If you would have asked five year old me what I thought of men I probably would have delivered the following description: “They are scary. They do bad things all the time. They don’t care about their family. They have drug problems. They like to touch me.” I hadn’t the faintest healthy experience with a male figure in my life at that point and not for many years after that.  My mother and father had been divorced since I was two, and by then I had already been sexually abused by my father’s favorite cousin who my mother would allow to babysit me. She never felt comfortable doing so as she would confess to me many years later but as a teen mom under the control of a man 12 years her senior, she complied.  Apparently, after one particular day he was on babysitting duty, I kept touching myself and saying his name, “Choo, toto”.  Toto was what I innocently named my vagina.  Choo, was his nick-name. My very first sexual experience and probably earlier than I can ever remember.  But I do recall the very first session with him when I was old enough to retain that memory.

I had spent random days with my father, a Saturday here or there. It was sparing and it was always short.  This particular day, it was sunny and the sky was clear. I spent most of the day in the kitchen and dining area of a facility for mentally disabled individuals. My father was a cook there and we were allowed to hang around and mingle with the residents. After his work day, we went up to his dorm which was located right on campus. It was an old hotel, so there were many rooms, and my brother and I would run up and down the halls catching quick glimpses of each one. I remember one particular room where the men played cards and drank. It’s smokey dirty walls were covered in pornography. My dad corralled us like little sheep into his room where we would be safe from the cursing men, smoke, and nude women.  His room was attached to another room which was joined by a short hallway with a bathroom.  The other room was occupied by his cousin Choo. There he was. He waited for my dad to leave. He entertained my brother with a snapping turtle he had placed in the bathtub. He closed my brother in the bathroom and began to just talk to me and hug me, pay attention to me. All the things I was always so hungry for without having a dad around.  Then we played an adult game.  He stood me on the bed facing him. He said he was going to kiss me like grown-ups kiss. And he did. He kissed me passionately on my mouth.  I remember thinking it was strange but enjoying the feeling it gave me.  My brother would interrupt here or there but Choo was quick to pretend normalcy, ushering my brother off to the filthy turtle scratching at the porcelain tub.  At this point he was aching for much more and began fondling and touching me. He was breathing heavy and began to dry hump my little body asking me if I liked what he was doing. I said, “yes”. There was a raucous in the other room as the men finished their game and he quickly composed himself. I remember just feeling so confused and feeling that I had done something horrible.  It was time for us to leave and the last thing I can remember is the awful brown rug I was staring at as we left the building. It was as if my very innocence and worth were being absorbed into its dirty fibers.  I was utterly destroyed. It wouldn’t be the last time and he wouldn’t be the only person.