Anonymous Story: The Elephant in the Room

Anonymous Story: The Elephant in the Room

I ack from work. so I was around five I guess. But I don’t clearly remember my age. I might have been younger. I was blond, with light curls. I was kind of cute but shy. To shy to talk much. But I liked stories. liked movies. But because I thought my parents were poor, I never asked for stuff. never wanted to bother. My mum was working on mondays and Kindergarten or school ended long before my mum came back from work. so friends of her took care of me. one of them, I’ll call her Caren here, was a havy smoker. A nice soft person, but not smart. Later I learned she had a drinking problem as well. She came to pick me up a few times when my mum couldn’t and I went home with her. She had a son. 10 years older then me. He wasn’t smart either. But he was huge and chubby and ugly. Caren was doing her household, sometimes driving off to help her old mother or her sibgle brother and I was watching TV. her son had a lot of movies. A lot Asterix and Obelix. When her son wasn’t home Caren startet the video in the living room. But when he was home she just asked him to show me the movies. He claimed they wouldn’t work in the living room and lured me into his room. He closed the door behind me and startet the movie. he then wanted me to sit on his lap. I was shy, so he just took me. He opend my pants and took his hand in. I asked him not to. I was polite. He just put his hand in and asked me if he could kiss my pussy. I said no. Feeling ashamed and I didn’t no why. He begged me. I hated it but I think I didn’t say anything at all to his begging. I can’t remember that part. He did as he liked and I hated it. Tried to break free. but he was strong.

I can’t say how often it happend. It was more then once. I remember trying to talk him out of it. Argued I could watch the movie from outside his room. I remember refusing leaving the living room and beeing there alone. Playing with small black elephants or just sitting at the sofa. but now and then he found a way to get me in. I don’t remember how. Just what happend when I was ‘in’.

He asked me not to talk about it. But I wouldn’t have. I wouldn’t have known how to phrase it. I knew it was wrong, but it took me years to figure out what this was that happend to me.

One day my mother found out about Carens drinking and didn’t send me there anymore. As a grown up I sometimes think my mothers choice to let Caren take care of me was poor. I wouldn’t give my child to a havy smoker. but I guess my mum was desperate.

Caren died a few years ago.
After her death I was able to tell my mum. Just once. I don’t know if she remembers me telling her. sometimes feels like she doesn’t. but maybe she is just carefully.

Carens son was friends with my 11 years older brother. I can’t tell my brother about it, because I’m scared. I don’t know what scares me most, him not believing me or him believing me. I don’t want him do something stupid. And I don’t want him sad.

My memory is in flashbacks. triggerd by Asterix and Obelix, triggerd by small black elephant figures. But also everytime someone oversteps or trying to decide stuff for me. When I was 16 I was just paralysed by people stepping over me. With age I learned to fight back. sometimes to much. sometimes it turnes out to be a missunderstanding.
But I’m really fast over edge when I feel like people making decisions for me. even if it is for my own good.
I felt better after leaving the small town I grew up in with twenty. I’m 32 now. But it never fully leaves me. 5 peoole know. Just that something happend. But not what exactly. I don’t wanna be defined by it. I can write that he but his ugly mouth and his fingers to my blank pussy. But I can’t say it out loud.
Saying things out loud make me feel the reality. I don’t want to feel that.

It’s funny how the human mind works.
I can talk about metoo. I can talkabout abuse in general. but it kills me to actually say these words about myself.



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