Child Abuse Story From Mandy

by Mandy
(Calgary, Alberta, Canada)

When I turned one my father broke his neck, placing him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. We never had a close relationship. He would buy me things to replace spending time with me. Up until I was almost 5, I saw him every weekend, as my two older brothers and myself stayed at his home every weekend. It was in this townhouse that I was introduced to the man who would change me forever.

My father had a "friend" of his move into his home. His name was Tony. He gave me piggy-back rides, and played ball with my brothers. He was my babysitter when my father and brother went out to do boy things. The abuse started with him locking me in the crawl space below the home (which happened more times than I can recall). It terrified me because of spiders and monsters and those types of childish things. I once threatened to "tell", after which he held my head underwater in the bathtub.

I remember the first day the sexual abuse started. I was sleeping in my room. I awoke to him next to me. I don't know why I pretended to stay asleep. That first time all he did was rub his penis on my leg, and fondle me. The abuse after that went on for a few months, most of which I have blanked out of my memory. I can't remember no matter how much I try. I don't think he ever raped or penetrated me in any way. I think he also molested my brother, as he has shown many of the symptoms I have become so familiar with.

I remember telling my mom about it like it only happened five minutes ago. My father and brother had left the
house, and Tony had me alone again. I crawled under my father's bed and called my mom on the phone with the exact words, "Mommy, Tony's hurting me". She burst into tears. I was so scared. I thought I was in so much trouble. What seemed like 2 seconds later, my mom and her boyfriend were at my father's house. She made her boyfriend wait outside while she yelled at Tony, all the while I was still tucked under the bed.

Before I left, and right in front of my mother, his last
words to me were: "You like it".

I remember telling the police that nothing happened, and that he barely touched me, partly because I was ashamed and my mother was listening. I could never say in front of her what happened. I thought it was my fault.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.