuse me. He started by touching me in inappropriate places while I sat next to him, pretending it was out of love that he did so. He then insisted I should kiss him, and not just the quick peck on the lips. He wanted all-out French kissing from me. I didn't even know what French kissing was, but he was all too eager to show me. Again, I was too shy to stand up to him, so I went along with it. A few weeks later, Jack moved to yet another level of abuse. He told me I had to have what I later learned was oral sex with him. As a child, I didn't know those types of activities were even done, and he never used the term "oral sex." He said that when two people loved each other, that's just what they did. I told him I'd rather not do that with him, but he said if I loved him I would, and besides, if I didn't he threatened to tell my parents what I had already done. I knew I couldn't face my mother's temper, so I went along with him. Jack led me through the process step by step, obviously enjoying it, and old enough that he even experienced ejaculation. I didn't know what was going on, but I knew it was wrong and I didn't like it. All of this happened on the school bus, with Jack often holding his jacket up against the aisle so no one could see what was happening. One time a kid in the seat behind us stood up and asked what we were doing, but at Jack's threats, returned to his seat without saying anything further. While I believe the bus driver knew something was going on between Jack and me, she never reported it or did anything serious to stop it. I can only guess as to her reasoning. Perhaps she too was afraid of Jack, or perhaps she figured it was useless to intervene. I don't know, but perhaps seeing how long he could go without being caught was all in the fun for Jack.
After school, Jack often continued the same types of abuse on the ride home. I remember how each day after dismounting the bus, I would walk back up our long drive spitting and spitting until my mouth was dry. Then I'd go inside and rinse with water and do everything I could to get the nasty taste out of my mouth. I felt sick often, but there was nothing in my mind I could do to stop the abuse. It was about this time I first remember the sores showing up on my own female parts. I hadn't yet seen the sores, but I knew there was pain, and it was intense. At that age I knew nothing about STDs, but later, during my teen years, a doctor diagnosed my problem. Herpes. We're still not sure how it was transmitted, and the best we can guess is that it was transmitted from a cold sore on Jack's mouth to his hand to me. The abuse went on.
One day Jack told me his parents were going out of town the following weekend and he wanted me to come to his place and hang out. I didn't want to go, so I told him I had to ask my parents first. He said that was okay, but he needed to know as soon as possible. Afraid of being dishonest with Jack, I approached my mom to ask permission to visit Jack's house that weekend. She asked me how old Jack was and if his parents would be there. I told her his age, and that his parents were out of town. My mom gave a resounding "no" and said I was not going to visit some teenage guy's house when his parents were gone. She told me that was just asking for trouble. She was right. I told Jack I couldn't go, and when he asked me to re-ask my mom for permission, I told him she would never reconsider. I am extremely grateful for my mom's protection in that particular matter, as I don't even want to consider what would have happened had she allowed me to visit Jack's house that weekend. The abuse with Jack lasted the full school year, devastating and stealing away my childhood innocence. But Jack wasn't the only boy interested in me. There were others, four of them. However, their intentions were a bit more pure than Jack's.
My family's new home was in the Ozark hills of Missouri. We lived in the middle of a wooded area at the end of a long drive, which I would walk down each morning to catch the school bus. On the bus, it didn't take long for the driver to realize she had a rowdy bunch of kids, and within the first two weeks she developed a plan for arranged seating in alphabetical order. I got stuck next to a teenage boy whom I'll call Jack. The school I attended had junior high mixed in with elementary aged kids, and Jack was the all-out school bully. No one messed with him. In fact, he'd flunked the eight grade twice before, and may have flunked it again the year I knew him. The bus driver had given up on him, and because Jack's last name began with the same letter as mine, I was assigned a seat next to him, with him on the aisle. Jack was all fun and games, with one of those grins that any adult could see meant he was up to no good. Tall and scrawny, he'd been in more than his fair share of fights, and usually came out on top.
A few days after meeting Jack, he told me I was pretty and asked if I wanted to be his girl. Being the shy seven-year-old that I was, and knowing that nobody messed with Jack, I agreed. Soon after, Jack began to abuse me. He started by touching me in inappropriate places while I sat next to him, pretending it was out of love that he did so. He then insisted I should kiss him, and not just the quick peck on the lips. He wanted all-out French kissing from me. I didn't even know what French kissing was, but he was all too eager to show me. Again, I was too shy to stand up to him, so I went along with it. A few weeks later, Jack moved to yet another level of abuse. He told me I had to have what I later learned was oral sex with him. As a child, I didn't know those types of activities were even done, and he never used the term "oral sex." He said that when two people loved each other, that's just what they did. I told him I'd rather not do that with him, but he said if I loved him I would, and besides, if I didn't he threatened to tell my parents what I had already done. I knew I couldn't face my mother's temper, so I went along with him. Jack led me through the process step by step, obviously enjoying it, and old enough that he even experienced ejaculation. I didn't know what was going on, but I knew it was wrong and I didn't like it. All of this happened on the school bus, with Jack often holding his jacket up against the aisle so no one could see what was happening. One time a kid in the seat behind us stood up and asked what we were doing, but at Jack's threats, returned to his seat without saying anything further. While I believe the bus driver knew something was going on between Jack and me, she never reported it or did anything serious to stop it. I can only guess as to her reasoning. Perhaps she too was afraid of Jack, or perhaps she figured it was useless to intervene. I don't know, but perhaps seeing how long he could go without being caught was all in the fun for Jack.
After school, Jack often continued the same types of abuse on the ride home. I remember how each day after dismounting the bus, I would walk back up our long drive spitting and spitting until my mouth was dry. Then I'd go inside and rinse with water and do everything I could to get the nasty taste out of my mouth. I felt sick often, but there was nothing in my mind I could do to stop the abuse. It was about this time I first remember the sores showing up on my own female parts. I hadn't yet seen the sores, but I knew there was pain, and it was intense. At that age I knew nothing about STDs, but later, during my teen years, a doctor diagnosed my problem. Herpes. We're still not sure how it was transmitted, and the best we can guess is that it was transmitted from a cold sore on Jack's mouth to his hand to me. The abuse went on.
One day Jack told me his parents were going out of town the following weekend and he wanted me to come to his place and hang out. I didn't want to go, so I told him I had to ask my parents first. He said that was okay, but he needed to know as soon as possible. Afraid of being dishonest with Jack, I approached my mom to ask permission to visit Jack's house that weekend. She asked me how old Jack was and if his parents would be there. I told her his age, and that his parents were out of town. My mom gave a resounding "no" and said I was not going to visit some teenage guy's house when his parents were gone. She told me that was just asking for trouble. She was right. I told Jack I couldn't go, and when he asked me to re-ask my mom for permission, I told him she would never reconsider. I am extremely grateful for my mom's protection in that particular matter, as I don't even want to consider what would have happened had she allowed me to visit Jack's house that weekend. The abuse with Jack lasted the full school year, devastating and stealing away my childhood innocence. But Jack wasn't the only boy interested in me. There were others, four of them. However, their intentions were a bit more pure than Jack's.
posted by Brooke | 11:18 PM
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