His name was Jim

I've been putting this story off because it's a really hard one to tell. When I was 11 years old I slept over at a friend's house.  Her mother had a new boyfriend/husband(?) named Jim. While we were playing we went into a den room and I remember there was a porno playing on the television. We left that room pretty quickly and played elsewhere in the house.

That night we were up really late talking and giggling the way little girls do. Jim came into the room to tell us we needed to be quiet and go to sleep. He laid down on the bed between us. He lay on his back and I was on my back. He put his arm on top of my body effectively pinning me down. He flipped up my nightgown and rubbed his hand up and down on top of my panties. I was so scared I couldn't move. He had to have felt my heart hammering under his bicep.

After a few minutes he got up and left. He winked at me as he was leaving and placed his finger on his lips in a shushing motion. For years afterward I would panic if a man winked at me, even if I knew he was someone safe. After he was gone I asked my friend about it, and she told me she'd pushed his hand away. I was stunned, had that really been an option?

We couldn't go to sleep and ended up going to the living room to watch TV. We found a late night movie. About halfway through the movie he came out of his bedroom and headed for the bathroom. The hallway was directly across from the couch and he was naked. He looked shocked to see us and covered his junk pretty fast. He was wearing a robe on his way back to his room and didn't stop to tell us to go to bed.

I felt so guilty and so sick about what he did. I felt like I should have stopped him the way my friend claimed she did. I've often wondered over the years if she was telling me the truth and what all she may have gone through. It took me five years before I could tell anyone what happened. The person I finally broke down and told was Frank. My parents had known something was wrong and had been trying to get me to talk for quite a while. Frank called my mom to brag he had been the one to get me to talk.

Mom did take me to counseling but it wasn't helpful.  The counselor was mostly focused on problems we were having at home. It was less than a year after that when I moved to Frank's house. I still had a lot of unresolved issues and Frank should have kept me in counseling.