Sexually assaulted one Saturday morning (but not raped) by a neighbor kid (who was ... about 10) when I was 5. He ripped off all my clothes and I kicked and screamed and ran away and hid behind a house. He was right behind me, but about a second later my dad was there and his mother was right behind my dad.
He got his ass whipped all the way home.
My dad being my dad didn't think to pick me up or take his shirt off. Just held my hand as I walked, naked, and sobbing hysterically, through a gauntlet of neighbors. (It's not that he's heartless -- it's just that he's never known what to do around a crying/upset child.) The commotion woke my mother up (she had worked the night before) and she bawled my dad out for not picking me up or giving me his shirt or doing something other than what he did.
This being 1978, the neighbor kid was back over and playing with in a few days. Only, I was never allowed to be near him without an adult right there, go anywhere if he was tagging along, and my brother wasn't allowed to go to his house. Other than that, it was never talked about again.
The worst thing was, years later, when I was about 13, the kid across the street (his family moved in when I was 6) said that he wished he had seen that, because I must have "looked funny all naked like that." I was so incredibly hurt and angry that somebody would think that something so humiliating and terrifying was funny. I think I slapped him, or tried to slap him.
Needless to say, I've got mixed feelings about it all. It was handle, and honestly, I think that if it had been handled differently, it might have made it more traumatic.
On the other hand, I've been told by devohoneybee that I radiate a very strong sense of personal space. I think it has its roots in this incident. Instead of destroying or warping my notion of bodily autonomy, I went the other way.
Never. Again.
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Also, thank you for sharing your story. And thank you to everybody else in the thread who has shared a story.
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He got his ass whipped all the way home.
My dad being my dad didn't think to pick me up or take his shirt off. Just held my hand as I walked, naked, and sobbing hysterically, through a gauntlet of neighbors. (It's not that he's heartless -- it's just that he's never known what to do around a crying/upset child.) The commotion woke my mother up (she had worked the night before) and she bawled my dad out for not picking me up or giving me his shirt or doing something other than what he did.
This being 1978, the neighbor kid was back over and playing with in a few days. Only, I was never allowed to be near him without an adult right there, go anywhere if he was tagging along, and my brother wasn't allowed to go to his house. Other than that, it was never talked about again.
The worst thing was, years later, when I was about 13, the kid across the street (his family moved in when I was 6) said that he wished he had seen that, because I must have "looked funny all naked like that." I was so incredibly hurt and angry that somebody would think that something so humiliating and terrifying was funny. I think I slapped him, or tried to slap him.
Needless to say, I've got mixed feelings about it all. It was handle, and honestly, I think that if it had been handled differently, it might have made it more traumatic.
On the other hand, I've been told by devohoneybee that I radiate a very strong sense of personal space. I think it has its roots in this incident. Instead of destroying or warping my notion of bodily autonomy, I went the other way.
Never. Again.
----
Also, thank you for sharing your story. And thank you to everybody else in the thread who has shared a story.