I was eight years old.
Across the street lived a wonderful family filled with love, kindness, and happiness. The Jensens. I never saw anything wrong with them, they seemed like a perfect family. Monica was the stepmother, very kind and loving to everyone she meets. Dylan was the eleven year old boy, very interesting and funny. My friend and I always admired him. Devin was the six year old boy. He had a cute crush on me even though I was older than him. Chelsea was the cute three year old girl who was always filled with joy and happiness. Her smile made me smile again and again.
And then there was Brian. Nothing seemed wrong about him, I thought he was a great father for the kids; a great husband for Monica. Every weekend and some days we were in their garage playing games. One I remember clearly; I tied a rope to a little tikes yellow & red car and someone climbed on and I pulled them around. I always laughed at how fun it was.
Eventually, they gained my family's trust and they began to babysit me every so often. I stayed the night sometimes, which was also a blast. We stayed up so late, telling funny stories and jokes. I couldn't remember a time when I was upset.
That was until March of 2006. Brian and I were sitting in his bedroom while he was trying to teach me how to play one of his Madden Football games during the daytime while Monica was at work and the kids were back home with their actual mother in Indiana. He suddenly started to tickle me and I laughed happily, telling him to "cut it out". Brian tried to find different places where I'd be ticklish, and eventually he decided to try between my legs.
I made a weird face and asked him why there, and he simply shrugged and said he did not know. I thought it was nothing special, and ignored it with no hesitation. I had already had "the talk" by then and learned what molestation was.
A year passed and I forgotten about it, nothing bad seemed to happen after that.
On August Fifteenth, that changed again, and this time I was afraid. I was supposed to stay the night and it was about Noon during the day. I was laying on the couch watching a movie, my head against the end of the couch and my middrift laying on Brian's lap.
While my face was glued to the television, I felt a cold sensation against my lower stomach. It was Brian's hand trying to make it's way lower. I was scared then, trying to figure out what was happening. As soon as his fingers made contact with my genitles, I froze numb. I couldn't move; there was nothing for me to do about it. He'd be suspicious if I said anything.
His fingers slowly and painfully massaged all around, my eyes closing trying not to feel anything. But I did. As he got up to cook lunch, I felt like crying but I held strong.
That night I broke down and told my mother. She was devastated, and Monica was brought to tears. They abandoned their house one month later. I never saw him again.
Every time a red car passes by, I shudder. I did hear he lived in Port Clinton alone. And I'm happy he is alone. He deserves to suffer regretting what he did to me and the pain he inflicted on me.
To this day I still cry sometimes, but I know I'm safe and protected. I'll never let it happen again.
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